Pocket Island | Page 3

but he held his tongue as well, which was very
important. When in some Nova Scotia port the money Wolf gave him
as his share was usually spent in drinking and gambling, which suited
Wolf, who only desired to use him as a medium.
An Indian has no sense of economy, no thought of the morrow. To hunt,
fish and eat to-day and let the future provide for itself is enough. If he
works one day, it is that he may spend the next. Among the aborigines
thrift was an unknown quantity, and the scattered remnants of those
tribes existing to-day are the same. As they were hundreds of years ago,
so are they now. They were satisfied with bark wigwams then; a board
and a mud hovel is enough to-day. They cannot comprehend a white
man's ambition to work that he may dress and live well, and all money
and all thought spent in civilizing the Indian has only resulted in
degrading him. He absorbs all the white man's vices and none of his
virtues. Not only that, but the effort to redeem him has warped and
twisted him into a cunning and revengeful creature; all malice and no
honor. So true is this that the fact has crystalized itself into the
universal belief that the only good Indian is a dead one.
Such a one, though not comprehended by Wolf, was his partner. While
that fox-like Jew was reaping rich profit and deluding himself in
believing he was successfully cheating an Indian, he was only sowing
the seed that soon or late was destined to end in murder.
CHAPTER II.
THE SEA FOX.
While Neal Dow and his associates were conducting an organized
crusade against the sale of liquor in Maine, and that fruitless legislation
known as the Maine Law was being enforced, there entered a small
coast port in that State one day a sloop called the Sea Fox, manned by a
white man, an Indian and a dog.
The white man had sinister black eyes; the Indian was tall and swarthy.
He and the dog remained on board the sloop; the Jew, or, as he called

himself, Captain Wolf, came ashore. He declared himself to be a small
coast trader in search of choice lots of fish, and incidentally having for
sale clothing, tobacco and various small wares. He lounged about the
wharves and buildings devoted to curing fish, talking fish and fishing to
all. He seemed to be in search of information, and appeared ready and
willing to buy small and choice lots of cured fish at a low price; also to
sell the assortment of wares he carried. He invited prospective buyers
to visit his sloop, and exerted himself to interest them. While he
seemed anxious to sell, he made no sales; and though willing to buy he
bought nothing. He was in no hurry. He just ran in to look the market
over and see if there was a chance to buy at a price that would enable
him to make a fair profit. If not, he might come again, or may be he
could do better elsewhere. His mission appeared innocent and natural
enough and he and his small craft were duly accepted for what they
appeared to be.
Had any one, however, examined the dozen or so kits of mackerel
which appeared as part of his cargo, they would have found, not fish,
but a species of bait ofttimes used by fishermen; and could they have
read between the lines of Captain Wolf's innocent inquiries they would
have learned that fishing information was the thing he cared least about.
Though Wolf talked trade, but did no trading; was anxious to buy, and
bought not; willing to sell and sold not; it need not be inferred he
transacted no business. Had any of these coast residents been blessed
with the occult ability to see beyond the apparent facts, and to overhear,
they might have learned of certain hard, if illegal, bargains made
between Wolf and one or more of their number, and they might have
witnessed late at night various mysterious movements of a small boat
passing from shore to the sloop empty, and returning laden with
apparently harmless kits of fish. Had these good people been still more
watchful they would have seen the Sea Fox spread her sails and depart
before dawn. Whence Wolf came no one knew; whither he went, no
one guessed. Like a strange bird of prey, like a fox at night, he stole
into port on occasions wide apart and unexpected, and as mysteriously
went his way.
The coast of Maine was particularly well adapted to aid Captain Wolf

in his peculiar enterprise. The great tide of summer travel had not then
started and its countless bays, coves