# Myths and Legends Beyond Our Borders/The Figure in Smoky Hut

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THE FIGURE IN SMOKY HUT
SABLE ISLAND, haunt of convicts, pirates, and such wild creatures, who were landed there centuries ago, is a mere bank in the solitary northern seas that froth against it, tearing and rebuilding its shore, and in high tide threatening to engulf it. There are now no inhabitants except the light-keepers, for so many crimes were com-mitted there in the old days, especially by wreckers, that permanent settlement was prohibited. It is still a graveyard of ships, over one hundred and fifty having met their end there, but castaways run no risk of murder. Strange tales are told there of a heroic friar, of one of the fugitive judges who condemned Charles I. to his death, of men left alone to perish who became like wolves, and if a sailor had to choose a spot to be wrecked upon, this key of sand is one of the last to which he would consent.
In the eighteenth century the British transport ship Amelia, with treasure and a guard, went to pieces on the sands of this dread spot, and few sur-vived the disaster. Those who did succeed in getting to the mainland told of villains who had shown false beacons and robbed and killed the crew, and their strange tale was promptly investigated by government. Captain Torrens, of the navy, was despatched to the scene of the wreck to gain all possible knowledge of it, and, if might be, ​to apprehend all who were engaged in the crime. He found the island without trouble. The trouble began as soon as he had found it, for his ship ran her nose into it, and bade fair to stay, although. she was eventually freed from the sand and kept off at anchor. No inhabitants were found, except wild hogs, which the sailors were glad to shoot for food. Going over this almost desert in search of relics that might furnish some clue to the outlaws, Captain Torrens arrived at the squalid shelter known, probably because of its ineffective ventilation, as the "smoky hut," and pushed open the door. To his astonishment, the place was occupied. In the dim light he saw a woman, young, fair, with pain and sadness in her face. She seemed to have but just been rescued from the sea, for her long hair and her simple white dress clung to her figure, and were as if dripping with moisture.
"Beg pardon, madame," said the captain, peering under his hand to see into the dark, for the sun had set in a threatening sky, "but are there any others here?"
The woman remained motionless, with eyes fixed on his own, and said no word.
"Is it possible that a ship has come ashore and I did not see it? Pray, how long have you been here? Can I do anything for you?"
The woman raised her hand. The first finger was gone, and its stump was mashed and bloody. "Ah, you have been hurt. Wait till I bring ​my surgeon." And he turned to go back to his ship. Hardly had he taken five paces before the woman had slipped out at the door—a thistle-down floating in the air could not have been lighter—and ran away. Happening to look back at the moment, the captain saw her. "Now I understand," he said to himself. "The poor creature has been crazed by her suffering and by her life alone in this place," and calling after, he begged her to stop. She did not slack her pace, which was marvellously swift and easy, and, fearing that she might do some violence to herself, he gave chase, telling her that she had no reason for alarm, and asking her to accept the shelter of his cabin. The woman ran until she reached a pond in the centre of the island, where she seemed to dive, for, although he searched carefully through the reeds and long grass, Captain Torrens discovered no trace of her, not even a bent blade to show that she had passed. Going back in perplexity, he was the more bewildered on seeing at the door of the "smoky hut" the same woman that had disappeared at the edge of the pond. There was something uncanny in it. He began to wish that he were not alone. Yet he strode resolutely to the shanty. A wan gleam of twilight rested on the still face of the woman, who looked fixedly upon him. He staggered back and became almost as pale as she. Lady Copeland! It is you!" he exclaimed, in a strained whisper.
​The woman nodded.
"I thought you were dead."
Again the woman nodded.
"You were killed here—by the wreckers?" he gasped. She nodded again.
"I understand. They threw your body into the pond? Horrible! And your finger? Yes, yes. I see. They cut it off to get your rings. Rest assured I will do all I can for your repose. Shall I search for your body and take it to England? No? Then my chaplain shall read the service at the pond. And I will hunt down the villain who robbed you, and send your jewels to your family."
Again the figure nodded, and the captain could see that a peaceful smile had come upon the face. The wind drove up a little cloud of sand. He closed his eyes for an instant to shield them, and when he opened them he was alone. Hastening back on shipboard, he fetched out the chaplain, had prayers said, weighed anchor, and, acting on such clues as he had gathered, he set sail for Halifax, where he recovered from a money-lender the gems that had been stolen from Lady Copeland, despatched them to her family, then proceeding along the Labrador coast he caught the wrecker who had slain her and hanged him at the yard-arm.