Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1893-10-05
NOT IN THE BOOK.

perched high and dry on the sea wall,
watching my friend, the "cap'n," stitch
shoes-little children's shoes. I called
him "cap'n" by way Of. compliment,
this queer old fellow with his bald pate
and oily, mackerel face. Truth to tell,
doubt his having arrived even to the
dignity of mate, and it was many long
year since his desertion of the Mary Lib
and her crew for the safer but less lucra-
tive occupation of making shoes.
The bay before us glinted and sparkled
beneath the pale, sunlit sky like mon
ster diamond, and away to the left
stretched the green waters of the Allan
tic, mysterious and enchanting.
"Did yeh know thet some summer
folks had bought the islun?" casually re-
marked the cap'n as he paused to rewax
and roll his thread.
(Which islandr l proceeded to in
quire, for there were some half dozen
rock heaps dotting the bay.
"Why-er, the one alongside of Jilly's
pint, with the dear little trees on ct.
See 'eln2"
"Oh, you mean Pirates isle'r'
"Well, I never heerd ct called thet."
This was too much. ! drew yellow
covered guidebook from my pocket and
triumphantly read:
"Pirate's Isle." A small island off Jilly's
point, noted for having been the resort of pi-
rates before and after the Revolution. The
house is still standing from which old Hich-
born and his gang were routed by the govern
ment inspectors in 1850.
CORY, yeh don't say? Very curious,
cause my gran'ther built thet house, md
he warn't no pirate. Leastways, Inever
heerd of his bein. He only fished off
the Gran banks" And the cap'n favored
me with a prodigious wink-a wink of
exultation at my defeat and delight at
putting my book in the lie. 1t was not
the first time he had done this, and in
disgust l tossed the poor paper thing
through the open window into the sea.
Henceforth the capn should be my only
guide.
A mighty wave, CHANGING to dash
against the red brown rocks below, sent
up saucy wreath of spray to sprinkle
our faces with salt drops. The cap'n
looked up from his work and regarded
admiringly his old time enemy, Father
Ocean, and musing apostrophized:
Old ocean, ever in motion.
Restless sea, never still.
My friend was somewhat Of a poet, be
1t known.
"Thet little islun," he continued, turn
ing to me an unusually grave face
''thet little islun is dreadful place. Et's
got blood on ct, md I wouldn't live there
eff they'd give't to me. No, sir!"
''Then ct doesn't belong to your fam
lily now?"
mo, ct don't. We sold ct a-many
year ago, afore mother nd father died.
I amt set foot on t for nigh on to 10
year. Not but you don't want to
hear about thet."
Indeed I do, cap'n. What happened
there2 Tell me, do" urged.
"Lordi you be the mos curious boy as
evers see. You'll cut yerself to pieces
some day jes' to see how et'll feel. But
mind, now, this amt pretty story.
ETH make yeh feel real bad-wuss than
pirates md hants md sech, cause cts
true, ev'ry word Of et."
"I'm waiting, cap'n," was the only re-
sponse. And quietly at first, with many
pause for long pull at his clay pipe,
but with ever increasing emotion. he re-
lated the following story, which has
haunted me ever since:
"Et were 16 year ago come this fall
thet big feller, named Sam Weston,
come ashore with wife nd little un. He
were mate on the Breezy, a fishin vessel
bound fer the banks. He come to ia.
ther md said: VIII yeh rent me thet lit.
tie house O yourn over on tn isluni
Can't seem to fin no berth in the town.
He were very jolly, md father, he said
Aye! Take ct md welcome Mother
she took right a-hold md helped the gal
with 'er duds--she were aPays helpir
some un, mother was-'nd I painted NJ
an Of dory for 'em to row over md
hanlr i,a.