0,49 €
Niedrigster Preis in 30 Tagen: 1,99 €
Niedrigster Preis in 30 Tagen: 1,99 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
In "The Clue at Skeleton Rocks," Percy Keese Fitzhugh weaves a captivating narrative that immerses readers in the thrilling adventures of the protagonist, Tom Slade. Set against the backdrop of a mysterious coastal landscape, the story is rich with suspense and intrigue, encapsulating the spirit of young adult literature in the early 20th century. Combining elements of the detective genre with the whimsy of a coming-of-age tale, Fitzhugh employs a straightforward yet engaging prose style, appealing to both young readers and adult aficionados of adventure fiction. The exploration of themes such as friendship, courage, and the quest for truth resonates throughout the tale, making it a compelling read for those who revel in exploration and mystery. Percy Keese Fitzhugh, an author known for his ability to capture the essence of youth and adventure, drew upon his own experiences as a camp leader and educator to create this work. His familiarity with the natural world and the challenges faced by youngsters not only underscores the authenticity of his characters but also highlights the importance of resilience and resourcefulness. Fitzhugh's keen observations of endearing quirks of youth lend credibility to the narrative, influencing the development of Tom Slade's character as he navigates through life's challenges. I highly recommend "The Clue at Skeleton Rocks" to anyone who delights in the timeless dance of mystery and camaraderie. Suitable for readers of all ages, this novel invites you to unravel its secrets alongside Tom as he embarks on a journey filled with unexpected twists and valuable life lessons. Fitzhugh'Äôs expertise in crafting thrilling tales ensures that this adventure remains engaging and thought-provoking, making it a must-read for both nostalgic adults and eager young adventurers.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
Ähnliche
The Clue at Skeleton Rocks
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I ABOARD THE “CACTUS”
Out of the thin mist they rose, gaunt and spectral. In the last rays, of a feeble sunset the green, slimy surface of the rocks still glistened from their recent emergence out of the sea. It was ebb tide and an hour of triumph at the reef—the hour of revelation, for here it was that the mighty ocean yielded her driftage sooner or later. And on this ominously still spring evening it was the wrecked schooner, Sister Ann, whose bones were now laid bare on that sea-swept graveyard.
The fated ship rested at an angle which brought her port side under water. Forlorn and forsaken, she seemed to quiver as each onslaught of the sea swept past her and dashed itself into a silver foam upon the reef. Suddenly two gulls rose out of her tattered rigging and, screaming noisily, flew in a straight line to the lighthouse, whose concrete structure emerged from its rocky base and towered against the gray sky not a half-mile distant.
Hal looked over the port rail of the lighthouse tender, Cactus, and glanced thoughtfully at the wrecked schooner lying against the reef. Suddenly his deep blue eyes traveled swiftly past the partly submerged rocks and rested on the lighthouse.
“Did you say that this Sister Ann was wrecked here on a clear, calm night and so close to the light?” he asked without turning his head.
Hal’s uncle, Denis Keen, was standing just behind him. So also was the skipper of the lighthouse tender, Captain Dell, who was at the moment thoughtfully puffing on a corncob pipe.
“My report read that way, Hal,” said Denis. “That’s why I’ve been sent here; that is, it’s partly the reason.” He was silent for a moment, then added: “So far, Captain Dell has been able to confirm all about the weather that night.”
“Two nights ago, wasn’t it?” Hal asked without having taken his glance from the silent lighthouse.
“Two nights ago, so ’twas,” said the captain, waving his pipe eloquently. “A calm night an’ as smooth a sea as I’ve seen in these waters fer twenty year. Fur as the boss could find out the light wuz a’right. But then it might o’ been late at night when folks were sleepin’ an’ no boats a-passin’.”
“Your boss is the Service representative down in Portsmouth, isn’t he, Captain Dell?” asked Denis politely.
“That’s him, Mr. Keen, sir,” the captain answered smiling. “A just an’ conscientious man he is too. Allus aimin’ ter keep the lighthouse service up ter snuff an’ yer can’t blame him fer bein’ fussy; it’s his job. Just let a light be out anywheres ’long this coast an’ if he ain’t a-knowin’ ’bout it no longer than ten minutes afterward, there’s somethin’ wrong in Denmark. But that night the Sister Ann was wrecked, everything was reported ship-shape in Portsmouth. Barrowe says he wuz at his post like I told you. Why, when the folks in Rocky Cliff went to bed they said they never saw the light burnin’ so fine an’ bright. That’s why it’s a mystery.”
“Then it’s a mystery in more ways than one, Captain Dell,” said Denis Keen edging up to the rail beside his nephew and glancing idly down upon the dancing waves. “The Sister Ann, so the Service in Washington suspects, was none other than the old smuggling vessel, Isle of Tortuga. She carried opium—ever hear about her?”
“Nope,” said Captain Dell shaking his gray head vehemently, “I never heerd tell o’ her. Who was her master, eh?”
“Captain Bill Doak—a scamp and a scoundrel,” said Denis Keen emphatically.
“Ain’t never heerd tell o’ him neither,” said the skipper placidly.
“I’ve been unfortunate in hearing too much about him and yet never seeing him. I’ve been itching to get him for the government for these past ten years. He’s as much a mystery as this poor Sister Ann out there. We’ve never been able to get hold of a good description of him even. Elusive as a fox. He’s never been tied up with an honest job in his life, I guess. Doak’s name is synonymous with shady transactions always. So if this Sister Ann turns out to be the old Isle of Tortuga, then Captain Bill Doak was master.”
“Wa’al, in that case yer huntin’ fer him would be over, Mr. Keen,” said the captain decisively. “All hands were lost, fur as I’ve heerd. Yer Captain Doak must be swappin’ shady jobs with ole Davey Jones by now, eh?”
“Looks that way,” Denis answered, staring across at the wreck. “What did Barrowe say about it, anyway?”
“The talk is that Barrowe says he didn’ see nothin’ nor hear nothin’ unusual that night. He just acted dazed sorta, the boss gave out. But that wouldn’ be outa the ord’n’ry considerin’ that Barrowe’s partner, Bill Hollins, committed suicide that same night. When Barrowe come down frum the tower at sunrise next mornin’ he found a note frum Hollins sayin’ that he wuz goin’ ter jump off the Rocks down ter Davey Jones’ locker. He said he wuz jes’ tired o’ livin’.”
“No wonder this poor Barrowe acted dazed!” Denis Keen declared. “Who wouldn’t feel dazed! Imagine finding that your partner and sole companion was a suicide out in this dismal solitude!”
“My imagination quails at the very thought of it,” said Hal seriously. “Golly, I shouldn’t think poor old Barrowe would have much heart to tend the light again.”
“Wa’al, he felt pretty cut up, I reckon,” said the captain. “But like all lightkeepers, Barrowe tends the light jes’ like he eats an’ sleeps. It’s a habit. He’s a queer, quiet sorta duck, Barrowe is. Never wastes words an’ goes ’round like he’s allus broodin’ over somethin’. Thar’s talk that his father went out uv his head ’fore he died so mebbe thar’s a taint in the family. Anyways, Barrowe an’ a brother wuz born an’ brought up in a lighthouse off the Pacific Coast so another reason mebbe is that the lonesomeness o’ lighthouse livin’ is sorta bred in him, eh? One thing I do know, though, this brother o’ Barrowe’s wuz a bad one an’ in a quarrel once he hit Barrowe on the skull an’ cracked it. Barrowe said himself he wuz never the same after thet, ’cause he almos’ died. But he wouldn’ say a word agin’ his brother ’ceptin’ that the feller ran away ter sea an’ it wuz good riddance ter him. Wa’al, Mr. Keen, sir, this ain’t helpin’ yer ’bout the Sister Ann, eh? We’re a-goin’ ter anchor here fer the night an’ transfer supplies ter Skeleton Rocks fust thing in the mornin’. Yer kin go over ter the wreck now if yer want or wait till good light in the mornin’.”
“Frankly, I prefer to look at her in the morning light. Think she’ll stay fast?” Denis asked, nodding toward the wreck.
“She’ll stay fast till we git a storm,” said the captain, while his twinkling blue eyes swept the heavens. “We’ll have a calm till tomorrow noon, I reckon. This mist’ll stay fer a while an’ keep the storm away.”
He chuckled and walked toward the pilot house. A moment later they could hear his deep, resonant voice calling out orders. The clang of the anchor could be heard aft and soon the sturdy craft slowed down and stopped.
“Well,” said Denis Keen with a mild smile, “are you glad that you fell in with my plans to come up here aboard a lighthouse tender?”
“Gosh, Unk, I’m always glad when I fall in with your plans,” Hal answered, a radiant smile lighting his handsome, though freckled, countenance. He gave his well-shaped head a determined shake, which threw back into place an errant lock of red-curling hair. “They most always turn out bigger than you expect them too, but this time . . . well, there won’t be much to do after tomorrow morning when you find out whether or not this Sister Ann is the old schooner, Isle of Tortuga, huh?”
“I’ll have plenty to do, Hal. That’s certain no matter if the Sister Ann turns out to be just her poor wrecked self. My job is to hunt down Bill Doak dead or alive. The Department gets rather uneasy about him when they hear no news of him in a couple of months’ time. Opium keeps coming in from mysterious sources. But to get back to yourself, how about going over to the lighthouse in the morning when the supplies go? We won’t be at the wreck very long.”
“All right, Unk. That’s a suggestion. It would even be a better suggestion if you had added that I could stay my Easter vacation there. I’m out of ideas right now as to how I’m going to spend it.”
“Wa’al, if yer feel yer’d like ter stay at the Rocks, I reckon I kin speak fer my boss an’ tell yer ter stay!” said Captain Dell, rejoining them. “Yer’ll be doin’ the Service a big favor ’cause they like ter have somebuddy what kin help Barrowe out in case of emergency. Thar’s a half-wit young man by the name o’ Dillie Rawson what Hollins befriended since he wuz a lad. He ain’t got nobody, so he’ll stay on thar, I reckon. But he ain’t no help ter Barrowe much. Jes’ able ter do small chores an’ the like. The boss ain’t got a man avail’ble ter take pore Hollins’ place fer two weeks an’ the reserve man busted one uv his legs jes’ as he wuz gittin’ started ter come up here. So if yer willin’ ter stay, I’ll send word ter the boss now an’ it’ll give him some peace till the steady man can come.”
“Boy, that’s great, Captain Dell!” Hal said, enthusiastically. “I’ll be glad to do the Service a favor. Tell your boss in Portsmouth that I don’t know a thing about lighthouses, but I’ll do what I can!”
“Yer a bright young man,” smiled the captain, “so yer’ll learn frum Barrowe what’s ter be done, quick enough. An’ talkin’ o’ Barrowe, thar goes the light on right now.”
Hal grasped the rail, instinctively, and felt a queer sort of shiver run up and down his spine. That first flash of the great light at Skeleton Rocks had an almost awesome effect upon him and he couldn’t tell why. The gray sky had not yet so much as a suggestion of a shadow anywhere—the western horizon was still glowing faintly so that the light’s rays seemed not so very bright in contrast as yet, and still he had a stunned sort of feeling about the whole thing.
The reef, the mystery of the wrecked Sister Ann,—none of these things seemed to interest him. His whole mind was centered on the graceful concrete tower in the distance, and as the powerful light grew stronger in the waning day he found himself being drawn to it irresistibly. It was a hunch, of course, one of his frequent hunches, and what it meant he had no way of knowing. In point of fact, he was certain of only one thing, and that was that Skeleton Rocks did not attract him because of any pleasant aspect. Six miles from the nearest human habitation, it was wind-swept and wave-swept and fraught with the mystery of the sea. And then but a few days back, there was old Bill Hollins, a suicide in the rocky caverns of the ocean. Was it that tragedy that drew him?
He was to know the answer to that question in less than twenty-four hours.
CHAPTER II TALKING OF SHARKS
Hal took a turn on the deck after supper alone. He stopped for a moment at the starboard rail and glanced idly over the dark, murmuring waves. In the anchor lights, he saw the black outline of a shark as it clipped the water. A damp, chill wind was blowing; winter seemed still to be stalking the sea. Dark and starless, the deep gloom of the night was but accentuated by the sweeping arc of light from Skeleton Rocks.
He shivered and, drawing his warm windbreaker about his neck, took another turn about the deck. Then he stepped inside the pilot house where his uncle and Captain Dell were smoking their pipes and talking. The little enclosure was blue with tobacco smoke.
Hal divested himself of his jacket and sat down.
“I think I saw a shark just before,” he said to the captain. “Do they sort of turn sideways?”
“Sideways an’ upside down, young man,” said the captain. “The waters here is full of ’em. As big a young man as you are, you’d only make a light cafeteria lunch fer one o’ them blue-noses. Reckon it’d take three six-footers like yourself ter fill ’em up. They git spells o’ hangin’ ’round the reef. That’s where it got its name. Lots of ’em sneaks around Skeleton Rocks too, Barrowe told one of the men.”
“Do you know Barrowe very well, Captain Dell?” Denis Keen asked, more interested in the lightkeeper than in sharks.
“Nobuddy knows Barrowe, Mr. Keen, sir. They ain’t one uv us has heerd him say more’n three words at a time. Ole Bill Hollins used ter say he didn’ talk any more’n that ter him even. Like I say, he’s a queer duck.”
Hal stirred, searched in his back pocket for cigarettes, and getting one out lighted it leisurely.
“Did you ever have any experiences with sharks, Captain Dell?” he asked.
“A few, young man. Reckon thar ain’t a seaman what ain’t met up with ’em now an’ agin. I been lucky though—I’ve pulled in a few what give me a fight an’ never got a scratch. ’Twasn’t so with some o’ the pore devils I’ve seen lose a battle with ’em. Funny thing ’bout sharks though, they come back agin an’ agin ter the spot whar they got their man—yessir, I’ve seed it time an’ agin! Folks say that’s plain superstition, but I say no—I’ve seed it.”
“Something like what they say about a murderer returning to the scene of his crime, eh?” Denis Keen asked, interested.
“Gosh,” Hal said, incredulous, “but how could you tell it’s the same shark? They all seem to look alike to me. Not that I’ve seen so many, just one that I can remember.” He laughed. “The pictures of them all look alike anyway.”
“Wa’al, they don’t look alike, young man, not by a jugful! They’re as different as human bein’s. Now take you an’ yer uncle here. Yer both six footers an’ yer both look a pow’ful lot alike till it comes ter yore hair. Mr. Keen’s is sandy an’ straight, an’ yore’s . . .”
“Pray, say no more, kind sir,” Hal said mockingly. “I know what everybody says about my hair and it’s too much—too much hair and too much comment about it. So defer your opinion, Captain Dell, to some time when I’m not around. Just now I’d rather hear about how you identify sharks from the human kind. Do some have straight hair like Unk’s and others have wool like mine?”
“Hal, for heaven’s sake, let Captain Dell have a chance to explain!” Denis Keen exclaimed, trying hard to frown.
Captain Dell, being a genial soul, enjoyed the situation immensely. It was a pleasant innovation having guests aboard the plodding old Cactus, particularly the distinguished Denis Keen, whose membership was valued highly by the Secret Service Department in Washington. And because the captain felt himself a member of the government family also, there had sprung up between the two a delightful comradery.
“Wa’al now,” said he at length, “thar ain’t no wonder ’bout tellin’ sharks apart. Fer one thing, thar’s different kinds, big fellers an’ little ones, but none of ’em looks like its brother, I don’t care even ef it’s the same size. Thar’s allus a spot or somethin’ ter make ’em different.”
“In other words, Captain, they’re all sisters under the skin and that’s about all, eh?” Denis Keen asked with a chuckle.
“I reckon that is about all, sir,” the captain answered.
Hal blew out a cloud of smoke and watched it circle above his head before he spoke.
“Gosh,” he said seriously. “I only hope I’m able to recognize the shark that battles me if I happen to meet him a second time.”
Curiously enough, Hal did that very thing.
CHAPTER III THE SIREN
The piercing blast of a fog-horn woke Hal and his uncle a little past midnight. They sat up in their berths, bewildered. Suddenly, however, the flash of a light past the porthole helped to clear their sleep-ridden minds.
“It’s from Skeleton Rocks, Unk. There must be quite a mist gathering, huh?”
“Must be,” Denis Keen agreed, unable to stifle a long and audible yawn. And as the fog-horn pierced the ocean silence once more, he started. “Heavens! That thing’s enough to waken the dead.”
“Guess that’s what it’s intended for.” Hal yawned then too, and pulling his lanky legs out from under the covers, he set his feet down on the floor. “As long as I’m awake, I’ll go out and see how thick it is,” he added, reaching for his shoes and socks. “Want to come, Unk?”
Denis Keen sighed and slid down again under his warm covers.
“Thank heavens, my curiosity doesn’t carry me to such limits,” he murmured out of his soft pillow. “No, Hal, I’ve no desire to leave this nice warm bunk and get chilled to the bone on that cold deck. I can hear that pesky fog-horn only too well right here. Also, I believe it wouldn’t be blowing if the mist wasn’t thick—I don’t have to go out on deck to see something my own common sense can tell me right here where I’m warm and comfortable!” He chuckled softly.
“You lazy bird!” Hal said, making a playful attempt at throwing his pillow into his uncle’s bunk. “Don’t you s’pose I realize the horn wouldn’t be blowing if the mist wasn’t thick!” He grinned good-naturedly. “What I really want to see is the thick mist—see what it feels like way up here at the edge of things. Boy, I’ve never seen a really good fog on the ocean before and I don’t want to miss this one. I’m glad the horn did wake me up.”
“I’m not,” Denis Keen said whimsically. “Besides, an ocean fog depresses me no end, and I’d rather close my eyes to it any night. So pace the chill deck alone, nephew of mine, and scamper out of here quick before you get me so wide awake that I won’t be able to get to sleep before morning.”
Hal looked back over his broad shoulder with an affectionate twinkle in his eyes. This uncle of his was the best companion a fellow would want, he was thinking. They seemed to understand each other perfectly, he and this boyish brother of his dead father.
“Then you’re going to get up and have a turn in the mist with me, Unk, huh?” Hal laughed.
“Yes,” the other said with a mock sigh, “you’ve known all along that you’d force me to do it. I’m twenty years older than you are, I must remind you, Hal, yet you expect me to act your own age. I really ought to get my eight hours tonight—really! Instead . . . oh, well, hand me my shoes! I’ve an idea the floor’s none too cozy.”
Hal handed him the shoes, laughing.
“As a matter of fact, this floor’s as cold as a shark’s heart, and it’s said that that’s the coldest thing extant.”
“Talking about sharks,” Denis Keen said, rising with a shivering motion throughout his slim and well-preserved physique, “makes me think about this crazy notion of yours to spend a perfectly good Easter vacation out there at that lonely lighthouse. Whatever possessed you to tell Captain Dell you would do it!”
“Don’t ask me, Unk!” Hal said gaily. He reached toward a chair and whisking his windbreaker from it, drew it on over his head. “The idea just popped into my little old bean, that’s all. I just had a hunch that Skeleton Rocks would have the desired effect.”
“What effect is that?” His uncle was struggling with a knotted shoelace.
“Any effect you can think of,” Hal answered whimsically. “I’m not particular which. As Shakespeare would have said, ‘The Effect’s the thing’!”
“If I didn’t know you as I do, I’d think you were out of your head, Hal. As it is, you may be suffering from some hallucination. In any case, Skeleton Rocks seems to have appealed to you, eh?”
“That’s just it, Unk. Speaking seriously, it isn’t just any crazy idea of mine this time. I want to go there to see just what it is in these lonely, wave-swept lighthouses that can keep Barrowe and his kind, isolated like they are from all mankind, year in and year out. And by that same token, I want to see what it was that forced that poor old Bill Hollins to suicide. There must have been something stronger than himself! Have you stopped to figure that the government treats her lighthouse men pretty fine? After all the years Bill Hollins was in the Service, he must have had enough to feel secure and retire if he’d wanted to. In any case, he didn’t have to stay at Skeleton Rocks if he didn’t want to. What made him prefer suicide in that cold, friendless ocean to a nice, warm berth on land?”
