The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

in their midst, and, after pulling on his pipe for several minutes while he gazed out to sea, he asked, “Did I ever tell you about the Eastern Belle?” He took another draw on his pipe as he waited for a reaction.
    There were cries of “No. Please tell us. Go on, Captain,” from everyone.
    Shifting his pipe to the other side of his mouth, Captain Clark settled back against the trunk of a tree and began.
    “Back when I was a lad, I was asked by old Mr. Atwood to sail the Eastern Belle down to the Bahamas. She had been built right here on the island years before and was used in the whaling trade all up and down the east coast in the days when people used sperm oil in their lamps. But after kerosene came in, the whalers didn’t go out anymore, or if they did, it was only for the small amount of sperm oil that was needed for special purposes. So the Eastern Belle was just sitting out her time in port. She was a beautiful boat, stoutly built, and on her bow was a figurehead of a young woman dressed in white, with golden hair flowing over her shoulders and her arms crossed in front-of her.
    “Well, one day Mr. Atwood came to the shipyard where the Belle had been put up, and he fell in love with her. He had more money than he knew what to do with. Seems his father had made it mining, so he could indulge himself with what he liked better than anything else on earth—boats. He had her put into shape, got new sails, and had the living quarters made comfortable. It was then I got a chance to take her south.
    “I didn’t have any trouble getting a crew, for the Belle was known as a good ship, and the trip promised to be a pleasant one. So one fine morning in May, we set out, rounding Montauk Point at dawn. I can see her now, with her canvas drawing sweetly in the strong breeze that took us at a fine clip for several days. Then we hit the doldrums, where the equatorial calms had us sitting day after day in the hot sun, without enough breeze to put out a match. Well, sir, tempers began to get a mite edgy, but just when we were all secretly beginning to regret not having an engine in the ship, the winds came up again as suddenly as they had failed, and we were away, heading for one of the little-known Bahama Islands, where we planned to anchor.
    “After a couple of fine days’ sailing, late one afternoon we heard the cry ‘Land ho’ from our lookout and knew that we were not far from our destination. We made for a small cove, not much bigger than this one here, that we knew was deep enough to enter. As we got up close enough to make out the trees on shore, the lookout called again. He’d seen people on the beach, running up and down and waving their hands. Now, we didn’t think this particular island was inhabited, and there wasn’t a sign of another boat around, so we were all mighty curious to know who these folks were.
    “It didn’t take long to launch a dory and row in. I went and took a couple of men to man the oars, and it was lucky we arrived just when we did. Those people we’d seen through the telescope were from a small fishing boat that had shipped out from Florida. The boat had caught fire and had been completely destroyed. Six of the crew had managed to swim to the island, where they’d been living on fish and fruit for almost two weeks. Ours was the first ship they’d seen, and as we came ashore, their joy was overwhelming, tears mingling with laughter. After we had taken them on board the Eastern Belle, we gave them clean clothes and plenty to eat. The next day we took all of them back to their home port. You should have seen how happy they were!
    “Now, off with you, and let me have my nap.” The old man chuckled as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, clasped his hands over his stomach, and closed his eyes.
    “That means we won’t get any more yarns,” Cap said as they prepared to leave, “but maybe tonight he’ll tell us another one.”
    “See you later, then,” Peter said, “and don’t forget to bring your, accordion. It wouldn’t be a clambake without that.”
    Toward the end of the afternoon, after a swim and a couple of hours on the beach, they gathered at Pirate’s Cove again. There was a goodly crowd already there, and more people were arriving every moment. Captain Clark and some of the other men were getting ready to remove the tarpaulin. Much of the sand had been shoveled off, but great care had to be taken that none of what remained got into the food. The delicious