Berea High School - Prima Luce Yearbook (Berea, NC)

Page 57 text:

With this remark, Mr. Crawford glanced at his wife and smiled. Then wiping his red moustache, he continued : In this legion there s only one house, a shanty which fishermen once used. Mahoney spent the spring of each year in this shanty. He said that he wished to avoid the chills, which are caused by the drying up of the ponds on the mainland.’ At this point my host halted, as if something held him in restraint and then he recommenced : Don t mention what I am going to say now to anyone. A couple of years ago, while his sloop was on the dry dock in Washington undergoing repairs, Mahoney went up on Capt. Bridgeman’s schooner to see about the work. We were all delighted to have with us on the voyage the daughter of Capt. Bridgeman, a brilliant girl of seventeen, who was attending school in Washington. She had spent the week-end with her mother and was returning. I noticed that she. was a bit melancholy, although she tried to conceal it by continually smiling. Evidently she did not want to leave her mother. “ Th . e wind was dull and the little that we had was dead ahead. As the sun was setting the Captain dropped anchor off Bath. We sat up late that night in the cabin enjoying the conversation of the school girl. At one o’clock I crawled to my bunk in the bow. I he next morning I was awakened by a low, serious conversation in the hole. Dressing rapidly I advanced out by the center board. Capt. Bridgeman, pale and excited, was running his hand through his black whiskers while the crew and passengers were standing around him, mum and silent. I soon learned the trouble. The Captain’s daughter was not on board and no trace of her could be found. The Captain confidently imparted to me that he thought. Mahoney was somehow connected with her disappearance. But this uncommunicative, subtle figure explained his ignorance of the girl’s where- abouts and expressed his sympathy without excitement or undue emotion. The girl has not been heard of since. That night as I was dreaming I thought I heard the water slosh against the boat as if something had fallen overboard, but I was not quite sure and said nothing about it.’ “At this point, Mrs. Crawford interjected : T he whereabouts of Mrs. Mahoney always puzzled me. Do you really suppose that she is with her people?” Yes, her husband returned, ‘almost a year ago Mrs. Mahoney went back to visit her people up State. She has not rejoined her husband and it is rumored that she is not with her people. Mahoney never mentions her name unless questioned. Lila, there’s the door bell!’ Two young people arrived and the conversation was broken off. That night I reasoned and pondered on the mystery. “ ‘Who is this Mahoney ? Isn’t he in some way connected with the disap- pearance of these women?’ I said to myself. “I determined upon two steps: first, to find out if Mrs. Mahoney was with her people or not ; and second, to investigate the desolate shanty. As the result of a hurried trip to Raleigh, I discovered without anyone knowing my purpose, that Mrs. Mahoney was supposed to be in the East with her husband. Now to the second project, to investigate the shanty without the presence of the occupant. [ Pagf. 64 ]

Page 56 text:

PRIM A LUCE one little minor clue. A jobber told me that he had seen Miss Webster standing in front of the bank on the day of her disappearance, talking with a fellow named Mahoney. He further stated that he was not well acquainted with this gentleman, that he was a hunter and trapper from across the Sound. “My purpose now was to learn more about Mahoney. From every indica- tion he was not well known in Beaufort. A couple of days later I went across the sound to Swan Quarter. In this little town Mahoney was better known, but nothing could I learn of his inner life. In company with Mr. Sawyer, who was connected with the police department, I spent an evening at the home of Mr. Crawford, a retired merchant. As supper was nearly over I mentioned lightly the name of Mahoney. My host immediately took up the conversation : “ ‘Mahoney is supposed to be one of the wealthiest men on the Sound. He has had a rather peculiar history. About nine years ago he moved down from the central part of the State with his wife and two little chldren. During the first two years of their stay in this community, his wife, who was several years younger than he, taught school, while be peddled fish. Mahoney was intelligent and carried himself well. He was once a student at Wake Forest College. The people considerd him eccentric and secretive, for he would never divulge his personal affairs. But, notwithstanding this, no one had the reputation of being more prompt to pay a debt or more accurate in keeping a promise. He cared little for associates and friends, but always defended his rights with the utmost energy. Some intimated that he was a very undesirable citizen, while others said that he would never bother you so long as you did not molest him. “ ‘During the third year of his residence in this community, Mahoney built a sloop. He did it in a rather spectacular way. He went to the swamp alone to cut the junipers and worked out the timbers with his own hand. The craft was a good piece of workmanship. The man took great pride in his constructive ability. With the aid of the sloop he became a trapper. Soon he was considered the best otter trapper on the Sound and his associates would try to induce him to reveal the tricks by which he caught the cunning animal, but not once would he unfold his methods. Each following spring his stock of furs was large and rumors about his wealth were circulated. Some said that he accumulated this money by following the trap-line. Others intimated that he had inherited it and would not talk about it because he was covetous and wanted the honor himself. One theory had it that he had found a treasure on the Banks — perhaps that of Kidd. Another that he had obtained the money by foul means. In fact, none knew how he made it, but all seemed to know that he had it. “ ‘With prosperity came seclusion. He isolated himself more and more, and about fours year ago he bought a place on the Banks. This purchase stamped him as more mysterious. Along the banks, between Cape Hatteras and Beaufort, there is an abundance of sand that has been washed up by the ocean. This sand makes the region worthless, for the Southwesters of March carry it over every- thing. It you were caught in one of these storms the skin would be pelted off your face. I would rather be “henpecked” than sandpecked any time.’ [ Page 63 J

Page 58 text:

PRIM A LUCE ■ “Returning to Swan Quarter, I got in touch with Mr. Sawyer at the police headquarters, and the morning after my arrival we motored over to the Banks. Scarcely were we across when the wind began to pick up. “ ‘Wind, wind, and more wind !’ These were the words of sea-faring men. “As some ragged racks passed over from the southwest the sand flew, and every now and then a hawk would fly up and be overturned by the tail, like an airplane ‘looping the loop.’ “ I oward night the wind calmed and we made our way to the shanty over the sand, which was uneven, for a few bushes- and scrubs served to mound it up. East of the wooden hut on the southern side of a sand hill we ran upon some scattered bones. I saw a skull. With the aid of a mattock, we unearthed a mass ' of human bones. “‘We have the mystery!’ I said, ‘Mahoney’s a bluebeard. These are the bones of the victims. I here aie the remains of the women who have disappeared.’ We searched the shanty for more evidence. The appearance inside was quite orderly. There was a light covering of sand which had been blown through the roof, io one side was a cot by the side of which was a table covered with books, mostly old and worn apparently read and re-read. In one corner was a dilapidated trunk mostly covered with a bear skin rug. We searched the trunk. In the top drawer we discovered nothing particular; but in the second one there was a woman s fur cloak, and in the bottom one we found the portraits of several girls. It seemed to me that I had seen one of the portraits before. Pulling out the one which the Webster family had given me of their daughter, I compared — “ ‘The same, the same,’ I murmured. “Beneath these pictures was some lyric poetry. “ ‘Evidently an artist,’ 1 reflected, ‘the same story, “poetry and women.” ’ Sawyer, who was acting watch, beckoned to me that someone was coming. I replaced the things as they were and stepped to the door. A man, leading a little girl by the hand,. was approaching from the direction of the sound. I saw’ the man make a motion with his hand toward the root of a small maple that stood nearby, as if pointing out something. We went out to meet him. “ ‘I guess you think that we have run in on you,’ I greeted him, introducing myself as Henry Spencer. We were hoping to find shelter for the night— “‘Not in the least. Will be glad to have you,’ the other replied. He gave his name as Mahoney and introduced the little girl as his daughter wi th a degree of parental fervor. The man was well in middle life, clean shaven, with lines in his forehead. His voice was firm and a bit reluctant and there was no special effort on his part to display or entertain. Glancing in the direction in which the sti angei motioned his hand, I saw a mound of earth with a juniper plank driven in the giound at one end. In front of this plank there were two padded places. “ ‘What’s that ?’ I inquired. “ ‘That’s the grave of my little boy, William, who died last year—’ ’ the man’s voice lowered and a moment later he uttered : Here