Chapter

6

DISCOVERY AND DISASTER

DAVID felt the hot flood of anger rise within him. By hook and by crook, by keeping their chart and by spying on them, Roddie had taken the short cuts and gotten there first.

“What shall we do?” Sally whispered.

David listened. The sounds of the spade stopped. He studied the woods beyond the ledge.

“It looks as if we won’t have to do anything,” he said shortly.

For a figure had appeared at the edge of the spruces and now swung down the path toward them. It was Roddie McNeill, and he was carrying a spade. From the height of the ledge he looked them over coolly. “Sorry. This is private property.”

Indignantly, Sally cried out, “This is Blake land! It always has been.” But her voice sounded all at once unsure, and Roddie smiled.

“Not any more it isn’t. My father has just passed papers on Little Fox. Also, my friends, on Blueberry Island.”

David’s knuckles whitened at the handles of the oars, but he forced himself to speak levelly. “McNeill land, maybe. But it’s Blake treasure you’re digging for.”

“Blake treasure? You don’t say!” Roddie’s smile was insolent. “It just happens that buried treasure belongs to the person who finds it. Ask any good lawyer — if there is such a thing in Saturday Cove,” he added with scorn.

For a moment there was silence and the Lobster Boy rocked on the little waves that lapped on the beach.

Then Sally’s voice rose despairingly. “We lost our treasure chart, and I bet anything you found it. And that’s just plain stealing, no matter what you say!”

Roddie lifted his brows. “So you lost some chart. What makes you think I have it?”

“Because anybody else in our town would have given it back,” Sally answered hotly.

For an instant Roddie hesitated. Then he shrugged. “If you two know so much, why don’t you come ashore and look around? Nothing can happen to you. Except that when I get back to town I’ll have you both arrested for trespassing, that’s all.”

Sally’s chin quivered with fury. “But what about the treasure?” she wailed. “It’s ours!”

With an unsteady hand, David reached out to keep the old dory from drifting against the gleaming hull of the Pirate. There was nothing to say.

Roddie smiled, sure of himself again. “From what I can see of the Blakes, I doubt if they ever had any treasure to hide.” He dipped his spade at them. “See you around, I’m afraid.” And he turned back into the fog.

Then there was nothing but the empty ledge and the dim path, and the fine mist raining down onto their upturned faces.

Sally’s mouth quivered and a tear moved down one cheek.

“Let’s get out of here,” David muttered. “Roddie’s won the first round. But that doesn’t mean he’ll win the second.” Grimly, he started up the motor and they began the return trip in silence.

“David? What about Blueberry Island?” Sally asked finally.

“I guess Blueberry and Little Fox are about the same distance from Blake’s. So Jonathan could have rowed to one as well as the other. But since we can’t go ashore on either of them, we’re no better off now than we were before.” David’s voice trailed away. “Maybe we’d just better forget the treasure, Sally. I’ll be pretty busy with the new traps, anyway.”

But Sally clung to the subject. “What about Big Fox, then?”

David glanced at the clearing shape of the island that lay farthest from Blake’s. From its seaward point still came the slow blast of the foghorn. He shook his head. “We can save ourselves the row, Sally. Big Fox is too far. If Jonathan had gone out there, it would have taken him longer than two hours out and back, especially with a wind coming up.” David looked away, as if he were through with the subject.

But Sally searched the cove with speculative eyes. Where would a boy row if he wanted to hide something? She gazed at The Graves, scattered bare ledges rising out of the sea, and beyond those at The Cobbles, half hidden in the fog. There were so many of them — mountain tops with all except their granite skulls drowned in the sea. Were they ledge or island, Sally wondered.

Curiously, David followed her gaze. “I don’t think Jonathan would have headed out there. I’ve been ashore on most of them and they’re solid ledge. Besides, they’re too exposed. He could have been seen too easily.”

But although Sally’s shoulders still drooped, her heart lifted. David was no longer ready to forget about the treasure. He was thinking again.

They had left the bell buoy tossing in their wake. David was squinting toward Blake’s Island and little Tub. Perhaps, he mused, it would be a good idea to set the last of the new traps between the two islands. Then a thought came to him that sent shivers along his arms. Surprised, he stared at Sally. “Tub Island!” he cried. “We never once thought of little Tub Island. We’re so used to walking to it over the bar from Blake’s, we forgot that at high tide it’s a separate island. Sally, there’s a fifty-fifty chance the tide was full that night, and it was Tub that Jonathan rowed to!”

Excited, Sally leaned forward. “How can we find out? From some ship’s log, maybe?”

David’s spirits like Sally’s had risen high. But now they sank again and David shook his head. “They didn’t generally log the tides, just wind direction and weather. I don’t see how we can ever find out about a tide that long ago.”

The Lobster Boy pulsed slowly through the gray-bright morning, and Sally began to wonder. If only she could reason how the tide was running the night the British came, then she might make up to David for losing the old chart. . . .

Suddenly she remembered something. “David! The letter!”

Her brother looked at her blankly.

“John Blake’s letter! He wrote about the raiders coming ashore off a frigid.”

David laughed. “A frigate.”

“A frigate, then,” Sally said impatiently, “that came in with the tide before sunset! And the British must have gone straight ashore at Blake’s because they stole the roast that Sally was cooking for supper, remember?”

“I’ll say I do!” David’s voice grew strong. “Then the tide was coming in! When Jonathan left with the valuables, it must have been close to flood tide. So it could have been Tub that he rowed to that night.”

Sally said nothing, but she felt warmed and happy.

“And Sally! An enemy ship would lie off Blueberry Island, out where she would be hidden from the village, wouldn’t she? Now, if you were Jonathan and didn’t want the British to see you, where would you not head?”

Sally thought. “I wouldn’t head out toward either of the Fox Islands, or Blueberry, or any of the ledges,” she said slowly, “and I wouldn’t head in toward town. Because either way I might be seen by the frigid.”

“Frigate,” said David automatically. “So?”

“So I’d sneak off the back shore of Blake’s and keep in close to the ledges. I’d stay behind Blake’s wherever I could, and then they wouldn’t see me, either the men on the frigate or those who came ashore at the front cove. Then I’d head . . . .” Sally stopped and stared at David, her eyes widening.

“You’d head for Tub Island, Sally,” David’s voice rose with excitement, “because there’s no better place to go.”

Sally nodded, then fiercely she hugged her knees. “Just let Roddie McNeill dig! Let him keep his old islands! Oh, David, let’s go to Tub and hunt for the treasure this very minute!”

David shook his head. “We can plan on plenty of digging before we turn up that treasure. Besides, I want to hear what Poke has to say about this. Maybe . . . .”

“Maybe he’ll even come, too.” Sally finished his thought. “Oh, David, now that we’re getting warm, maybe Poke will even come out in the dory with us.”

David nodded slowly. “Maybe.” He looked at his watch. “Let’s go home to lunch. Then, if I get through hauling in time, we might even start digging on Tub today. It’ll take a while, you know, even if Poke does come and help.” He cut back his speed and guided the dory down the long thoroughfare of the inner harbor.

“I don’t care,” Sally said carelessly. “I don’t care if it takes a week. I have a feeling something big is going to happen.”

Poke was washing windows at the Harbor Supply. Gravely, he tossed them each a cleaning cloth. “Don’t tell me,” he said as he scanned their faces. “I can guess. You have discovered the island where Jonathan hid the valuables.”

David grinned at his friend and set to work beside him. “See what you think.” Then, with frequent additions from Sally, he told Poke about the quarrel with Roddie on Little Fox Island, and about Sally’s remembering that the tide was coming in on the night of the island raid on Blake’s. “And besides,” David finished, “Tub is the only island Jonathan could be sure of reaching without being spotted by the British. Blake’s would have hidden him all the way.”

Poke shook his head in generous admiration. “Why didn’t I figure that out before?”

“Why didn’t I? I’ve wondered about all this longer than you have.”

“From now on,” Poke announced, “Sally can be chief adviser of all our treasure hunts.”

Sally squirmed with pleasure and gave her window an extra hard polish. There beyond Grindstone Point lay Tub Island, a small circle separated from Blake’s by the full tide.

“It looks like a pie with a bite taken out of it,” she mused.

“That ‘bite,’ ” Poke rumbled in his lecture voice, “is probably due to the wind and wave erosion of a mass of soft limestone like I read to you about from the lithograph book. Why, do you realize that the granite around here is tunneled through and through?”

“Sure, Poke,” David interrupted cheerfully. “I’m sorry, but we’ve got to get going. What we really came in for was, well, to ask you to come out to Tub Island with us later on . . . .” His voice trailed away at the strange expression in the older boy’s dark eyes.

“This looks like trouble coming,” said Poke quietly, looking out the window.

Across the wharf toward the Supply came several of the lobstermen, walking heavily, their faces somber.

Unexpectedly, the dark thought shot again like a quick pain into David’s mind. This time he faced it. Something was terribly wrong between him and the men.

He was aware of his heart pounding in his ears like a warning drum. Quick pictures flashed before his mind — Willis Greenlaw saying, “Now it’s a pea-soup fog, your friend ought to be out doing a little extra hauling . . . .” And Perce Dennett, turning away from David as he drove the truck up from the docks. The bait barrel standing empty beside the shed. Willis sculling across the cove, pretending not to see him.

Now he would at least learn what the trouble was. The boy thrust his fists tightly into his pockets and faced them, waiting.

Slowly, they filed into the store, Willis Greenlaw first and behind him Foggy Dennett, then his brother, Perce, and the others. Mostly they avoided David’s eyes and remained silent. But Willis cleared his throat, and with his gaze steady on David he spoke to the older boy. “Poke, my boat’s down to the float. Fill her up, will you?”

Reluctantly, Poke went outside to the gas pumps.

“Well, Dave. You want Sally to hear this?” Willis began, not unkindly.

The sick uneasiness grew inside David, but he replied steadily enough, “Sally can hear anything you want to say, Willis.”

Willis drew a heavy breath. “Someone’s hauling our traps, Dave. Every single one of us here and a couple that aren’t back in yet, we’re all being hauled. Have been for a couple weeks now.”

David stared at him. Why, hauling another man’s traps was the final crime among lobstermen.

“We know none of us full-timers is doing it,” Willis continued. “We’ve made a living hauling together since we was your age, and we don’t aim to start cheating on each other now. But, well . . . .” Willis walked a few paces down the store, then he turned and came back. “Some of us thought that maybe a kid might not see it that way, ’specially if he was just hauling part-time for extra money.”

Sally caught her breath sharply, and David dug his nails into his palms and fought for control. He was waiting for Willis to say it. Why didn’t he come right out and say it?

But Willis shrugged and glanced at Foggy Dennett.

“Well, David, speak up!” Foggy sounded surprised and miserable. “You tell us your side of it. Maybe things aren’t as bad as they look.” Foggy was asking him to deny it.

Now, now was the time to tell them that he had never hauled another man’s traps in his life, and that he never intended to! But, to David’s horror, the tears pricked hotly behind his eyelids and his throat began to fill. He could not trust himself to speak.

“Maybe you’re wondering how we found out.” Willis struck a match and held it to his pipe. “Well, the bait line knotted different, usually. And sometimes the button not shut on the door. And no lobsters, time and time again, and no bait, either, for two, three weeks now.”

Perce Dennett spoke up. “Those traps are prob’ly being hauled late in the day after the rest of us have got back in.”

For a moment no one said anything, then Foggy added sadly, “You’re the only one of us that hauls late, Dave. And your catch hasn’t slacked off any. Willis checked, over to the hotel.”

“Lately, you’re out more often, too, some of us have noticed,” said Perce.

But I’ve been putting down extra traps, pleaded David silently. And I’ve been hauling steady to meet the taxes on Blake’s. I’ve even been fooling around the cove hunting for treasure.

But the words remained unspoken behind the shameful ache in his throat.

Willis shook his head. “We know you got a good reason to make extra money, what with saving up for your education. But that sort of hauling’s no good, son. No good at all.”

David looked at these men whose rough hands had taught him the work he loved. All his life he had cherished their respect. To stand before them now as a lobster thief was nightmarish. He pressed his lips tightly together to hide their trembling.

“You won’t talk?” Willis asked gently.

David drew an unsteady breath. He must speak up now, or it would be too late.

Poke came in and Willis absently counted out the money. Without looking at David he said, “I wish this needn’t have happened.”

Foggy turned to go. He looked very tired. “We’ve been talkin’ this over the past three days, Dave. Perce won’t sell you any more bait. You better quit haulin’ for a while. We’ll see if our catch picks up any.”

Then the men filed out, slowly, as they had come.

David, staring after them, saw his bright world dissolve into ugliness. David Blake, lobster thief.

The west wind, rising, tore great shreds out of the fog and flung them across the cove. Blindly, David turned and headed for home. Sally moved to follow him, but Poke held her back.

“Let him go,” he said softly. “He wants to be alone.”

When the door closed behind David, Poke burst into a rare scorn. “Stealing lobsters? David? What a brilliant idea!” He brought his fist down hard against the counter.

“He didn’t even deny it, Poke.” Sally’s eyes began to fill with tears. “He didn’t even speak up.”

“He couldn’t,” said Poke.

“They said David’s the only one who hauls late, and he’s the only one who hasn’t lost any of his catch.”

Poke frowned out at the bay.

“They’ll keep him from hauling,” cried Sally unevenly. “But let them! Just let them! Then they’ll see it’s somebody else who is stealing their old lobsters.”

Poke shook his head. “If David doesn’t go out for a while, I have an idea that the real thief will just lie low, too. Otherwise, he would have been hauling Dave’s traps right along with the others. As I see it, somebody is hoping to get away with stealing by letting David take the blame. Then when Dave starts hauling again, so does the thief. A nice piece of work!”

“But why don’t the men see it that way?”

“Because everything points to David, and they think they don’t need to look any farther. This is nothing sudden, Sally,” Poke added thoughtfully. “There have been little signs of trouble, if we had known enough to understand them. From Lookout Rock we watched Foggy hauling the other day. He spent a long time with one trap. David thought it was because of a full catch, but probably he was studying the knots in his bait line and wondering if someone had been hauling him.”

“Well, I bet it’s that old Willis Greenlaw! He’s mean to talk to David the way he did. And David just stood there and — and looked at him and didn’t say a word.” Loud grief burst over Sally. Silently, Poke handed her his handkerchief.

“They’ll take his license away from him, Poke,” Sally sobbed. “And his license means more to him than anything in the world.”

“No, Sally, they won’t,” Poke said gently, “because they haven’t any real proof. David can’t lose his license unless the warden catches him in the act of hauling illegally. I don’t think they want to call in the warden. Not yet, anyway.” The boy put an awkward hand on Sally’s shoulder.

After a while she blew her nose and looked up at Poke with reddened eyes. “But David can’t haul without bait, Poke.”

“How about herring?”

Sally shook her head miserably. “The Dennetts know everybody who does any seining. If they won’t sell him any redfish, they’ll keep him from getting herring, too.”

Something darkened in Poke’s eyes. “Will it matter so much if David doesn’t go out hauling for a while?”

“Matter!” cried Sally. “If he stops hauling now he’ll miss the peak season. He’ll lose Blake’s Island because he won’t have any money to pay the taxes.”

Poke’s deep voice was suddenly very firm. “Then he’ll just have to keep on hauling.”

Sally nodded doubtfully, but a tiny light of hope had come into her face. “We could go fishing maybe, for pollack or mackerel. Off the wharf, I mean,” she added hastily. “I don’t mean in a boat.”

Poke smiled crookedly. “I know what you mean, Sally. But I’m afraid Dave will need more bait than we could catch on a line.”

Sally looked down, defeated.

“I’ll find a way,” said Poke. “Now you run along home and let me think.”

Sally ran. She ran until she reached Harbor Road, but her brother was nowhere in sight. Out of breath and discouraged, she slowed to a walk. Her feet felt heavy and her heart was like lead. If she thought about what had just happened she would surely start to cry again. So she picked a daisy in passing and thought instead about the treasure.

“Rich man, poor man, beggarman, thief . . .” Sally said to herself as she counted off the petals.

Somehow she knew that David would not take her to Tub Island right away. If he couldn’t get bait, he might keep off the water altogether because of the lobstermen. And if he could, the peak season for the next few weeks would keep him too busy for treasure hunting.

“Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief . . .” muttered Sally. And Poke would never get into a boat, not for the biggest treasure in the world. She knew that now. She would have to go to Tub Island all by herself. But how? Until she learned to swim, she would not be allowed to take the dory out alone. Sally studied the cove in despair.

At the rim of the harbor, the roof and chimneys of the old house rose above the spruces on Blake’s Island.

And behind Blake’s lay little Tub, small and round, like a secret.

“Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor . . .” Slowly, Sally walked homeward, her head bent over the daisy. She would have to think of some way to get to Tub Island.