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The Quest of the Silver Swan, by W. Bert Foster—A Project Gutenberg eBook
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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 68182 ***</div>
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<p class="caption">“WELL, SHIPMATE, OUT GUNNING?”</p>
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<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="titlepage">
<h1>THE QUEST OF THE<br />
SILVER SWAN</h1>
<p><span class="large">A Land and Sea Tale for Boys</span></p>
<p>BY<br />
<span class="large">W. BERT FOSTER</span></p>
<p>Author of “In Alaskan Waters,” “With Washington at<br />
Valley Forge,” “The Lost Galleon,” “The Treasure<br />
of Southlake Farm,” etc.</p>
<p><i>ILLUSTRATED</i></p>
<p>NEW YORK<br />
<span class="large">CHATTERTON-PECK COMPANY</span><br />
PUBLISHERS</p>
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<p class="ph1">GOOD BOOKS FOR BOYS</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>The Young Builders of Swiftdale. By Allen Chapman.<br />
Cloth. Price, 60 cents.</p>
<p>Andy the Acrobat. By Peter T. Harkness. Cloth.<br />
Illustrated. Price, 60 cents.</p>
<p>Canoe Boys and Camp Fires. By William Murray<br />
Graydon. Cloth. Price, $1.00.</p>
<p>From Office Boy to Reporter. By Howard R. Garis.<br />
Cloth. Illustrated. Price, $1.00.</p>
<p>With Axe and Flintlock. By George Waldo Browne.<br />
Cloth. Illustrated. Price, $1.00.</p>
<p>The Crimson Banner. By William D. Moffat. Cloth.<br />
Price, $1.00.</p>
<p>The Quest of the Silver Swan. By W. Bert Foster.<br />
Cloth. Price, 75 cents.</p>
<p> </p>
<p class="center">Copyright, by Frank A. Munsey Co., 1894 and 1895, as a serial.</p>
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<p class="center">Copyright, 1907, by Chatterton-Peck Company.</p>
<hr class="tiny" />
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Quest of the Silver Swan.</span></p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2>
</div>
<table>
<tr><td class="tdrt"><small>CHAPTER</small></td><td class="tdrb" colspan="2"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">I.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">The Raft at Sea</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_9"> 9</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">II.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Introducing Brandon Tarr and Uncle Arad</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_21"> 21</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">III.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">An Account of the Wreck of The Silver Swan</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_34"> 34</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">IV.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Brandon Comes to a Decision</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_40"> 40</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">V.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Uncle Arad Has Recourse to Legal Force</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_45"> 45</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">VI.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Relating a Meeting Between Uncle Arad and the Sailor</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_51"> 51</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">VII.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Introducing “Square” Holt and His Opinions</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_59"> 59</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">VIII.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Something About Leaving the Farm</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_66"> 66</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">IX.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Another Letter From New York</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_72"> 72</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">X.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Brandon’s Arrival at the Metropolis</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_79"> 79</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XI.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">The Firm of Adoniram Pepper</span> & <span class="smcap">Co.</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_85"> 85</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XII.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">In Which Brandon Ventures into Rather Disreputable Society</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_90"> 90</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XIII.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">The Old Sailor with the Wooden Leg</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_98"> 98</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XIV.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">The Old Sailor’s Excitement</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_103"> 103</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XV.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Caleb Receives a Startling Communication</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_110"> 110</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XVI.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Telling How Brandon Bearded the Lion in His Lair</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_116"> 116</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XVII.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">How the Omnipresent Weeks Proves his Right to the Term</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_123"> 123</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XVIII.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Brandon Listens to a Short Family History</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_130"> 130</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XIX.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Telling a Great Deal About Derelicts in General</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_137"> 137</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XX.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">The Contents of Several Interesting Documents</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_144"> 144</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXI.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">In Which Mr. Pepper Makes a Proposition to Caleb and Don</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_151"> 151</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXII.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Into Bad Company</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_156"> 156</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXIII.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Mr. Alfred Weeks at a Certain Conference</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_163"> 163</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXIV.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">How a Nefarious Compact was Formed</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_171"> 171</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXV.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Uncle Arad Makes an Announcement</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_176"> 176</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXVI.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Caleb Wetherbee Obstructs the Course of the Law</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_183"> 183</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXVII.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Wherein Brandon Tarr Conceals Himself</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_188"> 188</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXVIII.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">The Departure of the Whaleback, Number Three</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_197"> 197</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXIX.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">The Stowaway Aboard the Success</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_208"> 208</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXX.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Showing What Miss Milly Does for Brandon</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_217"> 217</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXXI.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Wherein Number Three Approaches the Supposed Vicinity of the Silver Swan</span>     </td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_224"> 224</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXXII.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Relating How the Silver Swan was Heard From</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_229"> 229</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXXIII.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">In Which Comrades in Courage Launch Themselves Upon the Deep</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_234"> 234</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXXIV.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">The Incidents of a Night of Peril</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_240"> 240</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXXV.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Showing how Caleb Appeared on the Scene Just Too Late</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_250"> 250</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXXVI.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">The Castaways on the Brig Success</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_257"> 257</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXXVII.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Left in Doubt</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_264"> 264</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXXVIII.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">How the Enemy Appeared</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_270"> 270</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XXXIX.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">Showing How Mr. Weeks Made his Last Move</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_278"> 278</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdrt">XL.</td><td class="tdhi"> <span class="smcap">In Which the Enemy is Defeated and the Quest of the Silver Swan is Ended</span></td><td class="tdrb"><a href="#Page_286"> 286</a></td></tr>
</table>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span>
<p class="ph2">THE QUEST OF<br />
THE SILVER SWAN</p>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER I<br />
<small>THE RAFT AT SEA</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> sun, whose upper edge had just appeared
above the horizon, cast its first red beams aslant a
deserted wilderness of heaving billows.</p>
<p>Here and there a flying fish, spurning its usual
element, cut the air like a swift ray of light, falling
back into the sea again after its short flight with
a splash that sent myriad drops flashing in the sunlight.</p>
<p>There were not a few triangular objects, dark in
color, and looking like tiny sails, darting along the
surface of the sea, first in this direction and then in
that. There was a peculiar sinister motion to these
fleshy sails, an appearance to make the beholder shudder
involuntarily; for these objects were the dorsal
fins of sharks, and there is nothing more bloodthirsty
and cruel than these “tigers of the sea.”</p>
<p>It was quite noticeable that these monsters had
gathered about an object which, in comparison with
the vast expanse of sea and sky, was but a speck.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>
It labored heavily upon the surface of the sea, and
seemed to possess a great attraction for the sharks.</p>
<p>It was really a heavily built raft, more than twenty
feet in length, and with a short, stumpy mast lashed
upright amidships. Near each end was a long sea
chest, both placed across the raft, and there were
also a broken water butt and several empty cracker
boxes lashed firmly (as were the chests) to the
strongly built platform.</p>
<p>At one end of this ungainly craft, behind one of
the chests, lay two men; at the further side of the
opposite chest reclined another.</p>
<p>One might have thought the sea chests to be fortifications,
for all three men were heavily armed, and
each was extremely careful not to expose his person
to the party behind the opposite chest.</p>
<p>Between the two boxes lay the figure of a fourth
man; but he was flat upon his face with his arms
spread out in a most unnatural attitude. He was evidently
dead.</p>
<p>Of the two men who were at the forward end of
the raft (or what was the forward end for the time
being, the ocean currents having carried the craft
in various directions during the several past days),
of these two, I say, one was a person of imposing, if
not handsome, presence, with curling brown hair
streaked with gray, finely chiseled features, and skin
bronzed by wind and weather; but now the features
were most painfully emaciated, and a blood stained
bandage was wrapped about his brow.</p>
<p>His companion was a hearty looking old sea dog,
well past the half century mark, but who had evidently<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>
stood the privations they had undergone far
better than the first named.</p>
<p>He was burned even darker than the other, was
of massive figure and leonine head, and possessed a
hand like a ham. One leg was bent up beneath him,
but the other was stretched out stiffly, and it took only
a casual glance to see that the old seaman had a
wooden leg.</p>
<p>Every few moments the latter individual raised his
head carefully and peered over the chest, thus keeping
a sharp watch on the movements of the single
occupant of the space behind the other fortification.</p>
<p>This person was a broad shouldered, deep chested
man, seemingly quite as powerful as the wooden
legged sailor. Privation and hardship had not improved
his appearance, either, for his raven black
beard and hair were matted and unkempt, and his
bronzed face had that peculiar, pinched expression
with which starvation marks its victims; and this
look did not make his naturally villainous features less
brutal.</p>
<p>In truth, all three of these unfortunates were starving
to death; the fourth man, who lay so still upon
the rough boards between the two chests, was the
first victim of the hardships they had suffered for
the last ten days.</p>
<p>These four men had been members of the ship’s
company of the good brig Silver Swan, bound to
Boston from Cape Town and Rio Janeiro. After
leaving the latter port three weeks before, several
severe storms had arisen and the brig was beaten terrifically
by the elements for days and days.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>Finally, after having every stick wrenched from
her and even the jury mast the crew had rigged,
stripped bare, the brig, now being totally unmanageable,
was blown upon a narrow and barren reef several
leagues to the south and west of Cuba.</p>
<p>The crew, who had ere this most faithfully obeyed
the captain and mate, Caleb Wetherbee, now believing
the vessel about to go to pieces, madly rushed to
the boats, and lowering them into the heavy sea, lost
their lives in their attempt to leave the brig.</p>
<p>Captain Tarr and mate Wetherbee were able to
save only two of the unfortunates—Paulo Montez, a
Brazilian, and Jim Leroyd, the latter the least worthy
of all the crew.</p>
<p>These four had built the rude raft upon which they
had now floated so long, and not daring to remain
with the brig during another storm that seemed imminent,
they set sail in the lumbering craft and left
the well built and still seaworthy brig hard and fast
upon the reef.</p>
<p>This storm, which had frightened them from the
Swan, was only severe enough to strip their rude mast
of its sail and rigging and drive them seemingly far
out of the course of other vessels, for not a sail had
they sighted since setting out on the raft.</p>
<p>Slowly their provisions had disappeared, while the
now calmed sea carried them hither and thither as it
listed; and at last the captain and mate had decided to
put all hands upon still shorter allowance.</p>
<p>At this, Leroyd, always an ugly and brutal fellow
even aboard ship, had rebelled, and had tried to stir up
his companion, Paulo, to mutiny against the two officers;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>
but the Brazilian was already too far gone to
join in any such scheme (in fact, he died the next
forenoon), and Caleb Wetherbee had driven Leroyd
to his present position behind the further chest, at
the point of his pistol.</p>
<p>Captain Tarr, who had received a heavy blow on
the head from a falling block at the time of the brig’s
wreck, was far less able to stand the hardship than
either of his living companions, and, now that ten full
days had expired since leaving the Silver Swan, he
felt himself failing fast.</p>
<p>Alone, he would have been unable to cope with
Leroyd; but Caleb Wetherbee stood by him like a
faithful dog and kept the villainous sailor in check.
As Leroyd had demanded his share of the water and
scanty store of provisions, the mate had, with careful
exactness, given him his third and then made
hint retire behind his chest again; for he could not
trust the fellow an instant.</p>
<p>“The scoundrel would put two inches o’ steel between
both our ribs for the sake o’ gettin’ the whole
o’ this grub,” declared Caleb, keeping a firm grip upon
his pistol.</p>
<p>“He’d only shorten my time a little, Cale,” gasped
Captain Tarr, a paroxysm of pain weakening him
terribly for the moment. “I can’t stand many such
times as <i>that</i>,” he added, when the agony had passed.</p>
<p>“Brace up, cap’n,” said the mate cheerfully.
“You’ll pull through yet.”</p>
<p>“Don’t deceive yourself, or try to deceive me,
Caleb,” responded Captain Tarr gloomily. “I know
my end is nigh, though I’m not an old man yet—younger<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>
than you, old trusty, by ten years. And
my life’s been a failure, too,” he continued, more to
himself than to his companion.</p>
<p>“Tut! tut! don’t talk like that ’ere. Ye’ll have ter
pull through for the sake o’ that boy o’ yourn, you know.”</p>
<p>“I shall never see him again,” declared the injured
man, with confidence. “And how can I die
in peace when I know that I shall leave my son penniless?”</p>
<p>“Penniless!” exclaimed Wetherbee. “Didn’t you
own the brig, an’ ain’t you been makin’ v’y’ges in her
for the past ten year?”</p>
<p>“I <i>did</i> own the Silver Swan, and I <i>have</i> made paying
voyages with her,” replied the captain weakly;
“but, shame on me to have to say it, all my earnings
have been swallowed up by a speculation which turned
out to be utterly worthless. A sailor, Caleb, should
stick by the sea, and keep his money in shipping;
I went into a mine in Nevada and lost every cent I had
saved.”</p>
<p>“But there was the Swan,” said the dumfounded
mate; “there’ll be the int’rest money on her—and a
good bit it should be, too.”</p>
<p>“Aye, <i>should</i> be,” muttered Captain Tarr bitterly;
“but the brig is on that reef and there’s not a cent of
insurance on her.”</p>
<p>“What! no insurance?” gasped Wetherbee.</p>
<p>“No. When I left port last time my policy had
run out, and I hadn’t a cent to pay for having it renewed.
So, if the old brig’s bones whiten on that
reef, poor Brandon will not get a cent.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>“<i>If</i> they do,” exclaimed the mate in wonder.</p>
<p>“Yes, <i>if</i> they do,” responded Captain Tarr, rising
on his elbow and speaking lower, so that there could
be no possibility of the man at the other end of the
raft hearing his words; “for it’s my firm conviction,
Caleb, that we’d done better to stick by the old Swan.
This last storm drove hard from the west’ard. Suppose
she’d slipped off again into deep water? She
didn’t leak enough to keep her sweet, in spite of the
terrific pounding she got from waves and rocks, and
she might float for weeks—aye, for months—and
you know she’d have plenty of company drifting up
and down the Atlantic coast.”</p>
<p>“But that ain’t probable, cap’n, though I’ll grant
ye that we might have done better by stickin’ by her
a while longer.”</p>
<p>“Probable or not, Caleb, I <i>feel</i> that it is true. You
know, they say a dying man can see some things
plainer than other folks.”</p>
<p>Caleb was silenced by this, for he could not honestly
aver that he did not believe his old commander
to be near his end.</p>
<p>“And we had a valuable cargo, too, you know—very
valuable,” murmured Captain Tarr. “I put
every cent I received from the sale of the goods we
took to Cape Town into this cargo, and would have
cleared a handsome profit—enough to have kept
both Brandon and me in good circumstances for a
year. And then, there is something else.”</p>
<p>“Well, what is it?” Caleb asked, after taking a
squint over the top of their breastwork to make sure
that Leroyd had not ventured out.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>“If I’d got home with the Silver Swan, Caleb, I
should have been rich for life, and <i>you</i>, old trusty,
should have had the brig just as she stood, for the
cost of makin’ out the papers.”</p>
<p>“What?” exclaimed Caleb.</p>
<p>He looked at his commander for several moments,
and then shook his head slowly. He believed that
the privation they had suffered had at length affected
even Captain Horace Tarr’s brain.</p>
<p>“I’m not crazy, Caleb,” said the captain faintly.
“I tell you I should have been immensely wealthy.
Brandon should have never wanted for anything as
long as he lived, nor should I; and I had already decided
to give the brig to you.”</p>
<p>“What—what d’ye mean if ye <i>ain’t</i> crazy?” cried
Caleb, in bewilderment.</p>
<p>“Do you remember the man who came aboard the
brig at Cape Town, just before we sailed?” asked
Captain Tarr, in a whisper, evidently saving his
strength as much as possible for his story. “He
was a friend of my brother Anson.”</p>
<p>“Anson!” interjected Caleb. “Why, I supposed
<i>he</i> was dead.”</p>
<p>“He is now,” replied the captain; “but instead of
dying several years ago, as we supposed, he had been
living in the interior of Cape Colony, and just before
he actually did die he gave a package (papers, this
man supposed them to be) to an acquaintance, to be
delivered to me. I happened to touch at Cape Town
before the friend of my brother had tried to communicate
with me by mail, and he brought the package
aboard the brig himself.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>“He did not know what he was carrying—he
never would have dared do it had he known—for
with a letter from Anson was a package, done up in
oil silk, of—diamonds of the purest water!”</p>
<p>“Diamonds!” repeated Caleb.</p>
<p>“Yes, diamonds—thousands of dollars’ worth—enough
to make one man, at least, fabulously rich!”
The captain slowly rolled his head from side to side.
“After all these years the luck of the Tarrs had
changed, Caleb. Fortune has ever played us false,
and even now, just when wealth was in our grasp,
it was snatched from us again.</p>
<p>“After wandering up and down the earth for forty
years, Anson finally ‘struck it rich,’ and am I, who
was to profit by his good fortune, and the son whom I
love more than I do anything else on earth, to lose
this treasure after all?”</p>
<p>He fell back upon the raft, and the exertion set
the wound in his head to bleeding again. A dark
stream appeared beneath the bandage and trickled
down his forehead, while he lay, gasping for breath,
upon the bit of sailcloth which served him for a bed.</p>
<p>“What did you do with the diamonds?” the mate
asked, when the dying man had again become calm.</p>
<p>“I—I have written a letter to Brandon, telling
him all about it,” gasped the captain. “That is what
I wrote the second day we were on the raft. I dared
not take them with me from the brig, and they are
hidden in the cabin. I know now that we made a
grave mistake in leaving the Silver Swan at all, for
she may hold together for months.</p>
<p>“Take—take the papers from my pocket, Cale,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>
he added, feebly unbuttoning his coat, “and keep
them. If you are saved I charge you to give them
to Brandon with your own hands, and I can trust you
to assist him in every possible way to recover his
fortune, should such a thing be possible.”</p>
<p>The mate bent over the unfortunate owner of the
Silver Swan, and with trembling hands removed several
thick documents from his pocket and thrust them
into the breast of his flannel shirt.</p>
<p>As he did so and turned again, he saw the scowling
visage of Jim Leroyd peering at them above his
chest. Quick as a flash he seized his pistol and aimed
it at the sailor; but Leroyd dodged out of view at
once. Without doubt, however, he had seen the papers
passed from the captain to mate Wetherbee.</p>
<p>“Take good care of them, Cale,” whispered Captain
Tarr. “And let nobody else see them. I believe
that Leroyd suspected something back there at
Cape Town, for he came into the cabin on an errand
just as that friend of poor Anson gave the package
into my hands, and I caught him snooping about the
companionway several times afterward. It was he
I feared most when we left the brig, and therefore
dared not take the diamonds with me.”</p>
<p>“I’ll shoot him yet,” muttered the old seaman
fiercely, with his weather eye cocked over the top of
the chest. “I hated the sight o’ that fellow when
he first boarded the brig at New York. His face is
enough to bring bad luck to any ship.”</p>
<p>But the captain was not listening to him. He had
floated away into a restless slumber, from which he
only awoke once to whisper, “Remember, Cale!” and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>
then passed into a dreamless sleep from which there
could be no awakening in this world.</p>
<p>Caleb Wetherbee closed the captain’s eyes tenderly,
wrapped him in the bit of sailcloth which had served
as his bed, and fastened his lifeless body so that no
unexpected roll of the raft would precipitate it into
the water. Then he took the scant share of food left
of the captain’s hoard, and religiously divided it into
two equal portions.</p>
<p>“Jim!” he said, when this was done, allowing himself
but a moment to gloat over the pitifully meager
supply which he laid on the chest lid.</p>
<p>“Aye, aye, sir!” responded the sailor gruffly, cautiously
raising his head from behind his fortification.</p>
<p>“Captain Tarr is dead, Jim, and I have divided <i>his</i>
share o’ the grub. Put down your weapons and come
forward to the chest and take your part. Remember,
no slippery business or I’ll bore a hole in ye! Step
out now.”</p>
<p>Suddenly the sailor arose, his ungainly, dwarfish
proportions being more manifest now that he was
on his feet, and approached his officer, stepping over
the body of Paulo without a glance at it.</p>
<p>His fierce eyes lighted eagerly as he saw the little
supply of food (he had already consumed all his own),
and he seized it at once. While he did so he looked
at the wooden legged sailor with a crafty smile.</p>
<p>“Wot was it the old man give ye, Caleb?” he
asked familiarly.</p>
<p>The mate scowled fiercely at him, and did not reply.</p>
<p>“Oh, ye needn’t act so onery,” went on Leroyd.
“<i>I</i> knowed there was somethin’—money I bet—that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>
was given to the old man at the Cape. He’s
acted like a new man ever since, and if there’s anything
in it, I’m goin’ ter hev my share, jest like this
share o’ the grub, now I tell ye!”</p>
<p>“You take that food and git back to your place!”
roared Caleb, pointing the huge “bull dog,” which
had a bore like a rifle, at the fellow’s head. “An’ let
me tell you that I shall be on the watch, I shall, an’
it’ll be a long say afore you catch Caleb Wetherbee
asleep. Ef I ain’t saved, <i>you</i> won’t be, let me tell you,
for ef I feel myself a-goin’ to Davy Jones, <i>you’ll go
along with me</i>!”</p>
<p>Leroyd sneaked back to his place again, and
crouched behind the chest. In that position he could
not see the movements of Caleb, who, after a few moments’
thought, deposited the packet of papers where
he believed no one would think of looking for them.</p>
<p>“There!” he muttered grimly. “If I <i>do</i> foller
Cap’n Tarr, I reckon these papers’ll never do that
scoundrel any good, an’ he can throw this old hulk to
the sharks and welcome. If the cap’n’s boy don’t
profit by ’em, <i>nobody</i> shall.”</p>
<p>Then he folded his arms, the pistol still in his
grasp, and continued his task of watching for the rescuing
sail, which it seemed would never come.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II<br />
<small>INTRODUCING BRANDON TARR AND UNCLE ARAD</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Leading</span> from the village of Rockland, Rhode
Island, a wide, dusty country road, deeply rutted here
and there, winds up to the summit of a long ridge, the
highest land in that portion of the State, which past
generations have named Chopmist.</p>
<p>It is a drizzly, chilly spring day, the showers pattering
down in true April style, the sun promising to
show his face every few minutes, and then, when you
are expecting his warming rays, down falls another
shower and Sol hides his face in despair.</p>
<p>Near the highest part of the ridge, on the easterly
side of the road, stood an old, gambrel roofed, weather
beaten house, its end facing the road and its front door
at the side as though it, like its present owner, had
turned sourly away from the world, refusing even
to look out upon the highway which passed socially
near it.</p>
<p>The rain dripped steadily into the moss covered
water butt at the corner of the house, and a bedraggled
chicken, who seemed not to possess enough
energy to get under better cover, sat humped up in a
most dismal manner under the lilac bush at the other
corner of the house.</p>
<p>It was well nigh as dismal inside the house as out.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>
A miserable little fire of green wood sputtered and
hissed in an even more miserable stove, and the faded
yellow cambric curtain at the little window, did its
best (with the aid of the dirt, which was considerable)
to keep the light from penetrating the panes.</p>
<p>At one end of the kitchen was a square deal table
littered with soiled dishes left from the morning
meal; the two or three chairs about the room were in
a state of great dilapidation; and even the old clock
on the mantel shelf ticked with a sort of rasping
groan, as though every stroke put its rheumatic old
wheels and springs in agony.</p>
<p>Before the stove, in a sadly abused, wooden bottomed
armchair, and with his back humped up a good
deal like the chicken under the lilac bush outside, sat
an old man with weazened, wrinkled face, eyes like
a hawk’s, a beak-like nose, and a sparse settlement of
gray hairs on his crown and chin.</p>
<p>He leaned forward in his seat, and both claw-like
hands clutching the arms of the chair, seemed to be
all that kept him from falling upon the stove.</p>
<p>At the window, just where the light fell best upon
the book in his hand, sat a youth of sixteen years—a
well made, robust boy, whose brown hair curled about
his broad forehead, and whose face was not without
marks of real beauty.</p>
<p>Just now his brows were knit in a slight frown,
and there was a flash of anger in his clear eyes.</p>
<p>“I dunno what’s comin’ of ev’rything,” the old
man was saying, in a querulous tone. “Here ’tis the
first o’ April, an’ ’tain’t been weather fit ter plow a
furrer, or plant a seed, yit.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>“Well, I don’t see as it’s <i>my</i> fault, Uncle Arad,”
responded the boy by the window. “<i>I</i> don’t make the
weather.”</p>
<p>“I dunno whether ye do or not,” the old man declared,
after staring across at him for an instant.
“I begin ter believe yer a regular Jonah—jest as
yer Uncle Anson was, an’ yer pa, too.”</p>
<p>The boy turned away and looked out of the window
at this mention of his parent, and a close observer
might have seen his broad young shoulders
tremble with sudden emotion as he strove to check
the sobs which all but choked him.</p>
<p>Whether the old man was a close enough observer
to see this or not, he nevertheless kept on in the same
strain.</p>
<p>“One thing there is erbout it,” he remarked; “Anson
knew <i>he</i> was born ter ill luck, an’ he cleared out
an’ never dragged nobody else down ter poverty
with him. But your pa had ter marry—an’ see
what come of it!”</p>
<p>“I don’t know as it affected <i>you</i> any,” rejoined the
boy, bitterly.</p>
<p>“Yes, ’t’as, too! Ain’t I got you on my hands,
a-eatin’ of your head off, when there ain’t a sign of
a chance o’ gittin’ any work aout o’ ye?”</p>
<p>“I reckon I’ve paid for my keep for more’n <i>one</i>
year,” the other declared vehemently; “and up to the
last time father went away he always paid you for my
board—he told me so himself.”</p>
<p>“He did, did he?” exclaimed Uncle Arad, in anger.
“Well, he——”</p>
<p>“Don’t you say my father lied!” cried the boy, his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>
eyes flashing and his fists clenched threateningly. “If
you do, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”</p>
<p>“Well—I ain’t said so, hev I?” whined Uncle
Arad, fairly routed by this vehemence. “Ain’t you
a pretty boy to threaten an old man like me, Brandon
Tarr?”</p>
<p>Brandon relapsed into sullen silence, and the old
man went on:</p>
<p>“Mebbe Horace <i>thought</i> he paid your board, but
the little money he ever give me never more’n ha’f
covered the expense ye’ve been ter me, Don.”</p>
<p>His hearer sniffed contemptuously at this. He
knew well enough that he had done a man’s work
about the Tarr place in summer, and all the chores
during winter before and after school hours, for the
better part of three years, and had amply repaid any
outlay the old man had made.</p>
<p>Old Arad Tarr was reckoned as a miser by his
townsmen, and they were very nearly correct. By
inheritance the farm never belonged to him, for he
was the youngest son of old Abram Tarr, and had
been started in business by his father when he was
a young man, while his brother Ezra had the old
homestead, as the eldest son should.</p>
<p>But reverses came to Ezra, of which the younger
brother, being successful in money matters, took advantage,
and when Ezra died at last (worked to death,
the neighbors said) the property came into Arad’s
hands. There was little enough left for the widow,
who soon followed her husband to the grave, and
for the two boys, Anson and Horace.</p>
<p>Anson was of a roving, restless disposition, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>
he soon became disgusted with the grinding methods
of old Arad, who sought to get double work out of
his two nephews. So he left the farm, and, allured
by visions of sudden wealth which led him all over
the world, he followed from one scheme to another,
never returning to the old place again, though his
brother, Horace, heard from him occasionally.</p>
<p>The younger lad was not long in following his
brother’s footsteps (in leaving home, at least), and
went to sea, where he rose rapidly from the ranks
of the common sailor to the post of commander.</p>
<p>He married a girl whom he had known in his boyhood,
and Brandon, the boy who was now left to
the tender mercies of the great uncle, was their only
child.</p>
<p>By patient frugality Captain Tarr had amassed
sufficient money to purchase a brig called the Silver
Swan, and made several exceptionally fortunate voyages
to South and West African ports, and to
Oceanica.</p>
<p>But after his wife’s death (she was always a delicate
woman) his only wish seemed to be to gain a
fortune that he might retire from the sea and live
with his son, in whom his whole heart was now bound.
There was a trace of the same visionary spirit in
Horace Tarr’s nature that had been the <i>motif</i> of his
brother Anson’s life, and hoping to gain great wealth
by a sudden turning of the wheel of fortune, he speculated
with his savings.</p>
<p>Like many other men, he trusted too much in appearances
and was wofully deceived, and every penny<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>
of his earnings for a number of voyages in the brig
was swept away.</p>
<p>His last voyage had been to Cape Town, and on
the return passage the good Silver Swan had struck
on a rock somewhere off Cuba, and was a total loss,
for neither the vessel itself, nor the valuable cargo,
was insured for a penny’s worth.</p>
<p>This had occurred nearly two months before, and
the first news Brandon and Uncle Arad had received
of the disaster was through the newspaper reports.
Two surviving members of the crew were picked up
by a New York bound steamship, from a raft which
had been afloat nearly two weeks, and but one of the
men was in a condition to give an intelligible account
of the wreck.</p>
<p>From his story there could be but little doubt of
the total destruction of the Silver Swan and the loss
of every creature on board, excepting himself and
the mate, Caleb Wetherbee, who was so exhausted
that he had been taken at once to the marine hospital.
Captain Tarr had died on the raft, from hunger
and a wound in the head received during the
wrecking of his vessel.</p>
<p>It was little wonder, then, with these painful facts
so fresh in his mind, that young Brandon Tarr found
it so hard to stifle his emotion while his great uncle
had been speaking. In fact, when presently the crabbed
old man opened his lips to speak again, he arose
hastily, threw down his book, and seized his hat and
coat.</p>
<p>“I’m going out to see if I can pick off that flock
of crows I saw around this morning,” he said hastily.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>
“If you <i>do</i> get a chance to plant anything this spring,
they’ll pull it up as fast as you cover the seed.”</p>
<p>“We kin put up scarecrows,” said Arad, with a
scowl, his dissertation on the “shiftlessness” of Don’s
father thus rudely broken off. “<i>I</i> can’t afford you
powder an’ shot ter throw away at them birds.”</p>
<p>“Nobody asked you to pay for it,” returned the
boy gruffly, and buttoning the old coat about him, and
seizing his rifle from the hooks above the door, he
went out into the damp outside world, which, despite
its unpleasantness, was more bearable than the atmosphere
of the farm house kitchen.</p>
<p>The farm which had come into Arad Tarr’s possession
in what he termed a “business way,” contained
quite one hundred acres of cultivated fields, rocky
pastures, and forest land.</p>
<p>It was a productive farm and turned its owner a
pretty penny every year, but judging from the appearance
of the interior of the house and the dilapidated
condition of the barn and other outbuildings,
one would not have believed it.</p>
<p>There was sufficient work on the farm every year
to keep six hired hands beside Brandon and the old
man, himself, “on the jump” every minute during
the spring, summer, and fall.</p>
<p>In the winter they two alone managed to do the
chores, and old Arad even discharged the woman who
cooked for the men during the working season.</p>
<p>As soon as the season opened, however, and the old
man was obliged to hire help, the woman (who was a
widow and lived during the winter with a married
sister in the neighborhood) was established again<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>
in the Tarr house, and until the next winter they lived
in a manner that Brandon termed “like Christians,”
for she was a good cook and a neat housekeeper; but
left to their own devices during the cold weather, he
and his great uncle made sorry work of it.</p>
<p>“The frost is pretty much out of the ground now,”
Brandon muttered as he crossed the littered barnyard,
“and this drizzle will mellow up the earth in
great shape. As soon as it stops, Uncle Arad will
dig right in and work to make up for lost time, I
s’pose.”</p>
<p>He climbed the rail fence and jumped down into the
sodden field beyond, the tattered old army coat (left
by some hired hand and used by him in wet weather)
flapping dismally about his boots.</p>
<p>“I wonder what’ll become of me now,” he continued,
still addressing himself, as he plodded across
the field, sinking ankle deep in the wet soil. “Now
that father’s gone there’s nothing left for me to do
but to shift for myself and earn my own living. Poor
father wanted me to get an education first before I
went into anything, but there’ll be no more chance
for that here. I can see plainly that Uncle Arad
means to shut down on school altogether now.</p>
<p>“I’ll never get ahead any as long as I stay here
and slave for him,” he pursued. “He’ll be more exacting
than ever, now that father is gone—he didn’t
dare treat me <i>too</i> meanly before. He’ll make it up
now, I reckon, if I stay, and I just <i>won’t</i>!”</p>
<p>He had been steadily approaching the woods and
at this juncture there was a rush of wings and a sudden
“caw! caw!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>Crows are generally considered to be endowed with
a faculty for knowing when a gun is brought within
range, but this particular band must have been asleep,
for Brandon was quite within shooting distance as the
great birds labored heavily across the lots.</p>
<p>The rifle, the lock of which he had kept dry beneath
his armpit, was at his shoulder in a twinkling,
there was a sharp report, and one of the birds fell
heavily to the ground, while its frightened companions
wheeled with loud outcry and were quickly out of
view behind the woods.</p>
<p>Brandon walked on and picked up the fallen bird.</p>
<p>“Shot his head pretty nearly off,” he muttered.
“I believe I’ll go West. Knowing how to shoot
might come in handy there,” and he laughed grimly.</p>
<p>Then, with the bird in his hand, he continued his
previous course, and penetrated beneath the dripping
branches of the trees.</p>
<p>Pushing his way through the brush for a rod or two
he reached a plainly defined path which, cutting obliquely
across the wood lot, connected the road on
which the Tarr house stood with the “pike” which
led to the city, fourteen miles away.</p>
<p>Entering this path, he strolled leisurely on, his
mind intent upon the situation in which his father’s
death had placed him.</p>
<p>“I haven’t a dollar, or not much more than that
sum,” he thought, “nor a friend, either. I can’t expect
anything but the toughest sort of a pull, wherever
I go or whatever I take up; but it can’t be worse than
’twould be here, working for Uncle Arad.”</p>
<p>After traversing the path for some distance, Don<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>
reached a spot where a rock cropped up beside the
way, and he rested himself on this, still studying on the
problem which had been so fully occupying his mind
for several weeks past.</p>
<p>As he sat there, idly pulling handfuls of glossy
black feathers from the dead crow, the noise of a footstep
on the path in his rear caused him to spring up
and look in that direction.</p>
<p>A man was coming down the path—a sinister
faced, heavily bearded man, who slouched along so
awkwardly that Brandon at first thought him lame.
But the boy had seen a few sailors, besides his father,
in his life, and quickly perceived that the stranger’s
gait was caused simply by a long experience of treading
the deck of a vessel at sea.</p>
<p>He was a solidly built man, not below the medium
height, yet his head was set so low between his shoulders,
and thrust forward in such a way that it gave
him a dwarfed appearance. His hands were rammed
deeply into his pockets, an old felt hat was drawn
down over his eyes, and his aspect was generally seedy
and not altogether trustworthy.</p>
<p>He started suddenly upon seeing the boy, and gazed
at him intently as he approached.</p>
<p>“Well, shipmate, out gunning?” he demanded, in
a tone which was intended to be pleasant.</p>
<p>“A little,” responded Brandon, kicking the body
of the dead crow into the bushes. “We’re always
gunning for those fellows up this way.”</p>
<p>“Crows, eh?” said the man, stopping beside the
boy, who had rested himself on the rock again.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>
“They’re great chaps for pullin’ corn—faster’n you
farmers can plant it, eh?”</p>
<p>Brandon nodded curtly, and wondered why the
tramp (as he supposed him) did not go along.</p>
<p>“Look here, mate,” went on the man, after a moment,
“I’m lookin’ for somebody as lives about here,
by the name of Tarr——”</p>
<p>“Why, you’re on the Tarr place now,” replied
Brandon, with sudden interest. “That’s <i>my</i> name,
too.”</p>
<p>“No, it isn’t now!” exclaimed the stranger, in surprise.</p>
<p>A quick flash of eagerness came over his face as he
spoke.</p>
<p>“You’re not Brandon Tarr?” he added.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” replied Don, in surprise.</p>
<p>“Not Captain Horace Tarr’s son! God bless ye,
my boy. Give us your hand!”</p>
<p>The man seized the hand held out to him half
doubtfully, and shook it warmly, at the same time
seating himself beside the boy.</p>
<p>“You knew my father?” asked Brandon, not very
favorably impressed by the man’s appearance, yet
knowing no real reason why he should not be friendly.</p>
<p>“Knew him! Why, my boy, I was his best
friend!” declared the sailor. “Didn’t you ever hear
him speak of Cale Wetherbee?”</p>
<p>“Caleb Wetherbee!” cried Don, with some pleasure.</p>
<p>He had never seen his father’s mate, but he had
heard the captain speak of him many times. This
man did not quite come up to his expectation of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>
what the mate of the Silver Swan should have been,
but he knew that his father had trusted Caleb Wetherbee,
and that appearances are sometimes deceitful.</p>
<p>“Indeed I <i>have</i> heard him speak of you many
times,” and the boy’s voice trembled slightly as he
offered his hand a second time far more warmly.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” repeated the sailor, blowing his nose
with ostentation, “I’m an old friend o’ your father’s.
He—he died in my arms.”</p>
<p>Brandon wiped his own eyes hastily. He had
loved his father with all the strength of his nature,
and his heart was too sore yet to be rudely touched.</p>
<p>“Why, jest before he—he died, he give me them
papers to send to ye, ye know.”</p>
<p>As he said this the man flashed a quick, keen look
at Brandon, but it was lost upon him.</p>
<p>“What papers?” he asked with some interest.</p>
<p>“What papers?” repeated the sailor, springing
up. “D’ye mean ter say ye never got a package o’
papers from me a—a month ergo, I reckon ’twas?”</p>
<p>“I haven’t received anything through the mail since
the news came of the loss of the brig,” declared Don,
rising also.</p>
<p>“Then that mis’rable swab of an ’orspital fellow
never sent ’em!” declared the man, with apparent
anger. “Ye see, lad, I was laid up quite a spell in
the ’orspital—our sufferings on that raft was jest
orful—an’ I couldn’t help myself. But w’en your
father died he left some papers with me ter be sent
ter you, an’ I got the ’orspital nurse to send ’em. An’
you must hev got ’em—eh?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>“Not a thing,” replied Brandon convincingly.
“Were they of any value?”</p>
<p>“Valible? I should say they was!” cried the sailor.
“Werry valible, indeed. Why, boy, they’d er made
our—I sh’d say <i>your</i>—fortune, an’ no mistake!”</p>
<p>Without doubt his father’s old friend was strangely
moved by the intelligence he had received, and Don
could not but be interested in the matter.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III<br />
<small>AN ACCOUNT OF THE WRECK OF THE SILVER SWAN</small></h2>
</div>
<p>“<span class="smcap">To</span> what did these papers bear reference?” Brandon
asked. “Father met with heavy misfortunes in
his investments last year, and every penny, excepting
the Swan itself, was lost. How could these papers
have benefited me?”</p>
<p>“Well, that I don’t rightly know,” replied the
sailor slowly.</p>
<p>He looked at the boy for several seconds with knitted
brows, evidently deep in thought. Brandon could
not help thinking what a rough looking specimen he
was, but remembering his father’s good opinion of
Caleb Wetherbee, he banished the impression as ungenerous.</p>
<p>“I b’lieve I’ll tell ye it jest as it happened,” said
the man at length. “Sit down here again, boy, an’
I’ll spin my yarn.”</p>
<p>He drew forth a short, black pipe, and was soon
puffing away upon it, while comfortably seated beside
Don upon the rock.</p>
<p>“’Twere the werry night we sailed from the Cape,”
he began, “that I was—er—in the cabin of the Silver
Swan, lookin’ at a new chart the cap’n had got,
when down comes a decently dressed chap—a landlubber,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>
ev’ry inch o’ him—an’ asks if this were
Cap’n Horace Tarr.</p>
<p>“‘It is,’ says the cap’n.</p>
<p>“‘Cap’n Horace Tarr, of Rhode Island, U. S. A.?’
says he.</p>
<p>“‘That’s me,’ says the cap’n ag’in.</p>
<p>“‘Well, Cap’n Tarr,’ says the stranger chap, a-lookin’
kinder squint eyed at me, ‘did you ever have
a brother Anson?’</p>
<p>“Th’ cap’n noticed his lookin’ at me an’ says, afore
he answered the question:</p>
<p>“‘Ye kin speak freely,’ says he, ‘this is my mate,
Cale Wetherbee, an’ there ain’t a squarer man, nor
an honester, as walks the deck terday,’ says he. ‘Yes,
I had a brother Anson; but I persume he’s dead.’</p>
<p>“‘Yes, he is dead,’ said the stranger. ‘He died
up country, at a place they calls Kimberley, ’bout two
months ago.’</p>
<p>“That was surprisin’ ter the cap’n, I reckon, an’ he
tol’ the feller that he’d supposed Anson Tarr dead
years before, as he hadn’t heard from him.</p>
<p>“‘No, he died two months ago,’ says the man, ‘an’
I was with him. He died o’ pneumony—was took
werry sudden.’</p>
<p>“Nat’rally this news took the old man—I sh’d say
yer father—all aback, as it were, an’ he inquired
inter his brother’s death fully. Fin’ly the man drew
out a big package—papers he said they was—wot
Anson Tarr had given him ter be sure ter give ter the
cap’n when he sh’d see him. Then the feller went.</p>
<p>“O’ course, the cap’n didn’t tell me wot the docyments
was, but I reckoned by his actions, an’ some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>
o’ the hints he let drop, that they was valible, an’ I—I
got it inter my head that ’twas erbout money—er
suthin’ o’ the kind—that your Uncle Anson
knowed of.</p>
<p>“Wal, the Silver Swan, she left the Cape, ’n’ all
went well till arter we touched at Rio an’ was homeward
boun’. Then a gale struck us that stripped the
brig o’ ev’ry stick o’ timber an’ every rag o’ sail, an’
druv her outer thet ’ere rock. There warn’t no hope
for the ol’ brig an’ she began to go ter pieces to once,
so we tried ter take to the boats.</p>
<p>“But the boats was smashed an’ the only ones
left o’ the hull ship’s company was men Paulo Montez,
and yer father, an’—an’ another feller. We built the
raft and left the ol’ brig, just as she—er—slid off
er th’ rock an’ sunk inter the sea. It—it mos’ broke
yer father’s heart ter see the ol’ brig go down an’ I
felt m’self, jest as though I’d lost er—er friend, er
suthin!”</p>
<p>The sailor paused in his narrative and drew hard
upon his pipe for a moment.</p>
<p>“Wal, you know by the papers how we floated
around on that ’ere raf’ an’ how yer poor father was
took. He give me these papers just afore he died, an’
made me promise ter git ’em ter you, ef I was saved.
He said you’d understand ’em ter oncet, an’,” looking
at Brandon keenly out of the corners of his eyes, “I
didn’t know but ye knew something about it already.”</p>
<p>Brandon slowly shook his head.</p>
<p>“No,” he said; “I can’t for the life of me think
what they could refer to.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>“No—no buried treasure, nor nothing of the
kind?” suggested the man hesitatingly.</p>
<p>“I guess not!” exclaimed Don. “If I knew about
such a thing, you can bet I’d be after it right quickly,
for I don’t know any one who needs money just at
the present moment more than I.”</p>
<p>“Well, I believe I’ll go,” cried the sailor, rising
hastily. “That ’orspital feller must hev forgotten
ter mail them papers, an’ I’ll git back ter New York
ter oncet, an’ see ’bout it. I b’lieve they’ll be of vally
to ye, an’ if ye want <i>my</i> help in any way, jest let me
know. I—I’ll give ye a place ter ’dress letters to,
an’ I’ll call there an’ git ’em.”</p>
<p>He produced an old stump of a pencil from his
pocket and a ragged leather note case. From this he
drew forth a dog eared business card of some ship
chandler’s firm, on the blank side of which he wrote
in a remarkably bad hand:</p>
<p class="center">CALEB WETHERBEE,<br />
<span class="indentleft"><span class="smcap">New England Hotel,</span><br />
<span class="indentleft2">Water Street,</span><br />
<span class="indentleft3">New York</span>.</span></p>
<p>Then he shook Don warmly by the hand, and promising
to get the papers from the “’orspital feller” at
once, struck away toward the city again, leaving the
boy in a statement of great bewilderment.</p>
<p>He didn’t know what the papers could refer to, yet
like all boys who possess a good digestion and average
health, he had imagined enough to fancy a hundred
things that they <i>might</i> contain. Perhaps there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>
was some great fortune which his Uncle Anson had
known about, and had died before he could reap the
benefit of his knowledge.</p>
<p>Yet, he felt an instinctive distrustfulness of this
Caleb Wetherbee. He was not at all the kind of man
he had expected him to be, for although Captain Tarr
had never said much about the personal appearance
of the mate of the Silver Swan, still Don had pictured
Caleb to his mind’s eye as a far different looking
being.</p>
<p>As he stood there in the path, deep in thought, and
with his eyes fixed upon the spot where he had seen
the sailor disappear, the fluttering of a bit of paper
attracted his attention. He stooped and secured it,
finding it to be a greasy bit of newspaper that had
doubtless reposed for some days in the note case of
the sailor, and had fallen unnoticed to the ground
while he was penciling his address on the card now in
Don’s possession.</p>
<p>One side of the scrap of paper was a portion of an
advertisement, but on the other side was a short item
of news which Don perused with growing interest.</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p><span class="smcap">Savannah, March 3.</span> The Brazilian steamship Montevideo,
which arrived here in the morning, reports having
sighted, about forty miles west of the island of Cuba, a derelict
brig, without masts or rigging of any kind, but with hull
in good condition. It was daylight, and by running close the
Montevideo’s captain made the wreck out to be the Silver
Swan, of Boston, which was reported as having been driven
on to Reef Number 8, east of Cuba, more than a month ago.
The two surviving members of the crew of the Silver Swan
were picked up from a raft, after twelve days of terrible suffering,
by the steamship Alexandria, of the New York and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>
Rio Line. The Montevideo’s officers report the brig as being
a most dangerous derelict, as in its present condition it may
keep afloat for months, having evidently withstood the shock
of grounding on the reef, and later being driven off by the
westerly gale of February 13th.</p>
<p>Her position, when sighted by the Montevideo, has been
reported to the Hydrographic Office, and will appear on the
next monthly chart.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV<br />
<small>BRANDON COMES TO A DECISION</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> first thought which flashed across Brandon
Tarr’s mind as he read the newspaper item quoted in
the previous chapter was that the story of the wreck
of the Silver Swan, as told by the old sailor, had been
totally misleading.</p>
<p>“Why, he lied—point blank—to me!” he exclaimed,
“and with this very clipping in his pocket,
too.”</p>
<p>He half started along the path as though to pursue
the sailor, and then thought better of it.</p>
<p>“He declared that he saw the Swan go down with
his own eyes; and here she was afloat on the 13th of
March—a month after the wreck. He must have
wanted to keep the knowledge of that fact from me.
But what for? Ah! those papers!”</p>
<p>With this Brandon dropped back on the rock again
and read the newspaper clipping through once more.
Then he went over the whole matter in his mind.</p>
<p>What possible object could Caleb Wetherbee have
in coming to him and telling him the yarn he had, if
there was no foundation for it? There must be some
reason for the story, Brandon was sure.</p>
<p>Evidently there had been papers either given into
the hands of the mate of the Silver Swan, or obtained<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>
by him by dishonest means. These papers
must relate to some property of value which had belonged
to Anson Tarr, Don’s uncle, and, his cupidity
being aroused, the sailor was trying to convert
the knowledge contained in them to his own benefit.</p>
<p>There was probably some “hitch” in the documents—something
the rascally mate could not understand,
but which he thought Brandon could explain.
Therefore, his trip to Chopmist from New
York to “pump” the captain’s son.</p>
<p>“Without doubt,” said the boy, communing with
himself, “the papers were brought aboard the brig
just as this rascally Wetherbee said, and they were
from Uncle Anson. Let’s see, he said he died at Kimberley—why,
that’s right at the diamond mines!”
For like most boys with adventurous spirits and well
developed imagination, Brandon had devoured much
that had been written about the wonderful diamond
diggings of South Africa.</p>
<p>“Perhaps—who knows?” his thoughts ran on,
“Uncle Anson ‘struck it rich’ at the diamond mines
before he died. There’s nothing impossible in that—excepting
the long run of ill luck which had cursed
this family.”</p>
<p>He shook his head thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“If Uncle Anson had owned a share in a paying
diamond mine, this rascally sailor would have known
at once that the papers relating to it could not benefit
him, for the ownership would be on record there in
Kimberley. It must, therefore, be that the property—whatever
it may be—is in such shape that it can be
removed from place to place—perhaps was brought<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>
aboard the brig by the friend of Uncle Anson who
told father of his death.”</p>
<p>For the moment the idea did not assist in the explanation
of the course of Caleb Wetherbee in retaining
the papers. But Brandon had set himself to the
task of reasoning out the mystery, and when one
thread failed him he took up another.</p>
<p>“One would think,” he muttered, “that if there
had been any money brought aboard the brig, father
would have taken it on the raft with him when they
left; but still, would he?</p>
<p>“According to the report the brig grounded on
Reef Number 8, and perhaps was not hurt below the
water line. The next gale from the west’ard blew
her off again. She is now a derelict, <i>and if the money
was hidden on board it would be there now</i>!”</p>
<p>At this sudden thought Brandon sprang up in excitement
and paced up and down the path.</p>
<p>He had often heard of the wrecks of vessels abandoned
in mid ocean floating thousands of miles without
a hand to guide their helms, a menace and danger
to all other craft. The Silver Swan might float
for months—aye, for years; such a thing was possible.</p>
<p>“And if the money—if it <i>is</i> money—is hidden
aboard the brig, the one who finds the derelict first
will have it,” was the thought which came to him.</p>
<p>“But why should the mate come to <i>me</i> about it?”
Brandon asked himself. “Why need he let <i>me</i> know
anything about the papers, or the treasure, if he
wished to recover it himself? Didn’t he know where
on the brig the money was hidden? Or didn’t the papers
tell that?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>He cudgled his brains for several minutes to think
<i>where</i> his father would have been likely to hide anything
of value on the brig. Was there any place
which only he and his father had known about?</p>
<p>This idea suggested a train of reminiscences. He
had been aboard the Silver Swan several times while
she lay in Boston, and had been all over her.</p>
<p>Once, possibly four years before (it seemed a long
time to him now), he had been alone with his father
in the cabin, and Captain Tarr had shown him an
ingeniously hidden sliding panel in the bulkhead, behind
which was a little steel lined cavity, in which
the captain kept his private papers.</p>
<p>Perhaps Caleb Wetherbee did not know about this
cupboard, and it was this information that he wished
to get from him. The idea seemed probable enough,
for if he did not know where the treasure was hidden
on the brig, what good would the papers relating to it
be to him?</p>
<p>“There may be a fortune there, just within my
grasp, and yet I not be able to get at it,” muttered
Don, pacing the rough path nervously.</p>
<p>“Despite his former confidence in this Wetherbee,
father must have doubted him at the last and not
dared to take the treasure (if treasure it really is)
when he left the brig.</p>
<p>“Instead, he gave him these papers, hoping the fellow
would be honest enough to place them in my
hands; but, still fearing to fully trust the mate, he
wrote his directions to me so blindly, that Wetherbee
is all at sea about what to do.</p>
<p>“Wetherbee knows that the brig is afloat—this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>
clipping proves that—and he hoped to get the information
he wanted from me and then go in search
of the Silver Swan. <i>Why can I not go in search of
it myself?</i>”</p>
<p>The thought almost staggered him for an instant,
yet to his boyish mind the plan seemed feasible
enough. He knew that derelicts are often carried by
the ocean currents for thousands of miles before they
sink, yet their movements are gradual, and by a close
study of the hydrographic charts he believed it would
be possible to locate the wrecked brig.</p>
<p>“I’ve got no money, I know,” he thought, “at
least, not much; but I’ve health and strength and an
ordinary amount of pluck, and it will be strange if I
can’t accomplish my purpose if the old brig only
holds together long enough.”</p>
<p>He looked at the soiled card the sailor had given
him.</p>
<p>“‘New England Hotel, Water Street,’” he repeated.
“Some sailors’ boarding house, likely. I
believe—yes, I will—go to New York myself and
see this scoundrelly Wetherbee again. He can’t do
<i>much</i> without me, I fancy, and perhaps, after all, I
can use him to my own benefit. I ought to be as
smart as an ignorant old sailor like him.”</p>
<p>He stood still a moment, gazing steadily at the
ground.</p>
<p>“I’ll do it, I vow I will!” he exclaimed at last,
raising his head defiantly. “Uncle Arad’s got no
hold upon me and I’ll go. I’ll start tomorrow morning,”
with which determination he picked up his rifle
and left the woods.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V<br />
<small>UNCLE ARAD HAS RECOURSE TO LEGAL FORCE</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the several oceans of our great globe there are
many floating wrecks, abandoned for various causes
by their crews, which may float on and on, without
rudder or sail, for months, and even years. Especially
is this true of the North Atlantic Ocean, where, during
the past five years, nearly a thousand “derelicts,”
as these floating wrecks are called, were reported.</p>
<p>The Hydrographic Office at Washington prints a
monthly chart on which all the derelicts reported by
incoming vessels are plainly marked, even their position
in the water being designated by a little picture
of the wreck.</p>
<p>By this method of “keeping run” of the wrecks,
it has been found that some float thousands of miles
before they finally reach their ultimate port—Davy
Jones’ locker.</p>
<p>The average life of these water logged hulks is,
however, but thirty days; otherwise the danger from
collision with them would be enormous and the loss
of life great. Many of those vessels which have left
port within the past few years and never again been
heard from, were doubtless victims of collisions with
some of these derelicts.</p>
<p>Several more or less severe accidents have been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>
caused by them, and so numerous have they become
that, within the past few months, several vessels belonging
to our navy have gone “derelict cruising”—blowing
up and sinking the most dangerous wrecks
afloat in the North Atlantic.</p>
<p>At the time of the Silver Swan’s reported loss,
however, it was everybody’s business to destroy the
vessels, and therefore nobody’s. At any time, however,
the hull of the brig, reported by the steamship
Montevideo as floating off Cuba, might be run into
and sunk by some other vessel, such collisions being
not at all uncommon.</p>
<p>Brandon Tarr realized that there was but a small
chance of the Silver Swan being recovered, owing
to these circumstances; yet he would not have been a
Tarr had he not been willing to take the chance and
do all he could to secure what he was quite convinced
was a valuable treasure.</p>
<p>Derelicts had been recovered and towed into port
for their salvage alone, and the Silver Swan was, he
knew, richly laden. It might also be possible to repair
the hull of the brig, for she was a well built
craft, and if she had withstood the shock of being
ground on the reef so well, she might even yet be
made to serve for several years.</p>
<p>These thoughts flitted through the mind of the boy
as he slowly crossed the wet fields toward the farm
house.</p>
<p>“I’ll go tomorrow morning—Uncle Arad or no
Uncle Arad,” he decided. “It won’t do to leave the
old fellow alone, so I’ll step down after dinner and
speak to Mrs. Hemingway about coming up here.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>
He will have to have her any way within a few days,
so it won’t much matter.”</p>
<p>He didn’t really know how to broach the subject
to the old man, for he felt assured that his great
uncle would raise manifold objections to his departure.
He had lived at the farm four years now and
Uncle Arad had come to depend on him in many ways.</p>
<p>They had eaten dinner—a most miserable meal—and
Don was washing the dishes before he spoke.</p>
<p>“Uncle Arad,” he said, trying to talk in a most matter
of fact way, “now that father is—is gone
and I have nothing to look forward to, I believe I’ll
strike out for myself. I’m past sixteen and big
enough and old enough to look out for myself. I
think I shall get along faster by being out in the world
and brushing against folks, and I reckon I’ll go to
New York.”</p>
<p>Uncle Arad fairly wilted into his seat, and stared
at Don in utter surprise.</p>
<p>“Go to New York?” he gasped.</p>
<p>“That’s what I said.”</p>
<p>“Go to New York—jest when yer gittin’ of some
account ter me?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’ve been of some account to you for some
time, and any way father always paid my board before
last fall, you know,” said Don cheerfully.</p>
<p>Uncle Arad snorted angrily, and his eyes began to
flash fire.</p>
<p>“Paid your board!” he exclaimed. “I dunno
what put <i>that</i> inter your head.”</p>
<p>“Father put it there, that’s who,” declared Don
hotly.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>“<i>I</i> never give him no receipts for board money,”
cried the old man. “You can’t show a one!”</p>
<p>“I don’t suppose you did,” returned Don, with
scorn. “You never give receipts for anything if
you can help it. If you’d given receipts to your own
brother as you ought, you wouldn’t be in possession
of this farm now.”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t, hey?” cried the old man, goaded to
desperation by this remark, which he knew only too
well to be true. “You little upstart you! Ye’ll go
ter New York, whether ’r no, will ye?”</p>
<p>He arose in his wrath and shook his bony fist in
Don’s face. The youth looked down upon him scornfully,
for the man would have been no match for him
at all.</p>
<p>“Now don’t have a fit,” he said calmly. “I’m
going to step ’round to Mrs. Hemingway’s after dinner,
and get her to come up here and look after you.
You’ll need her any way, in a few days.”</p>
<p>“It won’t matter! it won’t matter!” shrieked Uncle
Arad, exasperated by the boy’s coolness. “It won’t
matter, I s’pose, when I hev ter pay three dollars—<i>three
dollars</i>, mind ye—fur a hull week’s extry
work!”</p>
<p>He fairly stamped about the room in his fury.</p>
<p>“It don’t matter, eh, when I’ll have ter hire a man
ter take your place? Be you crazy, Brandon Tarr?”</p>
<p>“Guess not,” responded Don, wiping the last dish
and hanging up the towel to dry. “You must think
<i>me</i> crazy, however. Do you s’pose I’d stayed here
this season without wages?”</p>
<p>“Wages!” again shrieked the old man, to whom the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>
thought of paying out a penny was positive pain,
“Wages! an’ you a beggar—yes, sir, a beggar!—’pendent
upon my bounty, as it were.”</p>
<p>Don smiled at this.</p>
<p>“I’m a pretty sturdy beggar, as they used to call
’em in the old days,” he said.</p>
<p>“Wal, any way, I’m your guardeen, an’ I’ll see if
you’re goin’ jest when you like.”</p>
<p>Don laughed outright now.</p>
<p>“My guardian!” he responded. “I’d like to know
<i>why</i> I should have any guardian. I’ve no property,
goodness knows. And as you said about the board
receipts, <i>where are your papers giving you any legal
control over me?</i>”</p>
<p>The old man was utterly taken aback at this and
sat down again, glowering at his nephew angrily,
while the latter put on his hat and coat and departed
on his errand to Mrs. Hemingway’s.</p>
<p>But Arad Tarr was not the man to see either money
or its equivalent slipping his grasp without strenuous
efforts to retain it. His nephew represented to him
just so much hard cash saved, for if Brandon went
away Uncle Arad realized that the hiring of an extra
hand would be an absolute necessity.</p>
<p>Therefore, the boy had not been gone long before
the old man decided on a line of action. He struggled
into his own coat, locked up the house, and harnessed
a horse to a dilapidated light wagon. He was too
careful of his good vehicles to take anything but this
out on such a nasty day.</p>
<p>“That boy is a-gettin’ too upstartish!” he declared,
climbing into the wagon and chirruping to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>
horse. “He’s jest like Anson an’ Horace. There
was no livin’ with <i>them</i>, an’ now <i>he’s</i> got this fool
notion inter his head erbout goin’ away!</p>
<p>“But I’ll git <i>that</i> aout o’ him,” he added, with emphasis.
“If I hain’t got no legal right ter his services,
I <i>will</i> have, now I tell ye! Arter all I’ve done
fur him an’ fur his shif’less, no ’count pa, I ain’t goin’
ter let go o’ him till he comes of age—mos’ five
years yet.”</p>
<p>He shook his head slowly at that thought. Five
years of Brandon’s services on the farm would be
worth all of twenty-five hundred dollars!</p>
<p>He clucked to the horse and drove on the faster at
that. Suppose the boy should take it into his head
to go before he obtained the papers which he was
sure he could have made out? The idea was quite
agonizing.</p>
<p>“I reckon Squire Holt kin fix it up for me in short
order,” he muttered, as he urged his horse into a
faster trot. “I’ll show that boy ’t he ain’t his own
master, by no means!”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI<br />
<small>RELATING A MEETING BETWEEN UNCLE ARAD AND THE
SAILOR</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> old man drove on through the mud and slush
of the country road, the wheels of the rickety vehicle
first rattling over outcropping rocks and boulders, and
then splashing half way to their hubs in the yellow
mire.</p>
<p>A mile beyond his own farm he turned into a
broader highway which trended to the right—the
city “pike.” Woods bordered the way on either
side and although the rain had ceased, the drops fell
in showers from the trees. It was a nasty day and
the horse splashed itself to the belly with the mire.</p>
<p>Not many rods beyond the turn old Arad overtook a
man walking in the same direction that he was driving,
and as the farmer rattled up, the man stepped to
one side and hailed him.</p>
<p>He was a bronzed and bearded fellow, dressed in
garments about as seedy as the miser’s own clothing,
and although he lacked all of twenty years of Arad’s
age, his back, as he stood there beside the cart path,
seemed almost as bent.</p>
<p>“Hullo, shipmate!” was the man’s greeting, raising
his hand for the farmer to stop. “Goin’ toward
the city?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>“Wal, I be a piece,” replied Arad grudgingly.</p>
<p>It was something of an effort for him to speak
civilly to a casual stranger. I presume he was afraid
of wearing out the small stock of civility he possessed.</p>
<p>“Ye’re goin’ in ballast, I see,” said the stranger.
“Can’t ye stow me away there?”</p>
<p>“Hey?” responded the farmer, who did not understand
the other’s figure of speech.</p>
<p>“I say ye’re goin’ in ballast,” repeated the man;
“yer wagon’s empty, ye know. Give me a ride,
will ye?”</p>
<p>“Wal, I dunno,” said Arad slowly, with a sudden
avaricious twinkle in his eye. “I know the team’s
empty, but th’ mare ain’t s’ limber ’s she might be, an’
it’s hard trav’lin’.”</p>
<p>“Got an eye on the main chance, ain’t ye, ye old
land shark?” muttered the man. Then he said aloud:
“How fur ye goin’ on this road?”</p>
<p>“’Bout three mile furder.”</p>
<p>“What’ll ye take me that fur, for?”</p>
<p>“Wall, I dunno,” began Arad.</p>
<p>“Come, I’ll give ye a quarter,” said the stranger,
fishing a handful of silver from the depths of his
pocket.</p>
<p>The old man’s eyes flashed.</p>
<p>“Jump aboard,” he said briefly, and the black
bearded man sprang to the seat with great agility.</p>
<p>“Ye’re some limber,” said the old farmer, in admiration,
pocketing the quarter and starting up his
horse again.</p>
<p>“<i>You’d</i> be if ye’d shinned up as many riggin’s as
I hev.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>“Ye’re a sailor, then?”</p>
<p>“I be. No landlubber erbout me, is ther’? I
reckon ye don’t see many sailors in these parts?”</p>
<p>“Ya-as we do,” snarled Arad impolitely; “more’n’
we wanter sometimes. I got a nevvy who was a
sailor—a cap’n. Lost at sea erbout two months ergo.
Lef’ me er great, hulkin’ boy ter take keer of.”</p>
<p>“Great Peter!” exclaimed the sailor, with some
astonishment. “Ye don’t mean Cap’n Horace Tarr?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I do mean Cap’n Horace Tarr,” growled
Arad. “He was my nevvy, an’ it’s his no ’count,
wuthless boy I’ve got on my han’s. My name’s Arad
Tarr—’n’ th’ only Tarr ’t ever knew ’nough ter make
money an’ keep it.”</p>
<p>The sailor looked at the weazened old figure curiously.</p>
<p>“He didn’t favor you none,” he said.</p>
<p>“Who didn’t? Horace Tarr? I reckon he
didn’t!” exclaimed Arad. “He favored a ca’f more’n
he did anything else, ’cordin’ ter <i>my</i> notion. Did ye
know him?” added the old man curiously.</p>
<p>“In course I did. I sailed with him—er—lots.
Why, I was with him this ’ere las’ v’y’ge o’ his.”</p>
<p>“Ye don’t mean it!”</p>
<p>“I guess I do.”</p>
<p>“Wal, wal!” exclaimed Uncle Arad, roused out of
himself for a moment. “So you was on that raf’ fur
so long, eh? Must er been quite an experience. An’
Horace is really dead, is he?”</p>
<p>“Dead’s a door nail,” the sailor declared. “Can’t
be no mistake erbout <i>that</i>. We had ter pitch him
overboard—er—another feller and me; ’cause ’twas<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>
so all fired hot, ye know. Him and Paulo Montez
both went ter the sharks.”</p>
<p>The old man shuddered.</p>
<p>“An’ he died without leavin’ a cent, eh? Poor’s
poverty! I allus knew how ’twould be. ’N’ I s’pose
Anson—fur he mus’ be dead by this time—died
poor, too.”</p>
<p>The sailor looked at the old man sharply out of the
corners of his eyes, and after a minute spoke again.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he said slowly, in confirmation of Uncle
Arad’s remark. “I was with the cap’n at the last.”</p>
<p>“What ye doin’ ’way up here?” inquired the
farmer, with sudden interest.</p>
<p>“Well, I come up ter see Cap’n Tarr’s boy.”</p>
<p>“Hey?” ejaculated the farmer. “Come ter see
Brandon?”</p>
<p>“That’s it,” said the sailor, nodding.</p>
<p>“But ye didn’t see him?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I did; over yonder in the woods.”</p>
<p>“Why, he didn’t say nothin’ erbout it ter me,”
gasped the old man.</p>
<p>“Mebbe ye ain’t seen him since,” suggested the
sailor.</p>
<p>“When was yer er-talkin’ with him?”</p>
<p>“Long erbout two hours back, ’r so.”</p>
<p>“’Fore dinner?”</p>
<p>“I reckon so. I seen him over in the woods yonder,
an’ talked with him quite a spell. I started ’long
back towards the city a’gin, but I found out I’d lost—er—somethin’,
an’ went back ter hev er look
fur it.”</p>
<p>“What was it ye lost?” asked Uncle Arad, with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>
perhaps a momentary thought that, if it was of value
and had been lost on his farm, he might be able to find
it himself.</p>
<p>“Nothin’ but a piece of paper.”</p>
<p>“Find it?”</p>
<p>“Not me. Must ha’ blowed away. Howsomever,
that ain’t ter the p’int. It’s funny yer nevvy never
tol’ erbout meetin’ me.”</p>
<p>Old Arad was silent for a minute.</p>
<p>“I wish ye hadn’t come ’round here, fillin’ up his
head with fool notions,” he grumbled. “Seein’ you
must be what set him up ter leavin’ so sudden.”</p>
<p>“Goin’ to leave ye, is he?” asked the sailor quickly.</p>
<p>“He <i>thinks</i> he is,” returned the farmer, with a snarl.
“Th’ little upstart! But I’ll l’arn him who’s who,
now I tell ye? Goin’ ter New York, is he? Wal, I
reckon not.”</p>
<p>“To New York? What’s he goin’ there fur? I
sh’d think ye’d want him right here on th’ farm,” said
the sailor, with a cunning smile.</p>
<p>“So I do—an’ right here is where he’s goin’ ter
stay,” declared Uncle Arad wrathfully. “I’m er-goin’
down ter Square Holt’s ter see erbout it now.
I’m either goin’ ter hev him bound ter me till he’s
twenty-one, ’r git p’inted him gardeen. <i>Then</i>, I
reckon he won’t talk no more erbout runnin’ off ter
New York.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I reckon this place is the best fur a boy like
him,” acquiesced the sailor. “An’ then, ye orter be his
guardeen. S’posin’ he had prop’ty fallin’ to him now—you’d
orter hev th’ handlin’ of it till he’s of age.”</p>
<p>“Prop’ty! I guess ther’ won’t be none ter fall to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>
him,” sniffed Uncle Arad. “<i>I</i> ain’t a dyin’ man, by
no means, an’ his pa didn’t leave a cent. Didn’t even
hev that brig o’ his’n insured.”</p>
<p>“I dunno erbout that,” said the sailor shrewdly.</p>
<p>“What don’t ye know erbout?” demanded Arad
suspiciously. “The Silver Swan wasn’t insured, were
she?”</p>
<p>“I reckon not.”</p>
<p>“Then what d’ye mean?”</p>
<p>Arad’s piercing eyes were fixed searchingly on his
companion’s face, but the sailor was not easily disturbed.</p>
<p>“Well, now, I’ll put a case to ye—jest a s’posin’
case, now mind ye,” he said calmly, as Arad, now
thoroughly interested in the matter, let the old horse
walk along the muddy highway. “S’posin’ now this
’ere Cap’n Tarr had knowed erbout a buried treasure,
’r some sich thing, an’ he’d writ erbout it, an’ give the
papers ter another man—his mate, fur instance—ter
be given ter his son.</p>
<p>“Now, nat’rally, if ther’ was any money in it fur
this Brandon, <i>you’d</i> orter know erbout it, hadn’t ye?
You bein’ th’ boy’s guardeen, you’d orter handle that
money; un’ if <i>I</i> could help you ter the gettin’ o’ that
money, <i>I’d</i> orter hev a part of it, eh?”</p>
<p>Old Arad stared at him with wide open eyes, and
the hand which held the reins trembled visibly.</p>
<p>“Now, s’posin’ the mate sends them papers to
Brandon through the mail, ’r writes a letter erbout
’em—<i>you’d</i> orter know it, hadn’t ye? You’d orter
see that letter, or them papers, an’ you’d jest drop me
a line, an’ <i>I</i> c’d help ye get ’em, ’cause I know all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>
erbout sich things, bein’ a sea farin’ man fur thirty
year.”</p>
<p>Uncle Arad moistened his trembling lips before he
could speak.</p>
<p>“But this is only s’posin’,” he said quaveringly.</p>
<p>“But, <i>s’pose ’twas so!</i> S’pose I seen them papers
passed, an’ s’pose I heered Cap’n Tarr say with his
own lips ther’ was ’nough suthin ’r other (I couldn’t
ketch th’ word—gold, mebbe) there ter make a man
fabulously rich?”</p>
<p>“Fabulously rich!” repeated Arad.</p>
<p>“That’s it; fabulously rich, is wot he said. An’ if
it’s so, <i>you</i> orter to get the letters from the post office,
an’ open every one of ’em, hadn’t ye?”</p>
<p>Uncle Arad nodded quickly.</p>
<p>“O course ye had; and if the letter or papers sh’d
come from Caleb Wetherbee—thet’s the mate’s name;
he’s in the ’orspital yet—you’d let me know, an’ then
we’d see wot we sh’d see, eh?”</p>
<p>The sailor poked the old man familiarly in the ribs
and slapped his own knee.</p>
<p>“That’s wot we’d do, shipmate,” he said. “Wot
say ye? Ye’ll need me, fur I reckon wherever th’
money’s hid, ye’ll need a sailor ter go ’long with ye—er
ter git it fur ye.”</p>
<p>“I—I couldn’t go; my health ain’t good ’nough,”
declared the farmer. “Then—then—mebbe there
ain’t nothin’ in it.”</p>
<p>“Well, mebbe there ain’t,” said the sailor calmly,
preparing to dismount as the old man pulled up before
a house; “an’ then ag’in mebbe there is. Leastways,
I adwise ye ter jest keep yer eyes open fur letters<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>
f’om New York. An’ when one comes from
Caleb Wetherbee, p’r’aps ye’ll want ter talk with me
furder.”</p>
<p>“Where—where kin I find ye?” Arad asked, in
a shaking voice.</p>
<p>“Jest write ter Jim Leroyd, New England Hotel,
Water Street, New York—that’ll fetch me,” declared
the sailor briskly. “Now remember, old feller,” he
added meaningly, “ye won’t be able ter do nothin’
with them papers ’thout me. If ye try it ye’ll be up a
stump ter oncet. Now, take keer o’ yerself!”</p>
<p>He turned away and rolled along the road toward
the distant city, while Uncle Arad climbed down from
the wagon.</p>
<p>“Fabulously rich!” he muttered to himself, as he
fastened the horse to the hitching post with trembling
hands.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII<br />
<small>INTRODUCING “SQUARE” HOLT AND HIS OPINIONS</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">“Square” Holt</span>, who was a justice of the peace as
well as the judge of the probate court of the town,
was a very tall and very angular individual with a
massive development of nose (old Arad Tarr’s was
as nothing beside it) and a wide mouth continually
drawn into a grim line, as though such a thing as a
smile had never crossed his imagination—if, indeed,
he had an imagination.</p>
<p>He had no children of his own (which was an exceedingly
fortunate thing for the unborn generations)
and had apparently forgotten his own boyhood. Boys,
in his estimation, were made to work—the harder
the better. In this he was of the same opinion as
Uncle Arad Tarr.</p>
<p>Old Arad was at once admitted to the front parlor
of the house at which he had stopped, which was
used by the judge as his office when he was not at the
town hall. Here, seated in one of the prim hair cloth
chairs, with which his soiled and badly fitting garments
hardly harmonized, the old man told his story.</p>
<p>“That boy, square, comes o’ the shif’lessest kind o’
stock, ye know, ef his gran’father <i>was</i> my own
brother,” he said, in conclusion. “You ’member
Ezra?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>“Oh yes, I remember Ezra,” said the judge, grimly.</p>
<p>“Wal, then, ye know what a shif’less loose j’inted
critter he was in business matters, an’ Anson an’ Horace
was as like him as two peas aout o’ the same pod.
An’ now this ’ere Brandon hez got th’ same traits o’
no ’count shif’lessness.”</p>
<p>“Very likely, very likely,” said the other, with sternness.
“I’ve seen the youth, I think, out gunning quite
frequently—a most objectionable practice.”</p>
<p>“Ye’re right, square,” old Arad exclaimed, with
eagerness. “Jest er firin’ erway good powder an’
shot ’t cost money. Thet boy hez airnt money erhelpin’
of the neighbors lots o’ times, ter waste on
powder an’ shot. He’s a dretful bad boy.”</p>
<p>“From what you say, neighbor,” said the judge,
with confidence, “I should say that the proper place
for the young rascal was the State reform school——”</p>
<p>“Oh, no, no, square,” exclaimed Arad, in sudden
terror at the thought of losing Don’s services in this
way. “’Tain’t as bad as that. I kin manage him,
once give me legal ’thority.</p>
<p>“Ye see, his pa left him ’ithout a cent, an’ I thought
it didn’t make a bit er diff’rance ’bout his havin’ a
guardeen—’twould er been some expense, ye know,
ter hev th’ papers made aout; but since he’s got this
’ere wild goose notion o’ leavin’ me, I begin ter see
that I sh’d hev some holt on him fur—hem!—fur
his own good, as it were.”</p>
<p>“Quite right,” declared the judge confidently.
“And so the boy—this Brandon—proposes to go
away at once, does he?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>“So he has th’ audacity ter tell me,” responded old
Arad. “He declared he was goin’ termorrer mornin’.
Ye know, square, I’m too broke up ’ith the rheumatiz
ter tackle him as he’d orter be tackled. A good hidin’
would be th’ best thing fur him, in <i>my</i> ’pinion.”</p>
<p>“And in my opinion, too,” quoth the judge.
“Now, of course this matter will have to be done
when the court meets next week, Mr. Tarr; but I’ll
come up and see the youth tonight, and I think that
between us we can make him see that this is the place
for him to stay, and that there is to be no running
away from it,” and the judge shut his thin lips together
very grimly.</p>
<p>“That’s it, square; thank ’ee,” said the old man,
shambling out of the house. “Dretful weather we
been havin’, ain’t it?”</p>
<p>Then he climbed into his wagon and drove back
toward home, chuckling as he went.</p>
<p>“I reckon I’ve put a spoke in <i>his</i> wheel,” he muttered,
referring to his nephew.</p>
<p>As he pursued his homeward way, however,
thoughts of the sailor with whom he had so recently
conversed, and of that conversation itself, filled his
mind.</p>
<p>“I don’t persume thet ther’s anythin’ in it,” he muttered,
thoughtfully stroking the wisp of beard on his
pointed chin. “Horace Tarr never had no luck no-how,
an’ I don’t see how he’d come ter know anythin’
erbout this ’ere treasure. P’r’aps that sailor was
jest a yarnin’ ter me.”</p>
<p>Still, the old man could not drive the thought out of
his mind.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>“Fabulously rich!” he repeated. “That’s what he
heard Horace say. This ’ere mate of the Silver Swan
was a chum er Horace’s, like ’nough, an’ I s’pose if
ther’ <i>is</i> anythin’ in it, he’ll jes’ try ter git it himself.
An’ then—er—Brandon’ll never see a cent of it.</p>
<p>“It really is my duty ter look aout fur th’ boy’s
int’rest,” continued the old hypocrite. “’F I’m goin’
ter be his guardeen, I’d orter know what’s goin’ on;
an’ this <i>may</i> mean money fur—fur Brandon.”</p>
<p>He wiped his wrinkled brow with a soiled handkerchief,
the reins lying idly on his knee the while.
Somehow, despite the chilliness of the day, the perspiration
stood in great drops upon his forehead.</p>
<p>“S’posin’,” he thought, “ther’ should be a letter
at Sam Himes’ fur him now, f’om that Wetherbee
feller? ’Twouldn’t no way do fur a boy ter git letters
that his guardeen didn’t know nothin’ erbout, an’
ther’ ain’t no doubt thet, if Brandon got it, he wouldn’t
show it ter me. I—I b’lieve I’ll drive ’round thet
way an’ see.”</p>
<p>He touched up the mare again and, upon reaching
the forks of the road, turned to the north once more
and drove along the ridge until he reached a little
gambrel roofed cottage on the westerly side of the
highway.</p>
<p>This was the post office where Sam Himes held
forth, and to which the lumbering old stage brought
one mail each day.</p>
<p>Here he dismounted from the wagon again, and
went into the house, being greeted at the door by the
customary “Haow air ye?” of the postmaster.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>“I was jes’ thinkin’ er sendin’ daown ter your
haouse, Arad,” declared the postmaster, who was no
respecter of persons, and called everybody by his first
name, being familiar with them from the nature of his
calling. “Here’s a letter fur yeou an’ one fur th’ boy—Don.”</p>
<p>He thrust two missives into the old man’s hand, and
Arad stumbled out to his wagon again, his fingers
shaking with excitement. Glancing at the two envelopes
he recognized one at once, and clutched it
avariciously. It was from a brokerage firm in New
York, and contained his monthly dividend for certain
investments which he had made.</p>
<p>The other letter, however, he did not look at until
he had turned his horse about and started her jogging
along toward home again. Then he drew forth the
envelope and studied it carefully.</p>
<p>It was addressed in a big, scrawling hand to:
“Master Brandon Tarr, Chopmist, Rhode Island,”
yet, despite the plainness of the address, old Arad,
after a hasty and half fearful glance around, broke the
seal and drew forth the inclosed page.</p>
<p>He looked first at the signature, and finding it to
be “Caleb Wetherbee,” he began to peruse the epistle,
looking up from time to time to glance along the road,
that nobody might catch him in the act of reading the
letter intended only for his nephew’s eye.</p>
<p>Uncle Arad’s sight was not so keen for written
words as it once had been, but he managed to stumble
through the document, which read as follows:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span></p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="right"><span class="smcap">New York Marine Hospital</span>,<br />
<span class="indentright">April the 2d, 1892.</span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Master Brandon Tarr</span>,</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>:—As I am laid up in dry dock, as you might say, and
can’t get up to see you right off as I promised your poor
father, I am taking the first chance these swabs of doctors
have given me, to write this.</p>
<p>Me and another man was all that was saved off the raft,
as you probably know now, for your father was hurt so bad
that there wasn’t any chance for him. He died ten days after
we left the brig.</p>
<p>I want you should pack up your togs, leave that farm
where no son of Captain Horace Tarr ought to dig all his
life, and come down here to New York to see me. I shall
be out of this hospital before long, and then we’ve got some
work to do, like I promised your father before he died.</p>
<p>Captain Tarr put some papers in my hands which is of
great value, providing they can be used at once. It seems
your uncle Anson died several months ago in Kimberley,
South Africa, and while he was at Cape Town loading up
the brig, a fellow come aboard and told your father about it,
and brung these papers.</p>
<p>Among the papers (though the fellow didn’t know it, so I
understood from the few words poor Captain Tarr let drop)
was a package of diamonds which he hid aboard the old brig,
and was afraid to take with him on the raft for fear of the
sailors that was with us. These papers I’ve got he said
would tell where the diamonds was hid. I ain’t opened them
yet, so I don’t know.</p>
<p>Now you may think this here is no use because the Silver
Swan is wrecked; but I don’t believe she has gone to pieces
yet; nor your father didn’t think she would right off. We
would have done better by sticking to her, any way, I reckon.
She was driv upright onto the reef, and I’ll bet she’s sticking
there yet.</p>
<p>If you come down here to once, and I can get onto my old
timber leg again, we’ll charter a boat and go down there and
see about it. If it is as your father said—and I believe it—there’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>
enough of them diamonds to make you another Vanderbilt
or Jay Gould.</p>
<p>Just you leave the land shark of an uncle that you’re staying
with, and trust yourself to</p>
<p class="right"><span class="indentright2">Your true friend,</span><br />
<span class="indentright"><span class="smcap">Caleb Wetherbee</span>,</span><br />
Mate of the Silver Swan.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII<br />
<small>SOMETHING ABOUT LEAVING THE FARM</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Certainly</span> Uncle Arad Tarr had never been so
filled with astonishment in his life as he was upon
reading the letter of the mate of the Silver Swan to
the captain’s son.</p>
<p>Diamonds enough to make Brandon a second Vanderbilt!
The thought almost made Arad’s old heart
stand still.</p>
<p>“Who’d er-thought it—who’d ever er-thought
it?” he muttered weakly, folding the letter once more,
and thrusting it into the pocket of his patched coat.</p>
<p>Then he picked up the reins and drove on, shaking
his head slowly.</p>
<p>“Diamonds enough ter make him rich!” he murmured,
with an avaricious contortion of his face.
“Jest ter think o’ Anson Tarr ever gittin’ more’n his
bread and butter. It don’t seem ter me he c’d ha’ got
’em honest.”</p>
<p>He was very ready now, considering the guilty
thoughts there were in his own heart, to declare the
fortune gained by his nephew Anson to be dishonestly
obtained.</p>
<p>“It jest stands ter reason,” he went on, “that this
’ere Caleb Wetherbee isn’t er—er trustworthy person
to hev charge o’ Brandon—or them di’monds either.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>
I mus’ hev them papers made out jes’ as soon as th’
square kin do it, an’ then I kin find that ’ere wreck—er
hev it found—m’self.”</p>
<p>His mind at once reverted to Jim Leroyd, the sailor
with whom he had entered into a compact to “divide
the spoils,” and he shook his head again doubtfully.</p>
<p>“He ain’t jes’ th’ man I’d er chosen ter do th’ work
fur me,” muttered the old sinner; “but then, he’s the
old sailor I know, an’ it’s got ter take a sailor, I
s’pose, ter go ter them furrin parts.</p>
<p>“He knows suthin’ erbout it already, too, an’ it
wouldn’t do ter let him git mad an’ go an’ tell this
’ere Wetherbee; then mebbe I couldn’t git th’ papers
from him. But th’ fust thing is ter hev thet ’p’intment
as guardeen fixed up.”</p>
<p>Brandon was in the yard when he arrived, and
good naturedly put up the horse for him.</p>
<p>“I’ve seen Mrs. Hemingway, uncle,” he said cheerfully,
“and she’ll be up here tomorrow morning. I
shall take the stage to town in the morning, and go to
New York on the evening train, I guess.”</p>
<p>“Ye will, eh?” returned Uncle Arad, showing his
teeth.</p>
<p>“Yes. Now you mustn’t get uppish, uncle. You
didn’t suppose I would stay here very long any way,
did you?”</p>
<p>“I s’pect ye’ll stay here a spell,” replied the old
man, with a cunning leer. “I ain’t fed an’ su’ported
ye in lux’ry fur nigh four year fur nothin’. Ye’ll
stay here as my ward fur yer minor’ty, now I tell ye.”</p>
<p>But Brandon was laughing over the thought of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>
Uncle Arad’s “luxury,” and did not hear the last of
his speech.</p>
<p>He did the most of the chores about the house and
barn, as was usual, and helped prepare the extremely
frugal meal which Uncle Arad’s larder afforded.</p>
<p>“By George!” he thought, as he set about this latter
task, “if I was in the forecastle of some old
‘hooker’ I shouldn’t have worse fare than this. I
declare I’ll go off tomorrow before breakfast. This
will be my last meal at Uncle Arad’s table for one
spell at least.”</p>
<p>But he said nothing further about going away,
knowing that it would only anger the old man. Before
the dishes were cleared away after the meal, there
was the sound of wheels at the gate, and in a moment
somebody knocked sharply.</p>
<p>Old Arad himself arose and hobbled to the door,
admitting “Square” Holt into the miserable den of
a kitchen. If it had been the President himself, the
old man would not have opened the “best room.”</p>
<p>“Go aout an’ take the square’s boss ’roun’ ter the
shed,” harshly commanded Uncle Arad, and Brandon
did as he was bidden, vaguely suspecting that something
was brewing.</p>
<p>When he came into the kitchen again after doing
the errand, the parrot beaked judge was ready for him.</p>
<p>“Young man,” began the judge severely, “your
uncle, Mr. Tarr, who has done so much for you for
the past four years, tells me that you have made a
sorry return for all his kindness and bounty.”</p>
<p>“In what?” demanded Brandon rather sharply, for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>
he considered this interference on the justice’s part
as wholly uncalled for.</p>
<p>“Is <i>that</i> the way you speak to your elders, young
man?” cried the judge, aghast. “Have you no respect
for gray hairs?”</p>
<p>“I do not see why I should respect <i>you</i>, Mr. Holt,”
replied Don, with some temper. “You’ve never given
me cause to and I consider that your questions and
remarks are entirely unwarranted. I propose to go
away from my uncle’s house (to whom, by the way,
my father paid three dollars per week board for me
up to last fall, and for whom I have done the work
of a regularly hired hand during most of the time I
have been here) I propose to go away, I say, and
nothing <i>you</i> or uncle can say will stop me!”</p>
<p>“Hoighty toighty, young man!” cried the judge;
“do you realize to whom you are speaking?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I do,” responded Brandon hotly. “To one
who is known, far and wide, as the meanest man in
Scituate!”</p>
<p>The judge’s ample nasal organ flushed to the color
of a well grown beet; but before he could reply old
Arad put in <i>his</i> oar:</p>
<p>“What d’ye mean, ye little upstart?” (Fancy his
calling Brandon <i>little</i>, who already stood a good three
inches taller than himself!) “What d’ye mean, sayin’
that I was ever paid fur yer keep? Ye’ve been nuthin’
but an expense an’ trouble ter me ever since ye come
here.”</p>
<p>“That’s an untruth, and you know it,” declared
Don, who had quite lost his temper by this time, and
did not behave himself in just the manner I should<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>
have preferred my hero to behave; but Brandon Tarr
was a very human boy, and, I have found, heroes are
much like other folks and not by any means perfect.</p>
<p>“Young man, mark my words!” sputtered
“Square” Holt, “you will yet come to some bad
end.”</p>
<p>“I’ll git all this aout o’ ye, afore I’m done with ye,
Brandon Tarr,” declared Uncle Arad, “if I hev ter
hire somebody ter lick ye.”</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t do that—you’re too stingy to hire
anybody to ‘lick’ me,” responded Don tartly. “Now
I don’t propose to listen to any more of this foolishness.
I’m going away, and I’m going away tomorrow
morning. I’ve eaten my last meal at this house,
Uncle Arad!”</p>
<p>“Is that the way to speak to your guardian?” said
the judge, with horror in his tone. “Mr. Tarr, you
are too lenient with this young scoundrel. He should
be sent to the State reform school as I suggested.”</p>
<p>“But then I wouldn’t get no work aout o’ him,”
the farmer hastened to say. “I—I’ve got ter git the
money back I’ve spent on him, ye know.”</p>
<p>Brandon laughed scornfully.</p>
<p>“I should like to know by what right you call him
my guardian, Mr. Holt?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Wal, I’m goin’ ter be yer guardeen—right off,”
Arad hastened to inform him, before the “square”
could reply. “The square’s goin’ ter make the papers
aout ter oncet.”</p>
<p>“They’ll be funny looking documents, I reckon,”
said Don, in disgust. “I understand that Mr. Holt<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>
has done several pretty crooked things since he’s been
in office, but this is going a little too far.”</p>
<p>“Young man!” cried the judge, trying to wither
the audacious youth with a glance.</p>
<p>But Don didn’t “wither” at all.</p>
<p>“If you know anything at all about law,” he said
to the judge, with sarcasm, “you know that a guardian
can’t be appointed in an hour. Legal notice
must be given and reason shown <i>why</i> a guardian
should be appointed. I’ve no property, and Uncle
Arad only wants to control me so as to have my work.
And, besides all that, I am old enough to choose my
own guardian, and you can bet your last cent that I
shouldn’t choose Arad Tarr.”</p>
<p>“It ain’t so! ’tain’t no sich thing, is it, square?”
cried old Arad, in alarm. “Ain’t I th’ proper person
to be ’p’inted over my own nevvy? Ther’ ain’t nobody
else got anythin’ ter do with it.”</p>
<p>“He can tell you what he likes,” responded Brandon
quickly; “but I’ve given you the facts. Now
I’ve heard enough of this, and I’m going to bed.”
Then he added, turning to Holt: “When you go out
to fleece a lamb next time, Mr. Holt, be pretty sure
that the lamb is just as innocent as you think it.”</p>
<p>He turned away without another word then and
left the kitchen, mounting to his bedroom in the second
story of the old house, leaving the baffled conspirators
in a state of wrathful bewilderment.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IX<br />
<small>ANOTHER LETTER FROM NEW YORK</small></h2>
</div>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Mr. Tarr</span>,” declared the judge, when Brandon
had, for the moment, so successfully routed them and
retired, “you are doing a very wrong thing in shielding
that young reprobate from the reform school.
That’s where he belongs. Send him there, sir, send
him there!”</p>
<p>“I never thought he’d ha’ shown disrespect fur the
law,” gasped Uncle Arad weakly.</p>
<p>“Disrespect!” cried the judge, “I never was so
insulted in all my life. That boy will be hung yet,
you mark my words!”</p>
<p>“I never thought it of Brandon,” said the farmer,
shaking his head.</p>
<p>He seemed quite overcome to think that his nephew
had dared defy the law, or its representative. To
Uncle Arad the law was a very sacred thing; he always
aimed to keep within its pale in his transactions.</p>
<p>“You’ll never be able to do anything with that boy
here,” declared “Square” Holt. “A strait jacket is
the only thing for him.”</p>
<p>“But if he goes there what’ll be the use o’ my bein’
his guardeen?” queried Arad.</p>
<p>Then he hesitated an instant as a new phase of the
situation came to him.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>“If Brandon was under lock an’ key—jes’ where
I c’d put my han’ on him when I wanted him—I c’d
go right erbout this ’ere treasure business, an’ git it
fur—fur <i>him</i>,” he thought, yet shivering in his soul
at the thought of the wrong he was planning to do his
nephew.</p>
<p>“I—I dunno but ye’re right, square,” he said
quaveringly. “I—I don’ wanter see th’ boy go right
ter perdition, ’fore my very eyes, as ye might say,
an’ if ye think the reformin’ influences o’ the institution
is what he needs——”</p>
<p>“The best thing in the world for him,” declared the
judge, drawing on his driving gloves. “The <i>only</i>
thing, I might say, that will keep him out of jail—where
he belongs, the young villain!”</p>
<p>“But—but haow kin it be fixed up?” asked Arad,
in some doubt.</p>
<p>“You leave that to me,” said the judge pompously.
“I’ll show that young reprobate that he has defied the
wrong man when he defies <i>me</i>. I’ll give him all the
law he wants—more, perhaps, than he bargained
for.”</p>
<p>“But s’pose he tries to run away in th’ mornin’, as
he threatened?”</p>
<p>“All you’ve got to do, Mr. Tarr,” said the judge,
shaking one long finger at the farmer, “is to keep a
close watch on that young man. Don’t give him a
chance to run away. Lock him into his room tonight
and keep him there till we can—er, hem!—straighten
this out. I think it will be a very easy matter to place
the case before the court in such manner that the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>
necessity for immediate action will be at once admitted.</p>
<p>“Why,” declared the judge, warming up to his
subject, “I wonder, sir, how you—an old man” (Uncle
Arad winced at that), “and in feeble health—have
been able to remain here alone with that young
scoundrel all this winter. I wonder that he has not
laid violent hands on you.”</p>
<p>“Wal, he <i>has</i> been some abusive, square, but I
wouldn’t say nothin’ erbout that,” said Uncle Arad
hesitatingly.</p>
<p>“Don’t compound villainy by shielding it,” responded
the judge, with righteous indignation.
“This matter has already gone too far. When our
quiet town is to be aroused and made a scene of riot,
such as has been enacted—er—<i>here</i> tonight, sir, it
is time something was done. Such young hoodlums
as this Brandon Tarr should be shut up where they
will do no harm to either their friends or neighbors.</p>
<p>“If I had <i>my</i> way,” added the judge viciously,
“I’d shut up every boy in town in the reform school!”</p>
<p>Then he marched out to his carriage, and Uncle
Arad, after locking the door, sat down to think the
matter over.</p>
<p>If he was successful in his nefarious plan of shutting
Brandon up in the reformatory institution of the
State, the getting of the diamonds, which Captain
Tarr had hidden aboard the Silver Swan, would be all
plain sailing.</p>
<p>Of course he would have to lose Brandon’s work
on the farm; but he had seen, by the boy’s open defiance
of “Square” Holt, that he cared nothing for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>
the law or its minion—and Uncle Arad dared not allow
his nephew out of his sight for fear he would run
away.</p>
<p>To <i>his</i> mind there was very little doubt that the attempt
to shut Brandon up would be successful. Judge
Holt was a most powerful man (politically) in the
town, and he would leave no stone unturned to punish
the youth who had so fearlessly defied him.</p>
<p>Judge Holt, although disliked by many of his
townsmen who realized that some of his methods and
actions were illegal, still swayed the town on election
days, and carried things with a high hand the remainder
of the year. Old Arad chuckled to think how
easily Brandon’s case would be settled by the doughty
“square.”</p>
<p>Then, remembering the suggestion the judge had
made just before his departure, he rose hastily from
his chair and quietly ascended to the floor above.
Here Brandon and himself slept in two small bedrooms
on opposite sides of the hall.</p>
<p>The doors were directly opposite each other, and,
although such things as locks were unknown in the
house on any except the outside doors, the old man
quickly lit upon a scheme that he thought remarkably
clever.</p>
<p>He obtained a piece of stout clothes line and fastened
it back and forth from handle to handle of the
two bedroom doors, which, opening into their respective
rooms, were now arranged so that the occupants
of neither apartment could open the portals.</p>
<p>Then, chuckling softly over his sharp trick, the old
farmer crept down the stairs once more to the kitchen,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>
feeling moderately sure of finding Brandon in his
room in the morning.</p>
<p>But one narrow window, looking out upon the
barnyard, was in his nephew’s apartment, and as the
sash had long since been nailed in, and the shutters
closed on the outside, Uncle Arad felt secure on this
score.</p>
<p>“I’ll starve him inter submission, ef I can’t do it
no other way,” he muttered angrily.</p>
<p>Seating himself once more in his old armchair, he
drew forth the two letters obtained that day at the post
office, adjusted his steel bowed spectacles which, in
a moment of extravagance, he had purchased of a
traveling peddler, and opened the epistle from his
brokers which, heretofore, he had not read.</p>
<p>He slit the envelope carefully with the blade of his
jack knife. More than one man had torn or otherwise
mutilated a check by opening an envelope too carelessly.</p>
<p>But instead of the printed form and generous draft
which was the usual monthly inclosure of the firm,
all the envelope contained was a typewritten letter,
which the old farmer read with something like horror:</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="right"><span class="indentright5">Office of</span><br />
<span class="indentright3"><span class="smcap">Bensell, Bensell</span> & <span class="smcap">Marsden</span>,</span><br />
<span class="indentright">513 Wall St., New York,</span><br />
April 2, 1892.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Arab Tarr,<br />
<span class="indentleft4">Chopmist, Rhode Island.</span></span></p>
<p>Dear Sir:</p>
<p>We beg to announce that owing to several accidents, causing
a large loss of rolling stock of the road, the B. P. & Q.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>
has dropped several points on the market and has passed its
monthly dividend.</p>
<p>We would suggest that you hold on to your stock, however,
as this is a matter which will quickly adjust itself.</p>
<p class="right"><span class="indentright5">Yours sincerely,</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Bensell, Bensell</span> & <span class="smcap">Marsden</span>.</p>
</div>
<p>The letter fluttered to the floor from Uncle Arad’s
nerveless fingers. To lose money was like losing his
very life, and this was no inconsiderable sum that had
gone. He had invested a large amount in B. P. & Q.
stock, and up to the present time it had paid large interest.</p>
<p>“Them brokers air thieves! I know they be,”
cried the old man, breaking forth into vituperations
against the innocent firm of Bensell, Bensell & Marsden.
“Ye can’t trust ’em—not an inch! I don’t
b’lieve none o’ their lyin’ stories erbout the railroad’s
passin’ its div’dend. I—I’ll go ter New York m’self,
I declare I will!”</p>
<p>He got up and paced the floor wrathfully.</p>
<p>“Jes’ as soon as I git this matter o’ Brandon’s settled,
an’ git th’ farm work started with Jim Hemin’way
fur foreman, I’ll go. I ain’t er-goin’ ter be
cheated bare faced like this ’ere.”</p>
<p>Then he thought a moment, and pulling Caleb
Wetherbee’s letter from its envelope again, read it
once more carefully.</p>
<p>“I—I might look inter this w’ile I was there too,”
he muttered slowly. “I reckon I kin fin’ thet feller
I saw terday—Leroyd, his name was, an’ his address
was New England Hotel, Water Street. I shan’t furgit
thet right off.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>He shook his head slowly, thrust both letters into
his pocket, and then shambled off to bed in the room
off the kitchen as, having locked his nephew in, he
had also locked himself <i>out</i> of his usual bed chamber.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER X<br />
<small>BRANDON’S ARRIVAL AT THE METROPOLIS</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Long</span> habit had made Uncle Arad Tarr an extremely
early riser, and it had been his custom to
arouse Brandon as early as half past three or four
during the summer months, and never later than five-thirty
in winter. On the morning after he had fastened
the door of his nephew’s room, however, the
old man did not seek to disturb the boy, but rising
himself before five he went about the customary duties
of the house and barn.</p>
<p>In this work he missed Brandon sadly; but having
made up his mind that the boy was bound to leave
him any way, old Arad was determined that he
should go to the reform school, and therefore he
would have to learn to do without his valuable services.</p>
<p>To his unsophisticated mind, it seemed a very simple
matter indeed for a powerful local politician like
“Square” Holt to send his nephew to the State reformatory
institution, “and no questions asked.”</p>
<p>But under our present system of humane laws, and
with our enlightened legal executives, an undeserved
incarceration in prison or reform school is seldom
known—outside of story books. Judge Holt was a
large man in his own community (and in his own estimation)<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>
but he had never been beyond that community
far enough to learn how very small a man he
really was.</p>
<p>After the arduous labor of feeding the stock and
poultry, drawing water and bringing in wood, old
Arad hardly felt equal to either the task of preparing
breakfast, or eating the same; but he did at last sit
down to what he termed “a cold snack” about seven
o’clock.</p>
<p>“That ’ere boy sleeps like a pig,” he muttered,
with a groan, twisting about in his chair to get an
easy position for his rheumatic limbs. “I wonder
he hain’t begun er-kickin’ on th’ door, er suthin’, yit.”</p>
<p>At that moment there was a noise behind him, and
turning about he beheld the subject of his thoughts
standing in the doorway leading to the floor above.</p>
<p>Uncle Arad gave a shout expressing surprise and
anger, and sprang to his feet. Brandon had been surveying
him coolly, with a smile on his face, and now he
laughed outright.</p>
<p>“Good morning, uncle,” he said.</p>
<p>He was fully dressed in his best suit, hat, overcoat
and all, and carried a traveling bag in his hand.</p>
<p>“How—how did ye git aout?” sputtered Uncle
Arad, in wonder.</p>
<p>“How did I get out?”</p>
<p>“Yes—haow did ye git aouto’ yer room?” cried
the old man.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t in, therefore I didn’t have to get out,” responded
Brandon calmly.</p>
<p>“Ye warn’t in?” repeated his bewildered relative.</p>
<p>“That’s what I said. I wasn’t in. When you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>
crawled up stairs last night and took all that trouble
with the clothes line, I wasn’t in my room at all. I
expected some such delicate attention as that on your
part, uncle, so I took the trouble to remove my things
to the spare room at the other end of the hall, and
slept there.”</p>
<p>The farmer fairly gnashed his teeth in rage.</p>
<p>“Where be yeou goin’?” he demanded, planting
himself between his nephew and the door.</p>
<p>“Why, uncle, I thought you knew that,” said Brandon,
raising his eyebrows in apparent surprise. “I
told you last night that I was going to New York.
I haven’t changed my mind since then, though I’ve
modified my plans somewhat. It’s such a pleasant
morning, I believe I’ll walk down to Rockland, take
the stage from there to Hope, and go to town on the
train.”</p>
<p>“Yeou will, hey? Wal, I guess not!”</p>
<p>Old Arad backed up against the door as though to
guard that way of escape. His lean form was trembling
with excitement, and he was really in a pitiable
state for so old a man.</p>
<p>“Think not, eh?” said Brandon coolly.</p>
<p>He came into the kitchen and deposited his traveling
bag on a chair, and then stepped across the room
and took his rifle down from the two hooks upon
which it rested.</p>
<p>Old Arad uttered a shout of alarm and darted away
from the door to the opposite side of the table.</p>
<p>“Goodness me! would you shoot me?” he gasped,
fairly white to his lips.</p>
<p>“Don’t be a fool, uncle,” responded Brandon with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span>
asperity, opening the hall door again and bringing in
a gun case which had been standing in the corner of
the other apartment. “The rifle isn’t loaded, and,
besides, what do you suppose I’d want to shoot you
for?”</p>
<p>“Oh, you young villain, you!” groaned old Arad,
paying for his agile movements of the moment before
by several rheumatic twinges.</p>
<p>“Thanks! Well, uncle, I guess I’ll be off. I don’t
suppose you’ll shake hands with a fellow?” and Brandon
stopped, with his hand on the door latch.</p>
<p>“I’ll have ye a’rested afore ye git ter Rockland!”
the old man shouted, shaking his clenched fist at him.</p>
<p>“You’d better not try it,” the boy declared, with
flashing eyes.</p>
<p>Arad followed him outside, sputtering.</p>
<p>“Ye’ll live ter rue this day, ye young villain!” he
cried. “I’ll show ye no mercy.”</p>
<p>“All right; it’s all the same to me,” Brandon returned,
and whistling cheerfully, he went out of the
gate and started down the road with his burden of
traveling bag and gun case.</p>
<p>It was a beautiful morning, despite the rain of the
day before. True, there were puddles of muddy water
standing in the road and patches of dirty snow in
the fence corners and under the hedges. But these
drawbacks did not serve to cloud either the clear azure
sky or Brandon’s bright hopes.</p>
<p>Looking back at the old farm house once, before
turning the bend in the road, he had a glimpse of old
Arad driving furiously out of the yard.</p>
<p>“He is going to see his familiar spirit, Holt,” muttered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>
Don, with a smile, “and lots of good may it
do him. I’ll be in town before they catch me, and
Judge Ebenezer Holt isn’t anywhere near as big a
man in town as he is here. I’ll risk all the harm they
can do me now.”</p>
<p>He arrived at Rockland in time for the stage to
Hope, and at the latter village took the train for Providence.
Neither his uncle nor Holt had appeared, and
he made up his mind that he was well rid of them.</p>
<p>Once aboard the cars he settled himself back in
his seat, and drew forth the scrap of newspaper which
had dropped from the old sailor’s note case the day
before. He read it through again carefully.</p>
<p>“I’ve got nearly fifty dollars (wouldn’t uncle be
crazy if he knew it?) and although that isn’t a fortune,
still it ought to keep me for some time,” he
thought. “But, the question is, after I pump all I
can out of that Wetherbee, what had I better do?”</p>
<p>He mused a moment in silence, and then took up the
connected train of his reflections again.</p>
<p>“Fifty dollars ought to last me quite a spell—and
take me quite a way, too. Of course, I can’t hire a
boat in New York to go in search of the Silver Swan
with it; but I can watch the Hydrographic Office reports,
and find out in what general direction the brig’s
headed. Then I’ll get as near to her as possible and
see—what I shall see!</p>
<p>“I’d give a cent” (probably he would have given
a good deal more) “if this Wetherbee was a different
sort of a man. It’s a mystery to me how father
ever trusted the fellow. I always supposed that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span>
father had a keen insight into human nature; but a
man will be deceived at times, I suppose.</p>
<p>“But I won’t let this treasure idea keep me from
going to work, and working hard, too. If I don’t
get the money, why I don’t want to be roaming about
the world like Uncle Anson, with nothing to do in
life but hunt for wealth. I believe I’ll get a place
on some vessel any way, for there’s a good deal of
the sailor in me as there was in father. We get it
from grandfather’s folks—the Brandons—I suppose.”</p>
<p>He arrived at Providence before noon, and spent
the time until evening in looking about the business
portion, of the city, and especially about the wharves.
Then late in the afternoon he took the cars for New
York, arriving in the metropolis at such an hour that
to go to a hotel near the station seemed necessary.</p>
<p>Although a country boy by bringing up, Brandon
was not easily disturbed by the magnitude of life in
the great city. In fact, he rather enjoyed it, and
after retiring to his room at the hotel, he went to sleep
without one apprehensive thought of what the morrow
might bring forth.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_084.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="caption">“GOODNESS ME! WOULD YOU SHOOT ME?”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XI<br />
<small>THE FIRM OF ADONIRAM PEPPER & CO.</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Leaving</span> his bag and gun case at the hotel. Brandon
Tarr started out by nine o’clock on the following
morning, his first aim being to find and interview the
sailor who had already visited Chopmist for the purpose
of seeing him.</p>
<p>“Caleb Wetherbee, New England Hotel. Water
Street,” was the address, and after considerable inquiry
he found the street in question.</p>
<p>It was, however, the Battery end of it and no one
seemed to know anything about the New England
Hotel. Still, Don was not dismayed and pursued his
way, keeping his eyes open and himself alert among
the many new sights and sounds of the metropolis.</p>
<p>The locality grew worse as he pursued his way, but
he was not to be frightened off by gangs of street
gamins, or crowds of half drunken men. Still, in
these days, Water Street isn’t as bad as it was once—at
least, not by daylight.</p>
<p>As he wandered along he could see down the cross
streets to the wharves and water beyond, where all
sorts and conditions of seagoing craft were gathered
from all parts of the world. He sniffed the sea breeze,
too, which, to him, killed all the odor of the filth about
him.</p>
<p>“That’s what I want to be—a sailor,” he muttered.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>Just then something caught his eye and he stopped
motionless on the sidewalk.</p>
<p>On the opposite side of the street (the river side)
as though crowded off Front Street by its more pretentious
neighbors, was the office of a shipping firm.
It was in a low brick building, dingy and dirty as were
the structures about it, and a much battered sign over
the door read:</p>
<p class="center">ADONIRAM PEPPER & CO.,<br />
SHIPPING MERCHANTS.</p>
<p>The name was what attracted Brandon’s attention
first. He had heard his father speak of it and of the
man who was “Adoniram Pepper & Co.,” and from
his description he had a desire to see this eccentric
personage.</p>
<p>Perhaps, also, Mr. Pepper would know the locality
of the New England Hotel, and therefore Brandon
crossed the street and entered the dingy little front
office.</p>
<p>On a high stool by a high desk just beside the window,
sat a man with a wonderful development of leg,
a terrific shock of the reddest hair imaginable, and a
shrewd, lean face, lit up by sharp, foxy eyes. His
face was smoothly shaven and the yellow skin was
covered with innumerable wrinkles like cracks in the
cheeks of a wax doll; but whether this individual was
twenty-five, or fifty-five, Brandon was unable to
guess.</p>
<p>The man (a clerk, presumably) looked up with a
snarl at Brandon’s appearance.</p>
<p>“Well, what do <i>you</i> want?” he demanded.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>“Is the firm in?” asked Don, almost laughing in
the other’s face, for the red haired clerk had a huge
daub of ink on the bridge of his nose and another on
his shirt front.</p>
<p>“<i>I’m</i> the firm just now,” declared the man, glowering
at him as though he was a South Sea Islander
with cannibalistic tendencies.</p>
<p>“Oh, you are, eh?” returned Brandon. “Well, I
want to see Mr. Pepper.”</p>
<p>“You do, eh?” The clerk eyed him with still
greater disfavor. “You do, eh? Well you can’t see
Mr. Pepper.”</p>
<p>“Why not?”</p>
<p>“Well, for one reason he isn’t here—he ain’t down
yet—he’s gone away—he’s <i>dead</i>!”</p>
<p>He slammed down his pen and jumped off the high
stool.</p>
<p>“Git out o’ here you little rapscallion!” he roared,
evidently expecting Brandon to be frightened by his
vehemence. “We don’t allow no loafing ’round this
office. Git, I say, or——”</p>
<p>At that instant the street door behind the amused
Brandon was opened, and with one glance at the
newcomer the clerk’s jaws shut together like a trap,
he turned about and bounded to his seat on the stool
with great ability, and seizing his pen went to work on
his books with monstrous energy.</p>
<p>Brandon turned about also, surprised at these proceedings,
and found a short, pudgy looking little man
standing in the doorway of the office, gazing at the
clerk with a broad smile on his red face; but upon
looking closer the boy discovered that, although the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>
mouth was smiling, the gentleman’s eyes were very
stern indeed behind the gold rimmed eye glasses.</p>
<p>“What is the meaning of this unseemly conduct,
Weeks?” he asked in a tone of displeasure.</p>
<p>“I—I was just showin’ this—this young friend of
mine how—how a feller up to the Bow’ry acted
t’other night,” murmured the clerk, a sort of ghastly
red color mounting into his withered face beneath the
parchment-like skin.</p>
<p>“The Bowery?” repeated the gentleman, severely,
and Brandon decided that this was no other than Mr.
Adoniram Pepper himself.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir; Bowery Theater, you know,” responded
the clerk glibly, with an imploring side glance at
Brandon. “’Twas in the play, ‘The Buccaneer’s
Bride,’ you know.”</p>
<p>“No, I <i>don’t</i> know,” replied Mr. Pepper, in disgust.
“So this is your friend, is it?” and he turned
his gaze upon Brandon genially.</p>
<p>“Our friendship is of rather short duration,” said
Don, smiling.</p>
<p>“So I presume,” returned Mr. Pepper. “Did you
wish to see me?”</p>
<p>“Just a moment, sir.”</p>
<p>“I’ll give you two moments if you like.” Then he
turned again to the clerk and shook one fat finger at
him. “One of these days I’ll discharge you, Weeks,”
he said sternly.</p>
<p>“I expect so,” groaned the clerk. “And then
what’ll I do?”</p>
<p>Mr. Pepper looked at him a moment silently.</p>
<p>“Then you’ll go and lie somewhere else, I suppose.
You <i>will</i> lie, Alfred Weeks, and I suppose I might as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>
well keep you here and let you lie to me, as to turn
you loose upon your fellow men. Well, well! Now,
young man;” he turned with a sigh from the clerk
and again looked at Brandon.</p>
<p>“I suppose you are Mr. Pepper?” began Brandon.</p>
<p>“I—sup—pose—I—am,” replied the gentleman,
with great care, scrutinizing the face of the captain’s
son with marked interest.</p>
<p>“Let’s see, what is your name?” he said: “or, no,
you needn’t tell me. I know it already. Your name
is Tarr, and you are Captain Horace Tarr’s son!”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir, I am,” Brandon replied in surprise.</p>
<p>“I knew it, I knew it!” declared Mr. Pepper, shaking
both the boy’s hands so violently that the eye
glasses, which had a hard enough time generally in
staying on the little man’s nose, tumbled off, and were
only caught and saved from destruction by great
agility on Mr. Pepper’s part.</p>
<p>“My dear boy! I’d have known you if I’d met
you in Timbuctoo!” he declared. “Come into my office
and tell me all about yourself. I’ve been thinking
about you ever since—er—your poor father’s death.
I’ve got something to tell you, too.”</p>
<p>He led Brandon toward the inner door, marked
“Private,” and opening it, disclosed a comfortably
furnished room with a fire in the grate, and a general
air of cheerfulness about it.</p>
<p>“Come right in,” he repeated, and then shut the
door behind his visitor.</p>
<p>But no sooner was the door closed than the acrobatic
clerk was off his stool, and had his ear fitted to
the keyhole with a celerity which denoted much practice
in the art of eavesdropping.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XII<br />
<small>IN WHICH BRANDON VENTURES INTO RATHER DISREPUTABLE
SOCIETY</small></h2>
</div>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My</span> dear boy, sit down!” exclaimed Mr. Pepper,
motioning Brandon to a chair. “Sit down and let
me look at you.”</p>
<p>He himself took a chair at a desk by the window
and studied the boy intently for several moments.
Meanwhile Brandon was making a mental examination
of the shipping merchant as well.</p>
<p>Adoniram Pepper was a little, rotund man with a
good deal of color in his face and very little hair on
his head. His mouth was always smiling, but at
times, as Brandon had already seen, the gray eves
could be very stern indeed behind the gold rimmed
glasses, which latter had such hard work remaining
upon Mr. Pepper’s squat nose.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir, you are the perfect picture of your
father,” declared the shipping merchant at last. “I
thought when I read of his death that we should never
see his like again; but you have the promise of all
his outward characteristics, at least. I hope you’ve
his inner ones, too.”</p>
<p>“I hope so,” replied Brandon, pleased indeed at
such praise of his father.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>“He was a good man,” continued Mr. Pepper ruminatively.
“By the way, what’s your name?”</p>
<p>“Brandon, sir.”</p>
<p>“Oh yes, I remember now. Your father talked to
me of you. He wanted you to follow the sea, too, and
I suppose that is what you’ve come down here to New
York for, eh?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I hope to go to sea,” responded Brandon
slowly.</p>
<p>Had he not remembered his experience with Caleb
Wetherbee, without doubt Brandon would have opened
his heart to the eccentric merchant and told him all;
but bearing in mind the (to him) evident treachery of
the mate of the Silver Swan, he was not ready to take
into his confidence every friend of his father who happened
to turn up.</p>
<p>“I thought so, I thought so!” exclaimed Mr. Pepper,
rubbing his fat hands softly together. “The sea,
by all means, my boy. That’s where I’ve obtained my
living—and something beside—for many years,
though in a little different way from your father.
Captain Tarr commanded one of my vessels before he
purchased the Silver Swan.”</p>
<p>“Yes, so he has told me,” responded Brandon.</p>
<p>“It was a sad thing—his loss at sea,” said Mr.
Pepper.</p>
<p>He still smiled, but there was moisture on his eye
glasses, and he removed and wiped them gently on a
silk handkerchief.</p>
<p>“And he left you hardly a penny’s worth?” he
continued interrogatively.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>“I have only about fifty dollars,” Brandon replied
briefly.</p>
<p>“Only fifty dollars,” repeated the shipping merchant
softly. “Not much—more than I had, though, when
I went out to seek my fortune; but I had friends—powerful
friends—and so have you, Brandon.”</p>
<p>“Not many of them, I fancy,” Don returned, smiling.</p>
<p>“Not many, perhaps: but <i>some</i>,” the other declared
with confidence, “and one of them is Adoniram Pepper.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Mr. Pepper,” said Don. “I hope I
shall be worthy of your kindness.”</p>
<p>“No doubt of that—no doubt of that,” rejoined
the merchant, beaming upon him benignantly. “But
to <i>talk</i> isn’t enough for Adoniram Pepper; I want to
<i>do</i> something for you, my boy.”</p>
<p>“I—I don’t know just what you can do for me,
sir,” said Brandon doubtfully.</p>
<p>“Don’t know? Why, you want to go to sea, don’t
you?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir; I think I do.”</p>
<p>“Then I <i>can</i> help you,” declared the merchant.
“I’ve several vessels—three are in port at the present
time—and it will be strange indeed if I can’t find
a berth on one of them for you.”</p>
<p>“But I’m no sailor yet; I’ve got to learn,” objected
Don.</p>
<p>“So I suppose; but I’ll risk your learning fast
enough. Now, where would you like to go, and what
position shall I give you?” and Mr. Pepper settled
himself deeper into his chair, and looked as though<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>
he was prepared to offer Don any position he craved,
from cook’s assistant to captain.</p>
<p>Brandon felt just a little bewildered by all this, and
probably showed his bewilderment on his face.</p>
<p>“I’ll tell you what I have now,” went on Mr. Pepper.
“There’s the brig Calypso, loading for Port
Said—she sails tomorrow; and the clipper ship
Frances Pepper (my sister’s name, you know) unloading
from Rio, and bound back there and to Argentine
ports in a fortnight; and then there’s the whaleback,
Number Three.”</p>
<p>“The whaleback?” queried Brandon in perplexity.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir, whaleback; a whaleback steamer, you
know. Didn’t you ever see one?”</p>
<p>Brandon shook his head.</p>
<p>“Well, you’ll have a chance to,” declared Mr. Pepper.
“These whalebacks are something new. Lots
o’ folks don’t believe in ’em; but I do. I bought the
third one the company ever built, and it lies at one of
my wharves now, being fitted up.”</p>
<p>“But where will <i>that</i> go?” Brandon inquired with
interest.</p>
<p>Mr. Pepper rubbed his bald pate reflectively.</p>
<p>“Well,” he said, “that I don’t know yet. I haven’t
decided. I’ve got a scheme, but whether ’twill work
or not, I can’t say. I must find a man to command her
first. I don’t suppose <i>you’d</i> feel like doing that, would
you?” and the ship owner laughed jollily.</p>
<p>“I’m afraid not; perhaps, though, there’d be some
other place on her I could fill with satisfaction to
you.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps so. If I put her in the passenger trade,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>
how would you like to be purser—assistant purser, of
course, till you learn the duties?”</p>
<p>“I think I should like it,” replied Brandon, with
some hesitation, however; “provided, of course, that
I could take it at all.”</p>
<p>“Eh? Not take it? Why not?” demanded Mr.
Pepper.</p>
<p>“Well, first I want to see my father’s old mate—one
of the men saved from the raft, you know—about—well,
about a matter concerning the wreck. Perhaps,
then, if you can give me a berth, I’ll be able to
accept it.”</p>
<p>“Going over to the hospital to see him, eh? I know
Caleb Wetherbee.”</p>
<p>“No, he’s out of the hospital now. He gave me
his address—New England Hotel, on this very street—and
hunting for the place is what brought me here.”</p>
<p>“Bless my soul!” cried the ship owner; “Caleb
out of hospital? Why, I didn’t expect he’d be ’round
for some time yet. The papers said he was pretty
nearly done for when he got to New York. It went
harder with him than it did with the other sailor—a
good deal harder.”</p>
<p>Brandon looked at him curiously. If Caleb Wetherbee
was a particular friend of Mr. Pepper, the captain’s
son began to feel some doubt as to the latter’s
sincerity.</p>
<p>“Perhaps you can tell me where the New England
Hotel is?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Yes, it’s right along here on this side of the
street; several blocks away, perhaps. But,” he added,
“you don’t tell me that Caleb is <i>there</i>? Why, he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span>
must be ’way down on his luck. I must see about
this.”</p>
<p>Mr. Pepper wrinkled his brow nervously and Brandon
rose.</p>
<p>“Where are you going?”</p>
<p>“Up to see this man—this mate of the Silver
Swan.”</p>
<p>“Oh yes. Well, you tell him I’m coming up to
see him myself, today. It’s a mystery to me why he
should go to <i>that</i> place. I don’t understand it. How
was he looking when you saw him—for I take it you
<i>have</i> seen him?”</p>
<p>“How do you mean—sick or well?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Oh, he appeared in pretty fair health, I should
say,” replied Brandon, beginning to think that there
was something queer about it all.</p>
<p>“Well, I’ll see him myself,” declared the merchant,
rising and giving the boy his hand. “I tell you what
we’ll do, Brandon. If you don’t get back here by
noon, I’ll step up and get you, and we’ll go to lunch
together; then afterward we’ll take a look at the
whaleback, if you like.”</p>
<p>Brandon thanked him and opened the door into
the outer office, almost falling over Mr. Alfred Weeks,
who had his head suspiciously near the keyhole.</p>
<p>“Lo—looking for my ruler that I dropped,” declared
the red haired clerk, as his employer’s eyes
rested sternly upon him.</p>
<p>But as he passed out, Brandon noticed that the ruler
was on the high desk holding open the leaves of a
much tattered paper novel.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span>“Funny sort of fellow for a respectable ship owner
to employ,” Brandon decided, as he made his way
along the crowded thoroughfare. “In fact, I guess
I’ll withhold my opinion of all three of these people
till I know ’em better—Wetherbee, Pepper, and his
clerk.”</p>
<p>By closely scanning the signs on the buildings as he
passed, the captain’s son finally discovered the place
he sought. He came within an ace of not doing so,
however, for the words “New England Hotel” were
simply painted on a small strip of tin on one side of
the doorway, the rest of the sign space being devoted
to the words: John Brady, Wines, Liquors, and
Cigars.</p>
<p>Brandon hesitated a moment before entering the
place. It was plainly a saloon of the worst type, the
“hotel” part evidently being but a “blind” by means
of which the bar could be kept open all night.</p>
<p>Two or three disreputable men—sailors or longshoremen
by appearance—were hanging about the
door, but Brandon Tarr had a good deal of confidence
in his ability to take care of himself, and finally ascended
the steps.</p>
<p>A sickening odor of stale tobacco smoke and bad
liquor assailed his nostrils as he stepped within the
room, and he was almost tempted to back out and give
up his intention of seeing Wetherbee. But the man
behind the bar—a villainous looking fellow with a
closely cropped head and red face—had seen him and
came briskly forward.</p>
<p>“Well, young felley, what kin I do fur ye?” he
asked, in what was intended as a pleasant tone.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span>Deciding that he was in for it, the captain’s son
walked forward to the bar and replied:</p>
<p>“Nothing to drink, thank you. I’m looking for a
man who’s stopping here—Caleb Wetherbee.”</p>
<p>The bartender eyed him curiously and repeated:</p>
<p>“Caleb Wetherbee, eh? Well, I’ll see ’f he’s here.”</p>
<p>He stepped back to a door leading into an inner
room and, opening it a crack, called to somebody inside.
There was a whispered conversation between
the men, and the bull necked individual came back to
the bar.</p>
<p>“All right, m’ duck; he’s in dere,” he said, with a
grin, and a motion of his thumb toward the inner door.
“Yer don’t have ter send in no kyard.”</p>
<p>Taking this as a permission to enter, Brandon
walked across the long saloon, littered with tables and
chairs, and its door covered with sawdust, and opened
the door.</p>
<p>The apartment beyond was as badly furnished as
the outer room, there being only a square deal table
and several wooden bottomed chairs. In one of these
chairs before the table, with his head bowed upon
his arms, was the sailor whom Brandon had seen two
days before in the woods on his uncle’s farm back in
Chopmist, the only occupant of the place.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIII<br />
<small>THE OLD SAILOR WITH THE WOODEN LEG</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was only in the country—in the woods and
sheltered fence corners—that the patches of snow
still remained on this sixth day of April. In New
York the sun shone warmly upon the sidewalks,
washed clean by the shower of the night before, and
the tiny patches of grass in the parks and squares
were quite green again.</p>
<p>About the middle of the forenoon a man stumped
along a street leading to what remains of the Battery
park—a man dressed in a half uniform of navy blue,
and with a face (where the beard did not hide the
cuticle) as brown as a berry.</p>
<p>At first glance one would have pronounced this person
to be a sailor, and have been correct in the surmise,
too.</p>
<p>The man’s frame was of huge mold, with massive
development of chest and limbs, and a head like a
lion’s. But his bronzed cheeks were somewhat hollow,
and his step halting, this latter not altogether
owing to the fact that his right leg had been amputated
at the knee and the deficiency supplied by an old
fashioned wooden leg.</p>
<p>Still, despite his evident infirmity, the old seaman
looked cheerfully out upon the world on this bright<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>
April morning, and pegged along the sidewalk and
into the park with smiling good nature.</p>
<p>Not a beggar had accosted him during his walk
down town without having a nickel tossed to him, and
it was with vast contentment that the wooden legged
sailor at length seated himself upon a bench, from
which vantage point he could overlook the bay and
its multitudinous shipping.</p>
<p>“Ah!” he exclaimed, sniffing the air which blew
in from the sea, like a hungry dog. “This is <i>life</i>,
this is! Thank heaven I’ve got away from them
swabs of doctors at last. Another week at that ere
hospital would ha’ been the death o’ me. Still, I
reckon they meant well ’nough.”</p>
<p>He sat there for some time in cheerful silence, and
drank in the exhilarating air, his pea cloth jacket
thrown open to the breeze, baring the broad expanse
of flannel shirt beneath.</p>
<p>“A few days o’ this’ll put me right on my feet,” he
said, with delight, “better’n all the tonics the old sawbones
ever invented. Lord! if I’d had this breeze
a-blowin’ inter my winder up there to the hospital, I’d
been out a fortnight ago.</p>
<p>“The old man ain’t dead yet. It was a pretty hard
tug, I admit; but here I be!”</p>
<p>He slapped his leg with such vigor that a flock of
sparrows flew up with sudden affright from the path;
but this energetic gesture was taken in another sense
by the group of urchins which had gathered near by
to talk and fight (much after the manner of their
feathered prototypes, by the way) over the morning’s
sale of papers.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>At the old man’s motion half a dozen of these sharp
eyed little rascals broke away from the group, and ran
shrieking toward him, wildly waving their few remaining wares
in his face.</p>
<p>“’Ere you are, sir! <i>Tribune</i>, <i>Sun</i>, <i>World</i>!”</p>
<p>“<i>Tribune</i>,” said the old sailor, laughing heartily as
though he saw something extremely ludicrous in their
mistake.</p>
<p>“My last ’un, sir. Thankee!”</p>
<p>The successful Arab pocketed his money and went
back to his friends, while the sailor slowly unfolded
the sheet and took up the thread of his reflections
again.</p>
<p>“Once I get my sea legs on,” he thought, fumbling
in his pocket for a pair of huge, steel bowed spectacles,
which he carefully wiped and placed astride his nose
“once I get my sea legs on, I’ll take a trip up ter
Rhode Island and see the cap’n’s boy, unless he turns
up in answer to my letter.</p>
<p>“Poor lad! he’s doubtless heart broken by Cap’n
Horace’s death, and won’t feel much like goin’ into
this ’ere treasure huntin’ business; but for his own
good I’ll have ter rouse him up. It would be what the
cap’n would wish, I know.”</p>
<p>He let the paper lie idly on his knee a moment, and
a mist rose in his eyes.</p>
<p>“Never mind if the old brig <i>has</i> gone to pieces before
we get there,” he muttered. “I’ve got a little
shot in the locker yet, an’ the boy shan’t come ter
want. I’ll do my duty by him as though he was my
own son, that I will!”</p>
<p>He picked up the paper again, and turned naturally<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>
to the shipping news, which he ran over carelessly,
smiling the while. Finally his eye was attracted by
something near the bottom of the column.</p>
<p>“Eh, what’s this?” he exclaimed. “What’s this
about the Silver Swan?”</p>
<p>With great excitement he read the following news
item, following each line of the text with his stumpy
forefinger:</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>Captain Millington, of the English steamer Manitoba, which
arrived here yesterday from Brazil, reports that he passed a
very dangerous wreck in latitude 22:03, longitude 70:32. It
was the hull of a brig, apparently in good condition, but with
her masts snapped off close to the decks, and all her rigging
carried away. The name on her stern was Silver Swan,
Boston.</p>
<p>This is the same derelict reported by the steamer Montevideo
at Savannah several weeks ago. According to Captain
Millington, the wreck of the brig is a great menace to all vessels
plying between this and South American ports, as its
course seems to be right across the great highway followed
by most of the steamship lines.</p>
<p>It will be remembered that the Silver Swan was wrecked
over two months ago on Reef Eight, southwest of Cuba,
grounding, according to the report of the survivors of her
crew, upright on the rock. The captain of the Montevideo
sighted her not far from the reef, from which she was doubtless
loosened by the westerly gale of February 13th; but since
that time she has floated some distance to the north and east,
and if she follows the same tactics as many of her sister
derelicts, she may zigzag across the course of the South
American steamers for months.</p>
<p>The cruisers Kearsarge and Vesuvius are both lying in port
at present, and it will be respectfully suggested to the Navy
Department that one or both of those vessels be sent to destroy
this and several others of the most dangerous derelicts
now floating off our coast.</p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>“Shiver my timbers, sir!”</p>
<p>With this forcible and exceedingly salty ejaculation,
the old sailor with the wooden leg dropped the newspaper
to the walk, and his spectacles along with it, and
springing up, trampled upon them both.</p>
<p>But in his great excitement he noticed neither the
torn paper nor the ruined glasses. He stumped up
and down the walk for several moments before he became
calm enough to think coherently.</p>
<p>In fact, the blue-coated policeman on the corner had
begun to eye him suspiciously.</p>
<p>“The Silver Swan afloat—a derelict!” he muttered.
“This ’ere is a sitiwation I didn’t look for.
An’ then, them blasted cruisers are liable to go down
there and blow her into kingdom come any minute.
The Silver Swan on Reef Eight was bad enough, but
the Silver Swan afloat, at the mercy of the gales as
well as other vessels, is worse!</p>
<p>“Now, what in creation’ll I do about it? I haven’t
heard from the boy yet, and there’s little enough time
as it is. Why, she might sink ’most any time with
all them di’monds the cap’n told about aboard her!</p>
<p>“I’ll take a steamer to get down there ahead of
them confounded iron pots” (by this disrespectful
term did he designate Uncle Sam’s cruisers), “but
who under the canopy’s got a steamer to charter?</p>
<p>“By the great horn spoon, I have it!” he exclaimed,
after a moment’s thought. “Adoniram Pepper
is just the fellow.”</p>
<p>With this declaration he jammed his hat on his
head, and stumped off as rapidly as one good leg and
one wooden one could carry him, toward the shipping
merchant’s office on Water Street.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIV<br />
<small>THE OLD SAILOR’S EXCITEMENT</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">As</span> the old sailor hurried along the street toward
the ship owner’s office he became calmer, and, being
a person who had all his life been taking greater or
less chances in his business of seagoing, he began to
look at the situation more composedly.</p>
<p>The Silver Swan was without doubt in far greater
danger of destruction now than she had been while
hard and fast on the reef, but no amount of worrying
would better the matter, and therefore one might
accept the fact coolly. Then, besides, she had floated
unmolested for over six weeks already, and there was
a big chance for her doing so for six weeks or more
to come.</p>
<p>“Blast these navy vessels any way, I say!” the old
man muttered, stumping along now at a moderate
gait. “They probably won’t be able to find her. And
if nothing collides with her, I reckon she’ll keep
afloat for one while, for I can swear myself that the
old brig warn’t injured none below the water line—she
went on that reef jest as easy!</p>
<p>“She’s got the same chance o’ staying above board—the
Silver Swan has—as any other craft that’s
become a derelict. Look at the schooner W. L. White,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>
abandoned by her crew during the great storm of ’88.
She floated about the North Atlantic for the better
part of a year, before she went ashore at last on the
Hebrides.</p>
<p>“An’ then there was the Weyer G. Sargent, mahogany
laden, floated fifty-five hundred mile, or more,
’cording to the pilot chart, a-swingin’ ’round the Atlantic
from New Foundland to the Azores for two
years. An’ there may be many another good ship
that’s got a bigger record ’n that at this very day,
down in the Sargasso sea. Oh, it might be worse.”</p>
<p>Nevertheless, despite this cheerful view, the old
sailor’s forehead was knotted into a scowl as he opened
the door of the ship owner’s dingy office and entered.
The red haired clerk was alone at the desk and the
door of the private office was shut.</p>
<p>“Well, you jail bird, are you here yet?” demanded
the visitor impolitely, eying the clerk with exceeding
disfavor.</p>
<p>“Oh, is that you, Mr. Featherbee——”</p>
<p>“Wetherbee, you scoundrel!” roared the sailor, in
a voice like a bull.</p>
<p>“Oh, yes! I should say Wetherbee—er—that’s
what I meant,” the clerk hastened to say.</p>
<p>It was remarkable to notice the difference between
the greeting accorded to Caleb Wetherbee and that
given young Brandon Tarr shortly before.</p>
<p>“So you haven’t managed to get at Pepperpod’s
till and clear out, yet, eh?” demanded Caleb jocularly.</p>
<p>Mr. Weeks scowled and grinned at the same time,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>
a feat that very few men can perform; but he made
no verbal reply to the question.</p>
<p>“Where is he?” queried the sailor, nodding toward
the inner office. “In his den?”</p>
<p>“He’s busy—engaged,” Mr. Weeks hastened to
say.</p>
<p>“I believe you’re lying to me, Weeks,” returned the
sailor, after eying the fellow a moment. “You’d
rather lie than eat. Where’s Pepperpod?”</p>
<p>“He—he really <i>is</i> engaged, sir,” declared Weeks,
who stood in mortal fear of the brawny sailor. “That
is, he told me to say so to anybody that called——”</p>
<p>“I don’t doubt it—that’s what’s taught you to
lie,” cried Caleb, in disgust. “Well, I’m going to see
him if he’s engaged fifty times. Cut along now and
tell him I’m here.”</p>
<p>Mr. Weeks slowly descended from his stool, evidently
unwilling to comply with the request.</p>
<p>“Get a move on you,” the sailor commanded. “If
you don’t I’ll roast you over a slow fire. I’m just out
of the hospital and I’ve got an appetite like an ostrich—or
I’d never think of eating <i>you</i>.”</p>
<p>Mr. Weeks unwillingly went to the inner door and
rapped on the panel. Then he turned the knob and
went in, remaining a few moments, and on making his
appearance again, held the portal open for Caleb.</p>
<p>The sailor entered without a word and the clerk
closed the door behind him; then, as on the former occasion,
he applied his ear to the keyhole with a diligence
worthy of a better cause.</p>
<p>Mr. Pepper was sitting before his desk, which was
piled high with papers and letters. The day’s mail<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>
had just been sent up from the wareroom office by
Mr. Marks, the ship owner’s trusted manager, or
“steward,” as Adoniram was in the habit of calling
him.</p>
<p>Beginning business life more than fifty years before
in this very office, Mr. Pepper could not bring himself,
as his trade increased, to leave his old quarters,
and having found his manager to be a most trustworthy
man, he had shifted the burden of the more
arduous duties upon his younger shoulders, and himself
reposed contentedly amid the dust, the gloom, and
the cobwebs of the Water Street office.</p>
<p>Thus it was that few people ever saw “Adoniram
Pepper & Co.” to know him; but to his old friends,
those of his boyhood and young manhood, Adoniram
was always the same.</p>
<p>Naturally his acquaintance was mostly among seafaring
people, and it was no uncommon sight to see
old hulks of sea captains and ship owners, long past
their usefulness, steering a course for the Water Street
office on pleasant days, where they were sure to receive
a pleasant word from the little old gentleman,
if he was in, and not uncommonly a bit of silver to
spend for luxuries which “sailors’ homes” do not
supply.</p>
<p>The old gentleman sprang up at once at Caleb’s
appearance, the unfortunate eye glasses jumping off
the chubby little nose as though they were endowed
with life. Mr. Pepper gave both his hands to the
huge sailor, who indeed looked gigantic beside the little
man, and begged him to sit down.</p>
<p>“Well, Pepperpod, how are ye?” cried the sailor,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>
in a hearty roar that shook the light pieces of furniture
in the room, just as his bulk shook the chair he
had seated himself in.</p>
<p>“First rate, old Timbertoes!” declared the old gentleman,
laughing merrily. “So you’re out of the hospital,
at last?”</p>
<p>“I be, Adoniram, I be!” cried Caleb with satisfaction.
“Never was so glad o’ anythin’ in my life.
Them sawbones would have killed me if they’d kep’
me there much longer.”</p>
<p>“Well, well, Caleb, you was a mighty sick man—a
mighty sick man.”</p>
<p>“I reckon I was,” responded the sailor reflectively.</p>
<p>“The doctor wouldn’t let me come in to see you,”
said the merchant, smiling jovially; “so I had to content
myself with sending up things.”</p>
<p>“Yes, you did,” said Caleb, turning on him sternly.
“I <i>did</i> think, Adoniram, that you wouldn’t waste your
money on such truck as that—a-sendin’ me white
grapes, an’ jellies, an’ bunches o’ posies.”</p>
<p>He snorted in veriest scorn.</p>
<p>“Well, er—er—you see, Caleb, I told Frances
about you and she took over the things herself,” said
Adoniram hesitatingly.</p>
<p>“Hem!”</p>
<p>The old sea dog flushed up like a girl and mopped
his suddenly heated face with a great bandanna, finally
saying gruffly:</p>
<p>“You tell your sister, Miss Frances, that I am
mightily obleeged for ’em, Adoniram. They—er—jest
went to the right spot, you tell her; jest what I
needed to tone me up!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>“You’d better come up and tell her yourself, Caleb,”
said the merchant, with a sly smile.</p>
<p>“Well—er—mebbe I will. Thankee, Adoniram.”</p>
<p>He was silent a moment, and then, suddenly bethinking
himself of the errand which had brought him
there, he turned upon the little merchant with a slap
of his knee which sounded throughout the office like a
gun shot.</p>
<p>“But this ’ere ain’t what brought me here—not by
a long chalk. Ye know the Silver Swan, Adoniram?
Cap’n Horace Tarr’s brig ’t I was with when she
grounded on Reef Eight, two months and more ago?”</p>
<p>Mr. Pepper nodded.</p>
<p>“Well, sir, she’s afloat.”</p>
<p>“Afloat!”</p>
<p>“That’s what I said; afloat! A-f-l-o-t-e,” responded
the sailor, spelling the word very carefully,
if a trifle erratically.</p>
<p>“How—how can that be?”</p>
<p>“Well, ye see she went aground jest like she was
goin’ inter stocks for repairs, and if we’d stuck by
her, it’s my opinion Cap’n Tarr’d ha’ been alive now.”
He stopped and blew his nose hastily. “Well, what
is, can’t be bettered, so we’ll say no more o’ that.</p>
<p>“But what I’m gettin’ at is this: she went aground
all standin’, an’ the storm wot come up right arterwards,
blew her off ag’in. She’s been floating, according
to this morning’s paper, ever since.”</p>
<p>“Well, well!” exclaimed Adoniram. “It’s too bad
her hull can’t be secured for the boy. If it’s still
sound——”</p>
<p>“Sound as a dollar!”</p>
<p>“Where is it floating?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>“’Cordin’ to the report of a cap’n wot sighted her,
she’s somewheres about latitude 22, longitude 70.”</p>
<p>“A pretty valuable derelict, eh, Caleb?” said the
merchant, reflectively.</p>
<p>“Valible? Well, I should say!” The old sailor
looked at his friend curiously a moment, and then
leaned forward and rested his huge hand on Adoniram’s
knee. “Besides a valible cargo wot we took
on at the Cape and Rio, <i>there’s enough diamonds hid
aboard that brig to make the boy a second Vanderbilt</i>!”</p>
<p>“Mercy me!” exclaimed the merchant, and this
time the eye glasses leaped off their insecure resting
place and fell with a crash to the floor, the splintered
crystal flying in all directions.</p>
<p>“Now you’ve done it, Adoniram!” ejaculated Caleb
in disgust. “What under the canopy a man
like you—with no nose to speak of—wants to try
to wear such tackle as them for, is beyond me.”</p>
<p>“Well—er—Frances thinks they look better on
me than other kinds of glasses,” remarked the merchant
meekly.</p>
<p>“Well—hem!—I s’pose they <i>do</i> look some better
on ye,” declared Caleb loyally, and then a slight noise
from the other side of the door caused him to jump up
and spring hastily to it.</p>
<p>When he flung the door open, however, the red
haired clerk was astride his high stool with a look
of perfect innocence on his face; but Caleb was not
reassured. He shook his huge fist at the fellow, and
then shut the door again, turning the key in the lock
and hanging his hat upon the door knob for further
precaution.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XV<br />
<small>CALEB RECEIVES A STARTLING COMMUNICATION</small></h2>
</div>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Some</span> of these days,” said Caleb, with decision,
when he had taken these precautions, “I shall wring
that scoundrel’s neck, Adoniram. I wonder at your
keeping him here.”</p>
<p>“Well, you see, nobody else would have him,” responded
the merchant, as though that fact was reason
enough for <i>his</i> keeping the objectionable Mr. Weeks.</p>
<p>“Ya-as—one o’ your blasted philanthropic notions,”
declared Caleb, with a snort denoting disgust.
“Well, he’ll rob and murder you some day and then
you’ll wish you’d heard to me. If ‘jail bird’ ain’t
written on <i>his</i> face, then I never saw it on no man’s.”</p>
<p>“But, Caleb, what do you mean by the astounding
remark you just made about the Silver Swan?” asked
the merchant, drawing the sailor’s mind away from the
subject of Mr. Alfred Weeks and his frailties.</p>
<p>“I’ll tell you about it,” said Caleb, in a lower tone,
seating himself by the desk again. “What I said is
straight, Pepper. There is hidden inside that hulk of
the Silver Swan, a lot o’ di’monds—how many, I
don’t know—but enough, according to Cap’n Horace’s
own words to make a man fabulously rich.
They belong to his boy, Brandon, and <i>we</i> must get ’em
for him.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>“I never knew a word about the stones till we was
on the raft. Cap’n Horace was pretty fur gone—any
one with half an eye could see <i>that</i>—and when
we’d been out several days an’ hadn’t sighted no ship,
he wrote a long letter to Brandon an’ give it to me
with a package of other papers.</p>
<p>“I’ve got them papers right here at this identical
minute; but I ain’t opened ’em, ’cause it ain’t my
place to do so. They tells all about the di’monds an’
how they come into Cap’n Horace’s han’s.</p>
<p>“It seems that just afore we left the Cape a man
come aboard the Silver Swan and brought a package
of wot <i>he</i> thought was papers, to Cap’n Horace, from
his brother Anson.”</p>
<p>“Why, Anson was dead long ago, I thought,” interrupted
Mr. Pepper.</p>
<p>“So did everybody else think so; but he wasn’t.
He was dead, though, when this feller seed Cap’n
Horace, for he’d give the package into the man’s hands
when he was dying, for <i>him</i> to send to Cap’n Tarr.
But we put into the Cape afore the man got ’round
to sendin’ ’em to the States.</p>
<p>“<i>He</i> never knew what a valible thing he was a
carryin’ ’round; but when the cap’n come to open
the package he found a lot o’ di’monds done up in a
separate wrapper. These he hid somewhere about
the brig—he tells about it in this letter to Brandon,
I b’lieve.</p>
<p>“I wanted to know why he didn’t take ’em on the
raft when we left the brig, but it seems he misdoubted
himself about a rascally sailor we had with us—one
Jim Leroyd.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>“This ’ere Leroyd had been snoopin’ around the
cabin when the cap’n was given the diamonds, and he
thought the feller suspected something. So, not
knowing how it might go with any of us, he left the
gems on the brig, preferring to risk losin’ ’em altogether,
rather than to cause strife an’ p’r’aps bloodshed
on that raft.</p>
<p>“An’ I reckon ’twas lucky he did so, fur we had
trouble enough with that swab Leroyd.”</p>
<p>“Why, wasn’t he the man who was saved with
you?” asked the merchant.</p>
<p>“That’s who.”</p>
<p>“Tell me, Caleb,” said Mr. Pepper earnestly, “why
was it he stood the experience so much better than
you? Why, he was discharged from the hospital in
a week, so I understand, while you show traces of
the suffering you underwent even now.”</p>
<p>Caleb closed his lips grimly and looked at the little
man in silence for several moments. Then he leaned
further forward and clutched his arm with one great
brown hand.</p>
<p>“He had food that I didn’t have,” he whispered
hoarsely.</p>
<p>“What!” cried Adoniram, shrinking back, his eyes
abulge.</p>
<p>Caleb nodded slowly.</p>
<p>“There were four of us on that raft. Paulo Montez—he
went first. We divided the food and water, an’
that villain Leroyd ate his all up. Then we had ter
drive him behind his chest at the other end of the
raft, an’ keep him there at the point of our pistols.</p>
<p>“Then the cap’n went, an’—an’—<i>I had to throw<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>
him to the sharks to keep him out o’ the clutches o’
that cannibal Leroyd!</i>”</p>
<p>“Great heavens!” exclaimed the ship owner, shrinking
back into his chair, his face the picture of horrified
amazement.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” whispered Caleb; “he dragged poor
Paulo’s body back o’ that chest—an’—well, ’taint
no use talkin’! I ain’t said a word about it before to
any living creature. It’s only my word ag’in his,
at best. But I swear, Adoniram, I’d kill the hound
with as little compunction as I would a rat.</p>
<p>“He’s been sneaking ’round the hospital, inquiring
about me, too,” continued the sailor. “He’s got his
eye on these papers, for he see Cap’n Horace give
’em to me. I reckon he don’t know what they’re
about, but he suspects there’s money in it. He was
’round to the hospital only last night, so the doctor
told me.</p>
<p>“And now, Adoniram, wot I want o’ you is to help
me find this derelict before some o’ Uncle Sam’s
blasted iron pots go out after her. We must get the
boy down from that uncle’s place in Rhode Island——”</p>
<p>“Why, didn’t you see him this morning?” asked
Mr. Pepper, in surprise.</p>
<p>“See who?”</p>
<p>“Why, the boy—Captain Tarr’s son, Brandon?”</p>
<p>“What?” roared the sailor. “Then he’s here in
New York, is he?”</p>
<p>“Why—of—course,” responded the merchant, in
bewilderment. “I thought you’d seen him again. He
started out to call on you not two hours ago. He<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>
said you’d given him your address—at the New England
Hotel, just below here.</p>
<p>“And what I want to say, Caleb is that I don’t
consider it a great proof of friendship on <i>your</i> part,
for you to go to such a place as that, even if you were
low in finances. I’d only be too glad to have you
come to my house and stay the rest of your natural
life—and so would Frances.”</p>
<p>“Me!—at the New England Hotel!—why the
man’s crazy!” declared Caleb.</p>
<p>“Ain’t you stopping there?” gasped the merchant.</p>
<p>“Am I? Well. I guess not! I ain’t but just got
out o’ the hospital this blessed morning.”</p>
<p>“Why, he said he’d seen you once, and you’d told
him to call at the New England Hotel.”</p>
<p>“Who?” roared Caleb.</p>
<p>“Brandon Tarr.”</p>
<p>“Why, man alive, I never saw the lad in all my
life!”</p>
<p>“Then,” declared Adoniram with energy, “there’s
foul play about it. When I came down this morning
I found the captain’s son waiting to see me. He’d
just come down from Rhode Island, I believe, and
he’d got your address—said he’d already seen you
once, mind you—and was going up to this place to
see you again.</p>
<p>“I thought ’twas funny you should put up at such
a house, Caleb; but I didn’t know but perhaps you
were ‘on your uppers’” (Caleb snorted at this), “and
had gone there for cheapness. I told Brandon I’d
come up after him this noon and take him to lunch.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>But Caleb was on his feet now, and pacing the floor
like a caged lion.</p>
<p>“I see it all—I see it all!” he declared. “It’s some
o’ that swab Leroyd’s work. Why, man alive, do you
know what the New England Hotel is? It’s one o’
the wickedest places in New York. I know the den
well, and the feller as runs it, too. Why, the boy’s
in danger every moment he stays there!”</p>
<p>He seized his hat and jammed it on his head again.</p>
<p>“Ef anything’s happened to that boy, I’ll break
every bone in that scoundrel’s body!” he exclaimed,
seizing the door and throwing it wide open without
the formality of unlocking it.</p>
<p>The splintered wood and broken lock flew in all
directions as he dashed through the doorway and
flung himself into the street, while Mr. Pepper remained
weakly in his chair, too utterly bewildered to
move, and the festive Mr. Weeks dodged behind the
high desk with alacrity, as the sailor went through
the outer office like a whirlwind.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVI<br />
<small>TELLING HOW BRANDON BEARDED THE LION IN HIS
LAIR</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">As</span> Brandon Tarr entered the apartment behind
the bar room of the New England Hotel, the man
at the table raised his head and surveyed him surlily.
Evidently he had been drinking, and the liquor had
changed his mood greatly from that of the affable
sailor who had accosted the captain’s son in the Chopmist
woods.</p>
<p>“Well, how came <i>you</i> here?” inquired the sailor,
in no very friendly tone, gazing at Brandon, with
bloodshot eyes.</p>
<p>“I came down on the train.”</p>
<p>“Ain’t you lost?”</p>
<p>“Guess not,” responded the boy.</p>
<p>The man shifted his position uneasily, keeping his
eyes fixed upon his visitor.</p>
<p>“Can’t say as I expected to see you—just yet,
any way.”</p>
<p>“No?” returned Brandon coolly.</p>
<p>“Say! wot the blazes do you want, any way?” demanded
the sailor fiercely, after an instant’s silence.
“It won’t pay you to be sassy here, my lad, now I
can assure ye.”</p>
<p>“Think so? Seems to me you’re not as glad to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>
see me as I reckoned you would be. It didn’t exactly
pay you to come ’way up to Rhode Island to pump
me, did it?”</p>
<p>The fellow hissed out an oath between his teeth
and clinched his fist angrily.</p>
<p>“You’re too fresh, you are!” he declared.</p>
<p>“Maybe.”</p>
<p>“So I went up there to pump you, eh?”</p>
<p>“I reckon.”</p>
<p>“And what did <i>you</i> come down here for?”</p>
<p>“To pump you,” responded the captain’s son, laughing.</p>
<p>The sailor stared at him in utter amazement for a
moment.</p>
<p>“Of all the swabs——” he began, but Brandon
interrupted him.</p>
<p>“See here, Wetherbee, I’ve come here for a purpose.
My father intrusted you with some papers for
me (though why he ever did so <i>I</i> don’t see—I mistrusted
your ugly face the first time I ever saw it),
and now you are trying to play me false.”</p>
<p>“You know too much!” roared the sailor, rising
and thumping the table with his clenched fist.</p>
<p>“Yes, I <i>do</i> know too much for your good—or for
the success of your plot,” Brandon replied, with cool
sarcasm. “See this?”</p>
<p>He took the bit of newspaper from his pocket and
tossed it upon the table before the man.</p>
<p>“What is it?” demanded the sailor, clutching at the
clipping.</p>
<p>“The newspaper item stating that the Silver Swan
is a derelict, instead of being sunken, as you declared<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>
to me. Had I not found it in the woods after you
left, I might have still believed your lying yarn, Wetherbee.”</p>
<p>The sailor crumpled the bit of paper in his fist and
shook the clenched member in the boy’s face.</p>
<p>“Young man,” he said with emphasis, “ye think
ye’re smart; but do ye know that ye’re likely ter git
inter trouble ’fore ye get out o’ this place? I don’t
’low no boy ter sass me.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry for that,” said Brandon, thinking the
fellow’s threat but mere bombastic eloquence; “for I
reckon you’ll have to stand it.”</p>
<p>His very fearlessness caused the man to hesitate
ere he used violence, for it <i>might</i> be that the boy had
friends within call. The sailor therefore bit his thick
lip in fury, and poured a shower of vituperations upon
his visitor’s head.</p>
<p>“Let me tell you something else, also,” continued
Brandon. “I propose to have those papers that
father gave you.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you do?” half screamed the man, stamping
up and down the room in ungovernable rage.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir; and no amount of swearing will scare
me. Those papers are mine and if you won’t give
them up peaceably, the law will make you.”</p>
<p>Suddenly the man stopped storming and became
more tranquil.</p>
<p>“So you’re goin’ ter law erbout it, be ye?”</p>
<p>“No, I don’t think I’ll have to; I think you’ll see
plain enough that it will be best for you to give them
up. By your own confession you don’t know where
the treasure is hid; <i>but I do</i>. Somehow I’m going<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>
to find the wreck of the brig and get—whatever it
was father hid. But first, I want those papers that I
may know <i>what</i> the—the treasure consists of.”</p>
<p>“Oh, ye do? Well, how be ye goin’ ter prove that
I’ve got the docyments?”</p>
<p>“Very easily indeed,” Brandon responded frankly.
“I’m going to look up the sailor who was with you on
the raft. If father gave you the papers <i>he</i> doubtless
knows it, and I don’t believe that there are <i>two</i> men
as dishonest as you, Wetherbee.”</p>
<p>“So you know where the old man has hid the stuff,
hey? An’ yer goin’ ter see th’—th’ other sailor an’
git his evidence, be ye?”</p>
<p>The man’s ugly face turned a deep reddish hue and
he reached out his hands and clutched the empty chair
as though he were strangling somebody. The gesture
was so terribly realistic and the man’s face so diabolical,
that Brandon involuntarily shrank back.</p>
<p>“You little fool!” hissed the other slowly.
“You’ve put yourself right inter my han’s an’ let me
tell ye I’m a bad man ter monkey with. I’ve let ye
hev it all your own way so fur, but now ’twill be <i>my</i>
turn, an’ don’t you forgit it! Ye know where thet
treasure is hidden aboard the brig, hey? Then, by
the great jib boom, ye’ll tell me or <i>ye’ll never git out
o’ here alive</i>!”</p>
<p>As he uttered the threat he sprang upon the boy
so suddenly that Brandon was totally unprepared for
the assault. His victim was no match for his great
strength, and was borne to the floor at once.</p>
<p>The villain’s hand upon his throat deprived the boy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>
of all power of utterance, and he felt himself being
slowly choked into insensibility.</p>
<p>Suddenly the door between the apartment and the
bar room was flung wide open as though a small
hurricane had descended upon the establishment of
the New England Hotel. Don’s villainous assailant—big
and burly though he was—was seized in a grip
of iron, pulled from his victim, and thrown bodily to
the other side of the room.</p>
<p>“You scoundrel!” roared Caleb (for it was he)
in a voice that made the chandelier tremble. “Would
you kill the lad?”</p>
<p>But Brandon, now that the pressure was removed
from his throat, was on his feet in a moment, staring
curiously at the big, wooden legged sailor.</p>
<p>“Just saved you from adding murder to your other
sins, did I?” continued the mate of the Silver Swan.
“Did he hurt you, lad?”</p>
<p>“Guess I’m all right,” responded Brandon, feeling
of his throat as his assailant arose to his feet, scowling
ferociously at the newcomer.</p>
<p>“I’ll live to see you hung yet, Jim Leroyd!” Caleb
declared, shaking his huge fist at the sailor.</p>
<p>“Great Scott!” exclaimed Brandon; “is <i>that</i> his
name? Why, he told me he was Caleb Wetherbee!”</p>
<p>“He did, eh? Blast his impudence! Let me tell
you, lad, if Cale Wetherbee looked like that scoundrel,
he’d go drown himself for very shame. <i>I’m</i> Caleb
Wetherbee, myself, and <i>you</i>, I reckon, are Brandon
Tarr.”</p>
<p>Brandon was fairly stupefied by this announcement.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>“But what about the—the papers father put into
his hands for me?” he asked, breathlessly.</p>
<p>“Your father give <i>him</i> papers, lad? Well, I reckon
not! He’s lied to ye.”</p>
<p>“Then he hasn’t them?”</p>
<p>“Not he. I’ve got ’em myself, safe and sound.”</p>
<p>“You have them?” repeated Brandon.</p>
<p>“That I have,” replied the mate confidently, “and
what’s more, I’ve got ’em right here!”</p>
<p>At this juncture the door behind them opened and
the red faced barkeeper came into the room.</p>
<p>“Look er-here, wot’s de meanin’ of all dis, hey?”
he demanded, eying Caleb with disfavor.</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said the wooden legged sailor,
in disgust. “I know <i>you</i>, Jack Brady. Get out
here, you walking beer keg! I’m having a private
seance with this gentleman,” intimating the cowed
Leroyd.</p>
<p>A quick look of intelligence passed between Leroyd
and the bartender.</p>
<p>“Ye’re tryin’ ter kick up a shindy in dis place, dat’s
wot ye’re at!” declared the latter, rolling up his
sleeves, belligerently.</p>
<p>“Yes, and I’ll kick up a bigger row before I’m
through,” Caleb replied threateningly. “Now you
run out and play, sonny, while I talk to my friend,
Mr. Leroyd, here.”</p>
<p>This so angered the pugilistic looking man that he
made a dash at the big sailor; but the consequences
were exceedingly unpleasant.</p>
<p>Caleb’s hammer-like fist swung round with the force
of a pile driver, and an ox would have fallen before<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>
that blow. As Mr. Brady himself would have put
it, he was “knocked out in one round.”</p>
<p>But the treacherous Leroyd, taking advantage of
his friend’s attack on the mate, sprang upon Caleb
from the other side. This flank movement was totally
unexpected, and, weakened by his long confinement
in the hospital, the mate of the Silver Swan could not
hold his own with his former shipmate.</p>
<p>Both went to the floor with a crash, and as they
fell Leroyd tore open his antagonist’s coat and seized
a flat leather case from the mate’s inside pocket.
Dealing one heavy blow on the other’s upturned face,
the scoundrel sprang up and disappeared like a shot
through the door at the opposite end of the apartment.</p>
<p>“Stop him!” roared Caleb, and Brandon, who had
stood utterly bewildered and helpless throughout the
scene, sprang forward to the door.</p>
<p>“The papers! He’s stolen the papers!” he gasped,
seizing the knob and trying to pull open the door.</p>
<p>But the key had been turned in the lock and the
stout door baffled all his attempts upon it.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVII<br />
<small>HOW THE OMNIPRESENT WEEKS PROVES HIS RIGHT TO
THE TERM</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Hampered</span> as he was by his wooden leg, it was
several moments before the old sailor could get upon
his feet, and the festive Mr. Brady, maddened and almost
blinded by the blow he had received in the first
of the fracas, would have pitched into him had not
Brandon threatened the fellow with one of the heavy
chairs with which the room was furnished.</p>
<p>“I’ll make dis the sorriest day er your life, ye
bloomin’ big brute!” declared Mr. Brady, holding one
hand to his bruised face, and shaking the other fist
at the sailor. “I’ll have ye jugged—that’s wot I’ll
do——”</p>
<p>And just then he stopped, for in the doorway leading
to the bar room stood Adoniram Pepper, flushed
and breathless, and behind him the burly forms of
two blue-coated policemen.</p>
<p>“Thank goodness, the boy is safe!” gasped the
little merchant. “Are <i>you</i> hurt, Caleb?”</p>
<p>“Some shaken up, but that’s all, shipmate,” declared
the mate of the Silver Swan. “I got here just
in time to keep that brute Leroyd from choking the
lad to death.”</p>
<p>“Mercy! and where is he now?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>“Skipped, I reckon,” responded Caleb briefly,
brushing the sawdust off his clothing.</p>
<p>“But he’s stolen the papers,” said Brandon.</p>
<p>“Not the papers your father gave Caleb?” cried
the little man. “He must be captured at once!”</p>
<p>“Yes, he robbed me,” said Caleb slowly; “but
whether he got anything o’ much value or not is another
question. Let’s get out o’ here, ’Doniram, and
take account o’ cargo.”</p>
<p>Just here the policemen crowded into the room.</p>
<p>“Has your man got away, sir?” one of them asked
Mr. Pepper.</p>
<p>“I’m afraid he has, officer—unless you want this
fellow arrested, Caleb?” indicating the saloon keeper.</p>
<p>At this Brady began to storm and rave disgracefully.</p>
<p>“Come, quit that, Brady!” commanded officer Mullen.
“You’re deep in this, I’ve no doubt. You want
to walk a chalk line now, or I’ll have your license taken
away. D’ye understand?”</p>
<p>Mr. Brady subsided at this threat, and the party
filed out.</p>
<p>“It’s all right now, officer,” said Adoniram, slipping
something into Mr. Mullen’s hand. “We won’t
trouble you further. If anything more comes of it,
I’ll step around and see the captain myself.”</p>
<p>The two policemen nodded and Mr. Pepper led his
friends back to his office.</p>
<p>On the way Brandon explained his previous connection
with the villain Leroyd, and recounted what
had occurred at the New England Hotel before Caleb’s
timely appearance.</p>
<p>“Well, I reckon you were just what Leroyd told<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>
you—a little too fresh,” was the comment of the mate
of the Silver Swan. “’Twas only by luck that ye
warn’t garroted by that scoundrel. There’s been more
than one man gone into that dive that never come out
arterwards, now I tell ye.”</p>
<p>“You are wrong, Caleb,” declared Mr. Pepper confidently
“It was not luck—’twas Providence.”</p>
<p>“Mebbe you’re right, old man,” returned the mate.
“Now, lad, come in here and tell us all about yourself
before we do anything further. We want to get a
thorough understanding o’ the case.”</p>
<p>They had arrived at the shipping merchant’s office,
but it was locked and Mr. Pepper had to use his own
private pass key.</p>
<p>“Weeks has gone out,” the old gentleman explained,
ushering them in. “It’s his dinner hour.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad the swab’s out of the way,” growled the
sailor. “I don’t see what you keep that prying, sneaking
rascal about here for any way. He’ll do you some
damage some time, ’Doniram.”</p>
<p>“I—I should dislike to discharge him,” said the
old gentleman gently. “He—he is an unfortunate
fellow——”</p>
<p>“Unfortunate!” snorted the mate in disgust.</p>
<p>“Yes, unfortunate, Caleb. Even his face is against
him. Who would want such a looking fellow around
an office? And office work is all he knows how to do.
Marks wouldn’t keep him down to the other office, so
I <i>had</i> to take him up here.”</p>
<p>“Had to!”</p>
<p>Caleb stared at his old friend in pitying surprise.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>“’Doniram,” he said, “you—make—me—weary!”</p>
<p>Then he shook his head sadly and dropped heavily
into a chair he had formerly occupied near the merchant’s
desk.</p>
<p>“Come,” he said, turning to Brandon, holding out
his hand affectionately, “come and sit down here beside
me, my lad. We want to know each other better—you
and I—and I’ve got a good deal to say to ye.</p>
<p>“Your father’s last words to me was ‘Remember,
Cale!’ an’ they referred to the fac’ that he’d left me
in charge o’ you—an’ of your property. An’ I’m
rememberin’, though that hospital business delayed me
a good bit.”</p>
<p>“But, Caleb,” said the merchant nervously, “what
will you do about those—those diamonds,” and he
looked at Brandon smilingly, “now that that scamp
has stolen the captain’s papers?”</p>
<p>“Diamonds?” echoed Brandon.</p>
<p>“Aye, diamonds—lashin’s of ’em!” the sailor declared
earnestly. “If yer father was ter be believed—an’
<i>you</i> know whether or not to believe him as well
as <i>I</i>—there’s di’monds hid aboard that brig, enough
to make you a rich man, my lad.”</p>
<p>“But the papers?” repeated Mr. Pepper.</p>
<p>“Blast the papers!” exclaimed the sailor, slapping
his thigh impatiently. “They don’t amount to a row
of pins.”</p>
<p>“But they’ll tell that Leroyd all about the treasure
and just where to find it,” said Brandon.</p>
<p>“And you won’t know <i>where</i> to look for it aboard
the Silver Swan,” Mr. Pepper chimed in.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>“I won’t hey?” responded Caleb with a snort of
disgust. “Sure of that, be ye?”</p>
<p>“I think I know where father would place the gems
for safe keeping,” said Brandon, slowly.</p>
<p>“Yes, an’ I reckon <i>I</i> know, too,” the mate declared.
“There’s a sliding panel in the cabin—eh,
lad?”</p>
<p>Brandon nodded acquiescence.</p>
<p>“Yes, that’s it,” went on the sailor; “it come to me
just now when I was a-thinkin’ of the matter. We
useter keep our private papers in that ’ere hole in the
bulkhead. It’s the third panel on the port side front
the companionway.”</p>
<p>“Sh!” exclaimed the merchant, “suppose somebody
should overhear you.”</p>
<p>“Oh, that sneak Weeks isn’t here,” replied Caleb
carelessly. “You don’t have anybody else working
for you here who would snoop like him, do you, ’Doniram?”</p>
<p>The merchant shook his head with a mild smile.</p>
<p>“Well, then,” said the mate of the Silver Swan,
“we can get down to business. We understand each
other, eh, lad? Ye’ll put yourself under our care, an’
’Doniram an’ I’ll see you through this thing.”</p>
<p>“I’m only too glad to have your help,” cried Don
warmly. “Alone I can do nothing; but with you to
help me, Mr. Wetherbee——”</p>
<p>“Drop that!” thundered Caleb. “Don’t you ‘mister’
me, blast yer impudence! I’m Cale Wetherbee
to <i>you</i>, as I was to yer father.”</p>
<p>Then he added more mildly:</p>
<p>“You can count on me, Don. And you can count<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>
on Pepperpod, here, every time, eh?” and he nodded
to the ship owner.</p>
<p>“That you can, Don,” rejoined Mr. Pepper. “And
already I have a vessel I can place at your disposal.
It is the whaleback steamer I spoke of this morning.
You shall have her and go in quest of the Silver
Swan.”</p>
<p>“A whaleback, hey?” repeated Caleb quickly, with
a doubtful shake of his head. “I don’t know much
about them new fangled things.”</p>
<p>“Well, you shall before long,” Mr. Pepper declared.
“With her you can beat any of these cruisers to the
brig, and get the diamonds before they blow her sky
high.</p>
<p>“Now, let us go out to lunch; it is long past my
regular hour,” he continued. “I will close the office
for the day and you must both go home with me.
Wait, I’ll telephone to Marks.”</p>
<p>“Let me git my clo’es brushed before we go up
town, ’Doniram,” exclaimed Caleb, in sudden haste.
“I’ve got sawdust all over me.”</p>
<p>“All right,” the merchant responded, giving the
call for the wareroom office (it was a private line);
“you’ll find a whisk broom in that wardrobe there.
Don can brush you.”</p>
<p>The sailor arose and walked over to the wardrobe.</p>
<p>“Dem the thing! how it sticks,” he remarked impatiently,
tugging at the handle.</p>
<p>Then he exerted his great strength and the door
flew open with surprising suddenness, and with it,
to the startled amazement of the entire party, came the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>
red haired clerk, Alfred Weeks, clinging vainly to the
inner knob.</p>
<p>The momentum of his exit fairly threw him across
the small room, where he dropped into a chair which
happened to stand handy, gazing, the picture of fright,
at the infuriated sailor.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVIII<br />
<small>BRANDON LISTENS TO A SHORT FAMILY HISTORY</small></h2>
</div>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Weeks!</span> Weeks! I wouldn’t have thought it of
you,” exclaimed Adoniram Pepper sorrowfully, turning
away from the ’phone to gaze sternly at the rascally
clerk.</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t have thought it of him?” roared Caleb.
“’Doniram, you’re a fool! It’s just exactly what you
might have expected of him. Oh, you—you swab,
you!” he added, shaking his fist at the trembling culprit.
“I wish I had you aboard ship. If I wouldn’t
haze you!”</p>
<p>Then he sprang at the fellow, and seizing him ere
he could escape, tossed him face downward over his
knee, and, while he held him with one hand, delivered
a most energetic spanking with the other huge palm,
to his squirming prisoner’s manifest discomfort.</p>
<p>“Oh! oh! oh!” roared Weeks, almost black in the
face. “Oh, he’s a-murderin’ me I Let me go! Oh!
oh!”</p>
<p>“Stop your bawling, Alfred,” Mr. Pepper commanded,
as the breathless sailor released the scamp
and placed him upright with no gentle force.</p>
<p>Brandon, who had been well nigh convulsed with
laughter at the mode of punishment the clerk had received,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>
had not thought it possible for the jolly Adoniram
to ever appear so stern as he did now.</p>
<p>“Weeks,” continued the merchant, the customary
smile totally eradicated from his features, “Weeks, I
have done my best for you for ten years. I’ve helped
you the best I know how. I have shielded you from
those who would have given you over to justice more
than once, for your petty crimes. Now, sir, I am
through with you!</p>
<p>“This offense is unpardonable. You may go down
to the other office and draw your salary to the end of
the month, and never let me see you again until you
have become a respectable member of society, and
shown by your actions, not by words, that you are
such. Go at once, sir!”</p>
<p>Weeks hesitated an instant as though he contemplated
making an appeal to his old employer for mercy;
but the look on Mr. Pepper’s face forbade that. The
old merchant was an embodiment of justice now;
mercy for the rascally clerk had flown.</p>
<p>Picking up his hat, he limped silently to the door,
but ere he disappeared he turned and looked at Brandon,
who, in spite of himself, was unable to keep his
face straight. He glared at the laughing youth an instant,
and then the real nature of the fellow flashed
out from beneath the veneer of apparently harmless
impudence and cunning.</p>
<p>His dark, old looking face flushed deeply red, his
narrow eyes flashed with sudden rage, and he shook
his clenched fist at Brandon Tarr with insane fury.</p>
<p>“I’ll even things up with <i>you</i>, you young whelp!”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>
he hissed, and in another moment limped out of the
place.</p>
<p>“A nice fellow you’ve harbored, there, ’Doniram,
just as I told you,” Caleb declared. “He’ll knife you
some dark night, if you’re not careful.”</p>
<p>But Adoniram only shook his head sadly and returned
to the telephone. After talking to his manager
several minutes, he picked up his hat and gloves and
led the way out of the office, locking it behind him.</p>
<p>“Adoniram Pepper & Co. will take a holiday today,”
he said, his old jovial smile returning. “First
let us go to lunch.”</p>
<p>They were all too hungry by this time to go far
before attending to the wants of the inner man; but
notwithstanding that they were so far down town,
Adoniram was able to introduce them to a very comfortable
looking little chop house. He also, despite
their protestations, settled the checks himself, and then
telephoned to Brandon’s hotel and to the Marine Hospital
for the luggage of both his guests to be sent to
his up town residence.</p>
<p>“We’ll go up leisurely and give the baggage a
chance to get there before us,” said the merchant, as
they left the restaurant; “then Frances will know that
company is coming.”</p>
<p>So they saw a bit of New York for Brandon’s benefit,
arriving at the large, though plain looking house
in which the merchant resided, just before six o’clock.</p>
<p>Brandon noticed, as they neared their destination,
that the old sailor seemed ill at ease, and that the conversation
was being mostly carried on by Mr. Pepper
and himself. He did not understand this until they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>
were in the house, and the old merchant had gone to
summon his sister to meet his guests.</p>
<p>Caleb seemed terribly nervous. He sat on the edge
of the substantial, upholstered chair and twisted his
hat between his huge hands, his face and neck of
flaming hue, while his eyes were downcast, and he
started at every sound.</p>
<p>Finally, as the merchant did not return at once,
Caleb drew forth his bandanna and blew his nose furiously.</p>
<p>“This ’ere is terrible, isn’t it, lad?” he muttered
hoarsely, to Brandon, who had been eying him in great
surprise.</p>
<p>“What is, Caleb?”</p>
<p>“This ’ere meeting ladies, ye know,” responded the
mate of the Silver Swan in a mild roar, laboring under
the delusion that he was speaking very low indeed.</p>
<p>“There isn’t but one, Caleb,” replied Don encouragingly.</p>
<p>“I—I know it,” said Caleb, with a groan; “but
she’s—she’s th’ spankin’est craft ever yer see! Sails
allus new and fresh, riggin’ all taut—I tell ye, lad,
it allus rattles me for fear I ain’t all trim.”</p>
<p>“You look first rate, Caleb,” Brandon assured him,
stifling a desire to laugh as the old seaman evidently
considered the occasion so serious. “I wouldn’t
worry.”</p>
<p>“That’s easy enough for <i>you</i> to say,” returned
Caleb, with another shake of his head. “You
wouldn’t be Cap’n Horace’s son if ye didn’t find it all
plain sailin’ in a city droorin’ room, same’s on th’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>
ship’s deck; but with me it’s different. Oh, Lordy!
she’s hove in sight.”</p>
<p>There was a rustle of silken skirts, and Brandon
looked up to see Miss Frances Pepper entering the
room.</p>
<p>She was short and plump like her brother, though
of considerable less weight, and she smiled like him.
But otherwise Miss Pepper was rather prim and exact
in her appearance, manner, and dress. As the sailor
had said “her rigging was all taut,” and she looked
as though she had just stepped out of a bandbox.</p>
<p>“My old friend. Mr. Whitherbee!” she exclaimed,
holding out her hand to Caleb with unfeigned warmth.</p>
<p>“Wetherbee—Caleb Wetherbee, ma’am,” responded
Caleb, in a monotone growl, seizing the tips
of the lady’s fingers as though they were as fragile
as glass, and he feared to crush them in his calloused
palm.</p>
<p>“Oh, yes—Mr. Wetherbee,” she replied brightly,
gazing frankly into the old seaman’s face, which naturally
added materially to poor Caleb’s confusion. “I
was very sorry to hear about your illness, and am glad
you have at length been released from the hospital
ward.”</p>
<p>Then she turned to Brandon who had also risen.
She went up to him, and seizing both his hands imprinted
a motherly kiss upon his forehead.</p>
<p>The youth saw that her soft brown eyes, which could
not possibly look stern as could her brother’s gray
ones, were filled with tears.</p>
<p>“God bless you, my boy!” she said, in a low tone.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>
“I knew your father, Captain Tarr, and a very nice
man he was. You are like him.</p>
<p>“And now, brother,” added Miss Frances briskly,
“if you will take Mr. Wetherbee to his room to prepare
for dinner, I will show Brandon to <i>his</i> apartment.
Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”</p>
<p>Mr. Pepper, who had entered behind his sister, bore
Caleb off as she had commanded, to a room on the
lower floor, while Brandon was led up stairs by Miss
Frances. The house was nicely though plainly furnished,
evidences of comfort rather than of great
wealth being apparent.</p>
<p>Everywhere, on mantel and table, and in the niches
of the hall, were innumerable curiosities in the line
of shells and coral brought from all parts of the world.</p>
<p>Miss Frances ushered Brandon into a very prettily
furnished chamber on the second floor—almost too
daintily furnished for a boy’s room, in fact. Innumerable
bits of fancy work and the like, without doubt
the work of feminine fingers, adorned the place: yet
all was fashioned in a style of at least twenty years
back.</p>
<p>Above the bed, in a heavily gilded frame, was a
large portrait of a young woman—not exactly a beautiful
woman, but one with a very sweet and lovable
face—which smiled down upon the visitor and attracted
his attention at once.</p>
<p>Miss Frances noticed his glance, and lingered a
moment at the door.</p>
<p>“It was our little sister Milly,” she said softly.
“This was her room years ago. She was more than
twenty years younger than Adoniram and I.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span>“Then she died?” queried Don softly, still gazing
up at the smiling face.</p>
<p>“No, she married against father’s wishes. Father
was a very stern, proud man; not at all like Adoniram,
who, I am afraid, is not stern enough for his good,”
and she smiled a little; but there was moisture in her
eyes as she gazed up at the portrait.</p>
<p>“She was a lovely girl—at least <i>we</i> thought so—and
she was father’s favorite, too. But she married
a poor sea captain by the name of Frank, in direct opposition
to father’s command, and so he cast her off.</p>
<p>“He forbade Adoniram or me having anything to
do with her, or to help her in any way, and she herself
put it out of our power to do so, by going to the
other side of the world with her husband. Several
years later we heard of her death, and were told that
there was a child; but although Adoniram has done
all he could he has never been able to find this Captain
Frank.”</p>
<p>The old lady wiped her eyes before continuing.</p>
<p>“After father died we had this room fixed just as
she used to have it, and had that picture hung there.</p>
<p>“Now, Brandon, I won’t bother you longer. There
is your satchel, which the expressman brought an hour
ago. If you want anything, please ring.”</p>
<p>Then she departed, and left the captain’s son to
make ready for dinner.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIX<br />
<small>TELLING A GREAT DEAL ABOUT DERELICTS IN GENERAL</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Although</span> there seemed to be everything for comfort
about the Pepper mansion, the habits of the household
were most simple. Miss Frances was evidently
a woman of very domestic tastes, and had a vital interest
in all her household arrangements. Yet there
appeared to be plenty of servants about.</p>
<p>When dinner was over, the merchant had a short
conference with his manager, Mr. Marks, who always
came to report on matters at the close of the day;
after which he took his two guests into the library,
and the all absorbing topic of the search for the Silver
Swan was broached by Caleb, who had now regained
some of his wonted confidence.</p>
<p>“This ’ere delay is a bad thing,” the old sailor declared,
when Miss Frances had left them to talk the
matter over. “If I hadn’t been laid up all these
weeks in the hospital, I sh’d ha’ follered up the brig
long before, and had the di’monds. Now we’ve got
two—yes, three—circumstances against us.</p>
<p>“First and foremost is the fact that the Swan has
already been afloat ’most two months, an’ that’s longer
than the majority of derelicts last. Then these confounded
cruisers may get after her any minute, which
will be remarkably bad for our plans. And thirdly,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>
as the parsons say, there’s that rascal Leroyd. He’s
not the man I think him if he doesn’t make a break
for the wreck at once.”</p>
<p>“And he’s got the papers, too,” interjected Mr. Pepper.</p>
<p>Caleb smiled at this, but said nothing in reply, continuing
his remarks:</p>
<p>“Now, I’ve seen a good many derelicts in my time—a
good many—but if the Silver Swan is in the
shape I think her, she’s liable (setting aside accident)
to float for months. And she’s got lots of company,
too.”</p>
<p>“I should think these derelicts would be dreadfully
dangerous,” suggested Brandon, with all the curiosity
of a boy about anything pertaining to sea and sea going.</p>
<p>“They are,” declared Caleb; “more dangerous, it’s
likely, than anybody dreams of. Many a good ship—steamers
and sailing vessels both—has doubtless gone
to Davy Jones’ Locker because of them. Take one o’
these ’ere European steamships making time across
the ocean; she strikes a derelict—a coal laden one,
mebbe; they’re the most dangerous—and we never
hear of her again.</p>
<p>“I’ll never forget something that happened when
I was mate of the American bark Neptune, several
years ago. The Neptune were a mighty speedy craft,
an’ Cap’n Tollman was a terror for crowding on all
sail.</p>
<p>“We was scuddin’ along one dark night before a
stiff easterly gale, an’ I had the deck. It was just before
eight bells—half past three o’clock, mebbe—when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>
all to onct the man on lookout gave a yell that
fairly riz my hair on end.</p>
<p>“‘A wreck! dead ahead!’ he yelled. ‘Down with
your helm! hard down!’</p>
<p>“I jumped to the wheel myself an’ helped the helmsman
swing ’er over. Right up before us loomed the
dim, black form of a vessel—her stern under water,
an’ her bowsprit straight up. I tell ye, for about two
minutes I was dead sure ’twas all day with the old
Neptune, and us along with her.</p>
<p>“However she did it I dunno, but she answered her
helm quicker ’n she did afore or since. She jest
shaved the wreck, some of the cordage fastened to the
upright bowsprit catching in our spars an’ being torn
away, an’ we slipped by without any damage. But
I don’t want to have a closer shave than <i>that</i>.”</p>
<p>“That was a close call, Cale,” said Mr. Pepper reflectively.
“I’ve a man in my employ—Richards his
name is; he sails this trip as captain of the Calypso—who
came originally from New Brunswick. A regular
‘blue-nose’ he is, and a good sailor.</p>
<p>“Well, he was one of the crew of the ‘Joggins
raft’ as it was called, that left the Bay of Fundy for
New York several years ago.”</p>
<p>“And a mighty foolish thing that was, too,” interrupted
Caleb, shaking his head. “It’s a merciful
Providence that that thing didn’t occasion half a
dozen wrecks; but it didn’t, as far as anybody knows.”</p>
<p>“Richards tells a pretty thrilling story of his experience,”
the merchant continued, seeing that Brandon
was interested in the tale. “Lumber and coal
laden derelicts are considered the most dangerous, eh,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span>
Caleb? And this Joggins raft was probably the most
perilous object that was ever set afloat.</p>
<p>“The raft was composed of 27,000 great tree trunks,
bound together with chains, and it weighed something
like eleven thousand tons. The hawsers by which it
was towed, parted in a hurricane, and the raft went to
pieces south of Nantasket. For a good many months
the logs were reported as scattered over a great portion
of the North Atlantic. As Caleb says, however,
they did no damage, but the hydrographic charts during
the time were plentifully decorated with them.”</p>
<p>“What are these hydrographic charts?” asked
Brandon, with interest. “That clipping Leroyd lost
and which I found, mentioned the matter of the Swan’s
being reported to the Hydrographic Office at Washington.
What did it mean?”</p>
<p>“Well,” responded Mr. Pepper, while Caleb, at the
little merchant’s request, filled and smoked his evening
pipe, “when these abandoned wrecks are sighted by
incoming steamers, they are reported at once to the
Hydrographic Office at the capitol, the latitude and
longitude, name of the vessel if known, and her position
in the water, being given.</p>
<p>“As fast as messages of this kind are received at
the office they are posted on a big blackboard on which
is inscribed an outline map of the North Atlantic.
The position of each derelict is indicated by a pin stuck
into the board, and thrust at the same time through a
square scrap of paper.</p>
<p>“On this bit of paper is inscribed in red ink the
name of the deserted craft, if it is known, together
with a minute picture showing the attitude of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span>
vessel, whether bottom up, sunken at the stern, or
what not.</p>
<p>“These little pictures are reproduced on the next
pilot chart (which is a monthly publication), and
changes are made in the chart as frequently as the
derelicts are reported.”</p>
<p>“Seems to me, ’Doniram,” remarked Caleb, puffing
away with vast content at the pipe—“seems to me
you know a good deal about this derelict business.”</p>
<p>The little man seemed strangely confused at this,
and his jolly face blushed a deep red as he shifted his
position restlessly.</p>
<p>“Well,” he said slowly. “I <i>have</i> been looking it
up lately. I—I had an idea—a scheme, you know—that
caused me to study the matter some. Seems
odd, too, doesn’t it, with the matter of the Silver Swan
coming right on top of it?”</p>
<p>But here Brandon, whose thoughts had been wandering
a little, interrupted any further questioning on
the sailor’s part.</p>
<p>“I’m dreadfully sorry that that rascally Leroyd got
away with the letter father wrote me,” he said reflectively.</p>
<p>Caleb looked at him with a smile, and removed his
pipe from between his lips.</p>
<p>“Did I say he <i>had</i> got away with it?” he said.</p>
<p>“Eh?” interjected Adoniram, quickly.</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” queried Brandon.</p>
<p>“See here,” said Caleb, enjoying their surprise,
“You’ve been running this pretty much by yourselves.
<i>I</i> haven’t said that the swab got away with the papers,
have I?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>“For pity’s sake, what <i>did</i> he steal then?” demanded
Brandon, springing to his feet.</p>
<p>“Well,” returned the mate of the Silver Swan, “by
my reckoning he got an old pocketbook with some
worthless bills of lading in it and about ten dollars in
money—an’ much good may it do him.”</p>
<p>“Why—why—” sputtered Mr. Pepper, staring at
the smiling sailor in amazement.</p>
<p>“Now, don’t be in a hurry,” urged Caleb. “I
<i>didn’t</i> say the papers were stolen, so don’t ye accuse
me o’ that. Ye both jumped at that conclusion and
I let you think so, for as I’d made a fool of myself
once by lettin’ folks know I had ’em, I reckoned I
wouldn’t do it again.</p>
<p>“But now,” he added, “if ye think this is the time
and place to see them papers, I can perduce ’em ter
oncet.”</p>
<p>“Where are they? Let’s see ’em,” urged Brandon,
in excitement.</p>
<p>“All right, my lad. If you says the word, why
here goes.”</p>
<p>The old sailor laid his pipe down, and coolly began
to unstrap his wooden leg. The implement was an old
fashioned affair, consisting of a smoothly turned stick
at the lower end hardly larger than a broom handle,
but swelling as it rose, to the semblance of a leg.</p>
<p>In a moment he had it off and to the surprise of his
two friends this swelled portion of the imitation limb
was hollow. From this cavity he drew forth first a
bulky wallet and then a package of papers wrapped in
oiled paper.</p>
<p>“There ye be,” he declared, with satisfaction. “If<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span>
<i>I’d</i> known about them di’monds afore we left the brig,
I sh’d have had the cap’n let me hide ’em in this ’ere
timber leg. Then we’d have been saved a mighty
sight o’ bother.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XX<br />
<small>THE CONTENTS OF SEVERAL INTERESTING DOCUMENTS</small></h2>
</div>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Well</span>, of all things!” ejaculated Mr. Pepper, as
the old sailor produced the papers from their queer
repository, while Brandon burst out laughing.</p>
<p>“There’s some reasons for being grateful for even
a wooden leg,” remarked Caleb grimly. “I hid those
papers there when I was aboard the raft, and if I’d
passed in my checks I reckon papers an’ all would
have gone to the sharks, for Leroyd would never have
thought to look there for ’em.”</p>
<p>Then he strapped the artificial limb in place again,
and gravely handed the package to Brandon. The boy
had lost all desire to laugh now, for he was in possession
of the last written words of his father, and for a
moment his hands trembled and his eyes filled with
tears.</p>
<p>“Open it, my lad,” said the sailor. “I haven’t
touched the wrapper since Cap’n Horace gave it to
me.”</p>
<p>Brandon untied the string which bound the package,
and removed the oiled paper. There were several
folded documents within and one was marked:</p>
<p class="center">“To my son, Brandon,<br />
<span class="indentleft2">Horace Tarr.”</span></p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span>Don quickly opened the paper, recognizing the chirography
of the dead captain at once, although much
of the writing was blurred and illy formed, showing
how great a tax the effort had been for the injured
and dying man. It read as follows:</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="right"><span class="indentright"><span class="smcap">On Board the Raft,</span></span><br />
<span class="smcap">Tuesday Noon.</span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">My Beloved Son</span>:</p>
<p>We have now been on this raft two days, and I feel that
my end is drawing near, although my companions will doubtless
escape. But I have received a terrible blow on the head,
and my sufferings at times are frightful; therefore I know I
am not long for this world.</p>
<p>Oh, that I might see you again, my son! That I might be
spared to reach you, and to put into your hand the power to
make you the wealthy man I should have been had I lived.
But no; it could not be. Fortune has at last come to the
Tarrs, but I shall not share it; your uncle Anson was not
benefited by it, and death will overtake me soon, too. But
you, my son, I pray may regain the fortune which I have
hidden aboard the brig.</p>
<p>We committed a grave error in leaving the wreck; I know
that now. The hull of the Silver Swan was uninjured, and
she may outlast many gales. I shall put these papers into
Caleb Wetherbee’s hands ere I am called, and he, I know,
will help you to regain the fortune which first belonged to
Anson. Be guided by him, and trust him fully.</p>
<p>The letter from your uncle will explain all about the diamonds,
and how he came in possession of them. I dared not
take the gems with me from the brig, for Leroyd knew about
them, or suspected their presence, and he would have killed
us all for them, I fear.</p>
<p>But they are hidden in the steel lined closet—the one I
showed you in the cabin. Caleb knows where it is. Go to
the reef at once and get the jewels, before some one else gets
there. There are diamonds enough to make you fabulously
rich, if Anson appraised them rightly.</p>
<p>I am so weak that I cannot write longer.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span>These will probably be my last words on earth to you, my
son. Live uprightly; fear God; and hold sacred your mother’s
memory. God bless you, my boy! Farewell!</p>
<p class="right"><span class="indentright4">Your loving father,</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Horace Tarr</span>.</p>
</div>
<p>Tears fairly blinded Don’s eyes as he finished reading
the missive. He passed it to Mr. Pepper, who,
in turn, passed it to Caleb.</p>
<p>“He was a good man,” declared Adoniram softly,
while the old sailor blew his nose loudly, and wiped
the suspicious moisture from his eyes.</p>
<p>“That he were!” responded the latter. “Cap’n
Horace were all that he tells you to be, Don.”</p>
<p>“Please God, I’ll be worthy of his memory,” said
Brandon quietly. “If we are fortunate enough to
obtain any of this treasure he speaks of. I hope I
shall use it wisely, and as he would wish.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you fear—we’ll get it, lad,” Caleb assured
him earnestly. “I feel it in my bones we will.”</p>
<p>“What else was there in the package?” asked the
merchant curiously.</p>
<p>“There were two other papers,” Brandon replied.
“One is my father’s will.”</p>
<p>He picked that up from his lap and opened it.</p>
<p>“Why,” he exclaimed, “you are named as executor,
Mr. Pepper.”</p>
<p>He passed the legal document to Adoniram who adjusted
the eye glasses (of which a new pair had been
purchased), and examined it with manifest surprise.</p>
<p>“This is a legal will, as sure as I am alive!” he
exclaimed. “It was drawn up at Rio by an American
lawyer—a Mr. Bromley. Properly signed and witnessed.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>“Well, you’ll look out for it, won’t you?” said
Caleb, who was eager to hear the other paper—the
letter from Anson Tarr to his brother—read.</p>
<p>“Of course. But let me tell you its contents,” replied
the merchant. “It is short and to the point,
Caleb. <i>You</i> are given the Silver Swan, in fee simple,
and everything else goes to Brandon, here.”</p>
<p>He read the paragraph which secured all the property
of which Captain Tarr had been possessed, excepting
the brig, to Brandon, including “certain uncut
diamonds, roughly estimated at two hundred thousand
dollars.”</p>
<p>“Two hundred thousand!” repeated Brandon, in
bewilderment.</p>
<p>“Quite a pile, my boy,” said Caleb. “That is, if
we get ’em.”</p>
<p>“And you and I, Caleb,” concluded Mr. Pepper,
“are joint guardians of Don.”</p>
<p>“All right, all right,” cried the impatient sailor.
“But let’s hear the other letter, my lad. Read it out.”</p>
<p>Thus urged, Brandon unfolded the third paper, and
read its contents aloud:</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="right"><span class="indentright">“<span class="smcap">Kimberley, South Africa</span>,</span><br />
“November the 27th, 1891.</p>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Brother Horace</span>:</p>
<p>“Probably you have long since believed me dead, and I
have given you good reason for that belief, for, if I am not
mistaken, it was eight years ago, after my miserable failure
at the Australian gold diggings, that I last wrote to you.</p>
<p>“I intended then that you should never hear from me again.
I was a failure—a complete failure, I believed—and I determined
to tempt fortune no further. With this intention
I went to an island in the Pacific, and buried myself there,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>
with only natives and one other white man for company, for
six years.</p>
<p>“Then the old roving spirit awoke in me again, and I
longed to try my luck once more where other men were gaining
wealth. The news of the rich finds here in the diamond
fields reached even our lonely isle, and finally I could not
resist the temptation longer, and came here, leaving my companion
to dwell alone among the natives. I have been here
now the better part of a year and, at last, have been successful!</p>
<p>“Two months ago I struck a pocket in the hills, and out
of a trench less than two rods in length, I have dug what I
believe to be at least forty thousand pounds’ worth of diamonds
of exceptional purity. But the diggings have now
petered out.</p>
<p>“I kept the find a secret, and got all there was myself, excepting
a small number which my black digger ran away with,
and now I am afraid I shall not live to enjoy my riches.</p>
<p>“Perhaps it is as well. You know that riches have ever
taken wings with us, and I should probably lose all in some
other venture. I hope that you, Horace, will do better with
them than I, for to you, brother, and to your boy, if he has
lived, I bequeath the gems.</p>
<p>“I have been very ill now several days and the physician
tells me that I am in a very bad way. Exposure to all sorts
of weather in every kind of climate, is telling on me. Therefore
I do write this to you, my brother, and take precaution
to have the letter and the package of uncut stones sent to
you.</p>
<p>“Nobody here knows of my find. It is safest to trust nobody
in such a place as this. I propose to give the letter and
the gems, all in a sealed packet, to a friend, who is the most
trustworthy man I know, and have him give them to you.
He will believe the package to contain nothing but papers,
and therefore you will stand a good chance of getting the
diamonds safely.</p>
<p>“Good by for this world, Horace. May the luck of the
Tarrs be changed with this find of mine.</p>
<p class="right"><span class="indentright3">“Your brother,</span><br />
“<span class="smcap">Anson Tarr</span>.”</p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>“Well,” exclaimed Caleb, with a sigh, as Brandon
folded the document, “we’ve got the rights of it at
last. Two hundred thousand dollars wuth o’ di’monds—for
that’s what forty thousand pounds mean, I take
it, eh, ’Doniram?”</p>
<p>“About that,” said the merchant. “You will be a
very rich man, Don.”</p>
<p>“Let’s not count our chickens too soon,” said the
youth, trying to stifle his excitement. “It seems too
bewilderingly good to be true.”</p>
<p>“That’s a good idea about not countin’ our chickens,”
said Caleb. “But we’ll have a whack at ’em
just as soon as possible, my lad.”</p>
<p>“And you’ll let me furnish the vessel,” the merchant
added.</p>
<p>“Let’s see,” said the old sailor. “You was saying
something about havin’ one all ready. ’Doniram,
wasn’t you?”</p>
<p>“One that can be ready in a week’s time, any way;
and the craft you want, too—a whaleback.”</p>
<p>“I dunno,” said Caleb slowly. “I don’t fancy them
new fangled things. What under the sun did you ever
get a whaleback steamer for?”</p>
<p>Mr. Pepper looked at his old friend curiously, and
his little eyes twinkled.</p>
<p>“Well,” he said reflectively, “oddly enough, I
purchased Number Three from the American Barge
Company for the very purpose for which you wish to
use it.”</p>
<p>“What?” shouted Caleb.</p>
<p>“Not to go in search of the Silver Swan?” cried
Brandon, in wonder.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>“No, not exactly that; but to go in quest of derelicts
in general.”</p>
<p>“Another of your crazy ideas, ’Doniram!” Caleb
declared finally.</p>
<p>“Perhaps; but I notice that most of my ‘crazy
ideas’ turn out pretty successfully, old Timbertoes,”
said the little merchant jovially. “If you’ll give me
a chance, though, I’ll explain how I came to think of
<i>this</i> ‘crazy idea.’”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXI<br />
<small>IN WHICH MR. PEPPER MAKES A PROPOSITION TO CALEB
AND DON</small></h2>
</div>
<p>“<span class="smcap">You</span> see,” the ship owner began, as soon as he
was assured of the attention of his audience, “I have
had my eye on these whaleback steamers from the
start. Three years ago, you know, nobody but Captain
Alexander MacDougall, the inventor, knew anything
about them.</p>
<p>“We are altogether too conservative here in the
East,” continued Adoniram warmly. “It takes the
Westerners to get hold of new things, and practically
test them. These whalebacks are a Western idea
and were first used and tested on the Great Lakes.</p>
<p>“You don’t seem to realize, Caleb, that the boat
was never built which could sail as easily as those
whalebacks. In the heaviest gales they only roll
slightly, as a log would at sea. The waves can beat
against the curved steel sides of the craft as much as
they like, or wash clean over her; but the boat is not
affected by them in the least.”</p>
<p>“It’s the most wonderful thing I ever heard of,”
Brandon declared.</p>
<p>“They <i>are</i> wonderful boats, as you will declare,
yourself, when you see Number Three, tomorrow,”
Adoniram returned. “My whaleback is 265 feet long,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>
38 feet beam, and 24 feet deep. She is warranted to
carry 3,000 tons of grain on a sixteen and one half foot
draft. You see, for her size, she carries an enormous
cargo, for between the collision bulkhead forward, and
the bulkhead in front of the engine room aft, the whole
inside of the craft is open for lading.</p>
<p>“But my scheme—the reason I bought this vessel,
in fact—is this,” went on Mr. Pepper.</p>
<p>He hesitated a moment, and looked just a little
doubtfully at Caleb.</p>
<p>“I presume this <i>is</i> what you will call a ‘crazy idea,’
Caleb,” he said. “Several months ago my attention
was drawn to the fact that great numbers of these
derelicts now afloat in the Atlantic, north of the
equator, are richly laden merchant vessels on whose
cargoes and hulls a large salvage might be demanded
by any vessel towing them into port.</p>
<p>“Now and then, you know, it happens that somebody
<i>does</i> recover a derelict with a valuable cargo.
In these times, when the crews of American ships,
and even many of the officers, are ignorant and untrustworthy
fellows, lacking altogether the honor arm
perseverance which were characteristics of sailors
forty years ago (I don’t say that <i>all</i> are so, but many)
under these circumstances, I say, many a vessel which
might be worked safely into port, is abandoned in
mid ocean by the frightened crew.</p>
<p>“With a vessel like Number Three one could recover
and tow into port many of these hulks, and net
a large salvage from the owners. Vessels which
would not be worth saving themselves, might still contain
articles which it would pay to transfer to the hold<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>
of the whaleback, before they were sunk; for it was
my intention to have Number Three destroy all the
wrecks which are not worth saving.</p>
<p>“I have even sounded the Washington officials in
the matter of aiding me in the work of destroying
these derelicts; but I find that the Hydrographic Office
is trying to get an appropriation from Congress to
build a vessel of about 800 tons burden, especially for
the work of blowing up these wrecks. Until that
matter is decided, of course I can get no bonus on
what I do.</p>
<p>“Nevertheless,” Mr. Pepper continued, “I believe
that there is money enough in it to amply reward me
for my outlay. Why, look at that New England
whaler which found the British ship Resolute fast in
the ice of Melville Bay in the summer of ’55.</p>
<p>“She was one of three vessels sent out by the British
government to find Sir John Franklin. She was
‘nipped’ by the ice in the winter of ’51 and was abandoned.
The whaler brought her to New London, and
Congress bought her for $200,000 salvage and sent
her to England. Of course, I shouldn’t expect to get
many such prizes as that,” and the little man laughed,
“but I do expect to make a handsome profit on the
venture.”</p>
<p>“Take, for instance, the case of the Silver Swan.
I’ll make you a proposition, Brandon, and you see if it
isn’t a fair one. Caleb shall judge himself. I’ll send
the whaleback out after the brig at my own expense.
If we are successful and find the derelict and tow her
to port, I will take the cargo (I know it to be a valuable
one) for my pains—of course, not including the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>
diamonds, which are your own personal property, my
boy. The brig herself is Caleb’s, any way, according
to the terms of your father’s will. Now what do you
say?”</p>
<p>“I say it’s a good offer!” exclaimed Caleb, slapping
his thigh heartily. “You’re a man and a gentleman,
Adoniram. And far from thinking this scheme
of yours crazy, I think well of it—mighty well.”</p>
<p>“That’s because it ‘hits you where you live,’ as the
saying is,” returned Mr. Pepper, smiling slily.</p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t know anything about whalebacks,”
began Caleb.</p>
<p>“But you will,” the merchant declared, interrupting
him. “I haven’t got through with my proposition yet.”</p>
<p>“Fire ahead, old man,” said Caleb puffing steadily
on his pipe.</p>
<p>“Well, then, first I want you for the captain of the
steamer, Caleb.”</p>
<p>“Yes, so I supposed,” remarked the mate of the
Silver Swan imperturbably. “What else?”</p>
<p>“I want Brandon for second mate.”</p>
<p>“Me?” exclaimed Don. “Why, I never was
aboard a steamship in my life.”</p>
<p>“Oh, that doesn’t make any difference, Don,” returned
Caleb sarcastically. “It would be just like
him (if he wanted to) to send the vessel out with
every blessed one of the crew landlubbers. It don’t
make a particle o’ difference.”</p>
<p>“Now, Caleb,” said the merchant deprecatingly.</p>
<p>“No, Adoniram, we can’t do it. The boy knows
nothing at all about a steamship, and I know but little
more.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>“You’ve been mate on a steamer, Caleb.”</p>
<p>“On a dredger, you mean,” returned the old sailor,
in disgust.</p>
<p>“There’s no reason why you can’t do it—both of
you,” the ship owner declared. “If I’m satisfied, <i>you</i>
ought to be. I’ve already engaged Lawrence Coffin
for mate.”</p>
<p>“Coffin!” ejaculated Caleb, his face lighting up,
as he forgot to pull on his pipe in his interest. “Got
<i>him</i>, eh? Well, that puts a different complexion on
the matter. I could sail the Great Eastern with Lawrence
Coffin for mate.”</p>
<p>“I thought so,” said Mr. Pepper, laughing gleefully.
“Then I’ve got a man by the name of Bolin for third.
He’s a good man, and knows his business, too.”</p>
<p>“That would make Don’s duties pretty light,” said
Caleb reflectively.</p>
<p>“Of course. I shall put in rather a larger crew
than a whaleback usually carries—fourteen at least,”
Mr. Pepper added; “to handle the cargoes I shall
expect the steamer to recover.”</p>
<p>“Well, well,” said Caleb, rising; “let’s sleep on it.
It’s never best to decide on anything too quickly.”</p>
<p>“If you’ll take up with my offer,” concluded the
merchant, rising, too, “the craft can be made ready,
and you can get away this day week.”</p>
<p>“Let’s think it over,” repeated the old sailor, bound
not to be hurried into the business; but Don went to
bed so excited by the prospect that it was hours before
he was able to sleep.</p>
<p>“Did a fellow <i>ever</i> have a better chance for fun
and adventure?” was his last thought as he finally
sank into a fitful slumber.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXII<br />
<small>INTO BAD COMPANY</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">If</span> I were to follow up my own inclinations I should
much prefer to stay in the company of Brandon Tarr
and of his two good friends, the honest, hearty old
seaman, Caleb Wetherbee, and the jovial, philanthropic
ship owner, Adoniram Pepper. And I feel sure that
the reader, too, would much prefer to remain with
them.</p>
<p>But, for the sake of better understanding that which
is to follow, I shall be obliged for a short time to request
the company of the reader in entirely different
scenes, and among rather disreputable characters.</p>
<p>Mr. Alfred Weeks, who had been in receipt of so
many favors in times past from the firm of Adoniram
Pepper & Co., is the first person who will receive our
attention.</p>
<p>Weeks was “an effect of a cause.” He was of the
slums, his ancestry came from the slums; he was simply,
by accident of education (compulsory education,
by the way) once removed from the usual “gutter
snipe” of the city streets.</p>
<p>Who his parents were, he could not, for the life of
him, have told. I do not mean to suggest for an instant
that Weeks was not to be pitied; but that he was
deserving of pity I deny. He had been saved from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>
the debasing influences of the reform school in his
youth by a philanthropic gentleman (who might have
been the twin of Adoniram Pepper), and sent to a
Western State where he was clothed, fed, and educated
by a kind hearted farmer, whom he repaid by theft
and by finally running away.</p>
<p>Then he went from one thing to another, and from
place to place, and you may be sure that neither his
morals nor his habits improved during the progression.
Finally at twenty-five, he drifted back to the
metropolis, and quickly found his old level again—the
slums. Here he likewise discovered many of the
acquaintances of his youth, for he had been a boy of
twelve when he had been sent West.</p>
<p>Among these old friends he was known as
“Sneaky” (a very appropriate appellation, as we have
seen), “Alfred Weeks” being the name given him
by his Western benefactor. The fellow was a most
accomplished hypocrite and it was by the exercise of
this attribute that he had obtained the situation as
Adoniram Pepper’s clerk, and kept it for ten years,
despite many of his evil deeds coming to the knowledge
of the shipping merchant.</p>
<p>Not one of the three persons who had been in the
office that afternoon when his presence in the wardrobe
was discovered, realized how thoroughly bad at
heart Weeks was, or how dangerous an enemy they
had made. Even Caleb Wetherbee did not fully recognize
it.</p>
<p>But they <i>had</i> made an enemy, and within twenty-four
hours that enemy was at work to undermine and
thwart their plans.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>Weeks had overheard enough of the story of the
Silver Swan and her valuable cargo to make it an
easy matter for him to decide on a line of action which
might lead to his own benefit, as well as to the compassing
of his much desired revenge.</p>
<p>He solaced his wounded feelings the evening after
his dismissal from the ship owner’s office by a trip to
his favorite resort—the Bowery Theater—where he
again drank in the highly colored sentences and romantic
tableaux of that great drama “The Buccaneer’s
Bride.” Unfortunately, however, he was
forced to remain standing during the play for obvious
reasons; the seats of the theater were not cushioned.</p>
<p>The next forenoon he adorned himself in the height
of Bowery style, and strolled down past the scene of
his former labors and on toward that rendezvous
known as the New England Hotel. He had his plans
already mapped out, and the first thing to do was to
join forces with Jim Leroyd, whom he knew very well
by reputation, at least, as did a great many others
among the denizens of lower New York.</p>
<p>But as he strolled along Water Street he discovered
something which slightly changed his plans. Perhaps,
to be exact, I should say that he discovered <i>somebody</i>.</p>
<p>On the opposite side of the thoroughfare was a
weazen faced old man, with bowed shoulders, and not
altogether steady feet. He was dressed in rusty black
clothes of a pattern far remote from the present day.</p>
<p>Evidently he was quite confused by his surroundings
and by the crowd which jostled him on the walk.</p>
<p>“What a chance for a ‘bunco man,’” exclaimed the
festive Alfred, under his breath. “That’s country,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span>
sure enough. I wonder how it ever got here all
alone,” and the philanthropic ex-clerk crossed the
street at once and fell into the old man’s wake.</p>
<p>Despite his countrified manner, however, there was
an air of shrewd, suspicious intelligence about the man
of the rusty habiliments. Fortunately for the success
of his further plans, Weeks did not seek to accost him
at once.</p>
<p>Had he done so he would have aroused the countryman’s
suspicions. The latter had come warned and
forearmed against strangers who sought his acquaintance.</p>
<p>As they went along, the old man ahead and Weeks
in the rear, the latter discovered that the countryman
was seeking for something. He went along slowly,
with his eyes fixed on the signs on either side, studying
each new one as it came in view with apparent interest.</p>
<p>Finally he stopped on the corner of a cross street
and looked about him at the rushing, hurried life
in perplexity. Now was Mr. Week’s chance.</p>
<p>He strolled slowly along toward the old fellow, the
only person without an apparent object, in that whole
multitude.</p>
<p>As the ex-clerk expected, the countryman accosted
him.</p>
<p>“Say, mister,” he said, in his harsh, cracked voice,
which rose plainly above the noise of the street, “kin
you tell me the whereabouts of the New England Hotel?”</p>
<p>“Whew!” thought Mr. Weeks. “Pretty shady locality<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span>
for a respectable farmer. Wonder what the old
fellow wants <i>there</i>?”</p>
<p>Then aloud he said:</p>
<p>“I’m going along there myself, sir; it is several
blocks yet.”</p>
<p>“Wal, ’t seems ter me,” snarled the other, taking
his place by the side of Weeks, “thet this ’ere street
hain’t got no end, nor no numbers ter speak of. I
looked in one o’ them things over at the hotel—a
d’rectory I b’lieve the clerk called it—but I don’t see
as it helped me any.”</p>
<p>“It’s pretty hard for a stranger to find his way about
New York, that’s a fact.”</p>
<p>The old fellow flashed a sudden look at his companion,
which was not lost on the sly Weeks. The
farmer had “read up” on “bunco men” and their
ways, and expected that the polite stranger would suggest
showing him about the city a little.</p>
<p>But Weeks didn’t; he wasn’t that kind.</p>
<p>Finding that the fellow seemed totally uninterested
as to whether he found his way about the metropolis
or not, the countryman gained a little confidence in his
new acquaintance.</p>
<p>“New York streets hain’t much like Providence
streets,” he said. “Ye <i>kin</i> find yer way ’round them;
but I defy any one ter know whether they’re goin’
straight here, or not.”</p>
<p>Mr. Weeks smiled and nodded, but let the other do
most of the talking. He went on the principle that
if you give a fool rope enough he’ll hang himself;
and although the old fellow thought himself
exceedingly shrewd, and took pains to dodge the real<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span>
object of his visit to New York, in seeking to be pleasant
to his new acquaintance he “gave the whole thing
dead away,” as the astute Alfred mentally expressed it.</p>
<p>“Ye see,” said the old man. “I’m down here
a-lookin for my nevvy, Brandon, who’s run away from
me. Nothing else would ha’ got me down here right
in the beginnin’ of the spring work.”</p>
<p>Weeks started slightly, but otherwise showed no
signs of special interest; but as the old fellow ran on
about the terrible state he expected his affairs would
be in because of his absence, Mr. Alfred Weeks did
some pretty tall thinking.</p>
<p>“Brandon is no common name,” so the ex-clerk
communed with himself. “I bet there hasn’t been <i>two</i>
Brandons come to New York within the past few
days—both from Rhode Island, too.</p>
<p>“This is the old uncle I heard the young chap
mention. He’s down here after the boy, eh? But
I’m betting there’s something else behind it. Now,
let’s see; what does he want at the New England Hotel?</p>
<p>“Leroyd, so young Tarr said, had been up to Rhode
Island to see him.” Weeks thought, continuing his
train of reasoning. “Passed himself off to <i>him</i>, at
least, as old Wetherbee. Oh, Jim’s a keen one, he is!
Now Leroyd’s at the hotel—at least, he <i>has</i> been.
What is this old scarecrow going there for?</p>
<p>“There’s a great big rat in the toe of this stocking,”
Mr. Weeks assured himself. “This uncle is an old
scamp, that’s <i>my</i> opinion.” (Mr. Weeks knew a
scamp when he saw one—excepting when he looked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>
in the glass.) “I’d wager a good deal that he and
Jim understand each other pretty well.</p>
<p>“Probably Jim has let the old fellow into the fact
that there’s treasure aboard that brig, hoping to get
him to back him in an attempt to find it. By the cast
in the old man’s eye, I reckon he’s always on the
lookout for the almighty dollar. Now, he and Jim
are going to try and hitch horses together, I bet. And
am I in this? I betcher! with both feet!”</p>
<p>With this elegant expression, Mr. Weeks drew up
before the uninviting resort known as the New England
Hotel.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIII<br />
<small>MR. ALFRED WEEKS AT A CERTAIN CONFERENCE</small></h2>
</div>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Here</span> we are, mister,” said the ex-clerk; “see,
there’s the sign—New England Hotel. Did you expect
to find your runaway nephew here?”</p>
<p>“No-o,” replied old Arad Tarr, eying the place with
a good deal of disfavor.</p>
<p>“See here,” said Weeks slowly, “I’ve been trying
to remember whereabouts I’ve heard that name ‘Brandon’
before. It’s not a common name, you know.”</p>
<p>“No, ’taint common. D’ye thing ye’ve seen
Brandon since he’s been here in New York? He’s
only been here two days, I reckon,” said old Arad
eagerly.</p>
<p>“Perhaps.”</p>
<p>“Where was he?” queried the old man. “I’m his
lawful guardeen, an’ I’m a-goin’ ter hev him back,
now I tell ye!”</p>
<p>“Let’s see; his name is Brandon Tarr, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“That’s it; that’s it,” Arad declared.</p>
<p>“And he came from Chopmist, Rhode Island?”</p>
<p>“Sartin. You must have seen him, mister.”</p>
<p>“I guess I have,” said Weeks reflectively. “He
was the son of a Captain Horace Tarr, lost at sea on
the Silver Swan not long ago, eh?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>“The very feller!” cried Arad, with manifest delight.</p>
<p>“Then I guess I can help you find him,” declared
Weeks cheerfully. “Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you
how I happened to run across him. It’s not a very
nice looking place, this isn’t; but they know me here
and it won’t be safe for them to treat any of my friends
crooked.”</p>
<p>The old man, who had forgotten all about bunco
men and their ilk in his anxiety to recover his nephew,
followed him into the bar room. The place was but
poorly patronized at this hour of the day, and with a
nod to Brady, who, his face adorned with a most beautiful
black eye, was behind the bar, Weeks led the
way to an empty table in the further corner.</p>
<p>“What’ll you an’ your friend hev ter drink?” inquired
Mr. Brady, with an atrocious grin.</p>
<p>“Oh, a bottle of sarsaparilla,” responded Weeks
carelessly, and when the bull necked barkeeper had
brought it, the ex-clerk paid for the refreshment himself.</p>
<p>Old Arad had looked rather scared at the appearance
of the bottle. His mind at once reverted to the
stories he had read in the local paper at home (which
paper he had borrowed from a neighbor, by the way)
of countrymen being decoyed into dens in New York
and treated to drugged liquor.</p>
<p>But as Weeks allowed the bottle to stand on the
table between them untouched throughout their conference,
the old man felt easier in his mind.</p>
<p>“Ye say ye’ve seen Brandon?” inquired Arad,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>
when Jack Brady had returned to his position behind
the bar, and there was nobody within earshot.</p>
<p>“Yes. I’ll tell you how it was. You see, Mr.
Tarr—that’s your name, isn’t it?—I have a position
in a shipping merchant’s office as clerk. The
office is—er—closed today, so I am out. This
office is that of Adoniram Pepper & Co. Ever hear
of them?”</p>
<p>Old Arad shook his head negatively.</p>
<p>“Pepper was a great friend of this Brandon’s
father, so I understand.”</p>
<p>“Mebbe,” snarled the farmer. “Cap’n Tarr’s
friends warn’t <i>my</i> friends.”</p>
<p>“No? Well, your nephew steered straight for
Pepper’s office, and I believe that he’s staying at the
old man’s house now—he and a man by the name of
Caleb Wetherbee.”</p>
<p>“Caleb Wetherbee? Gracious Peter!” ejaculated
the old man. “Hez he found <i>him</i> so soon.”</p>
<p>Mr. Weeks nodded briefly.</p>
<p>“This Wetherbee was mate of the Silver Swan.”</p>
<p>“That’s the man,” muttered Arad hopelessly.</p>
<p>“I take it you didn’t want your nephew and this
Wetherbee to meet?” suggested Weeks shrewdly.</p>
<p>“No—o——well, I dunno. I—I’m erfraid
’twon’t be so easy to git Brandon back ter the
farm ef he’s found this mate.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps we can fix it up,” said Weeks cheerfully.</p>
<p>“D’ye think so?”</p>
<p>“Let’s see; are you his legal guardian?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I be,” declared Arad savagely; “on’y the
papers ain’t made aout.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>“I don’t really see, then, how you can bring it about
until you are appointed,” said Mr. Weeks slowly.</p>
<p>“I jest kin!” asserted Arad, with confidence. “I
gotter warrant here for him.”</p>
<p>“Whew!” The astute Weeks looked at the old sinner
admiringly. “Well, well! you <i>are</i> a smart one.
What’s the charge?”</p>
<p>“Robbing me,” responded the old man. “The day
he run away he took ’most fifty dollars outer a—a
beury droor. Dretful bad boy is that Brandon.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I should think so. Well, with that warrant
I should think you had him pretty straight.”</p>
<p>“D’ye think I kin find him all right?” asked Arad
anxiously.</p>
<p>“If you can’t, I can,” responded Weeks. “I know
where to put my hand on him.”</p>
<p>At that moment a door at the rear of the room
(within a few feet of the table at which they were
seated, in fact) opened, and a man entered. Weeks
recognized him at once as Jim Leroyd; he had seen
him before, although he could claim no speaking acquaintance
with him.</p>
<p>Old Arad also saw and recognized the newcomer,
and as the sailor passed along the room, he caught
sight of the old farmer.</p>
<p>“Why, dash my top lights!” he exclaimed, in surprise.
“Ef here ain’t Mr. Tarr!”</p>
<p>He stepped back to the table and grasped the
old man’s hand most cordially, at the same time casting
a suspicious glance at Weeks. He knew the ex-clerk
by reputation, as Weeks knew <i>him</i>.</p>
<p>“Don’t ye be up ter any funny biz with this gentleman,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span>
Sneaky,” he said, with a scowl. “He’s my
friend.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you fret,” responded Weeks. “He and I
were talking about his nephew, Brandon Tarr, who
was up to see you yesterday——”</p>
<p>Mr. Leroyd uttered a volley of choice profanity
at this, and Arad was greatly surprised.</p>
<p>“Came ter see yeou?” he gasped. “Er—erbout
that matter we was a-talkin’ of, Mr. Leroyd? Ye
know I—I’m his legal guardeen——”</p>
<p>“Don’t ye be scared, Mr. Tarr,” said Weeks, who
understood the circumstances pretty well, “I can vouch
for Jim, here, not playing you false.”</p>
<p>“What do you know about it, anyway?” growled
Jim uglily.</p>
<p>“Now, sit down and keep cool, Leroyd,” urged
Weeks. “I know <i>all</i> about it. I know about your
little scheme to gobble the—the <i>treasure</i> aboard the
Silver Swan——”</p>
<p>“Sh!” exclaimed Leroyd fiercely. “You know too
much, young feller.”</p>
<p>“No, I know just enough, and I’ll prove it to you.”</p>
<p>“I s’pose ye think ye kin force yer way inter this,
but ye’re mistaken. This is the private affair o’ Mr.
Tarr an’ me, an’ I warn ye ter keep yer nose out.”</p>
<p>He arose as he spoke, his fierce eyes fixed threateningly
upon Weeks’ impassive face.</p>
<p>“You come with me, Mr. Tarr, where we can talk
the matter over privately. We don’t want nothin’ o’
that swab.”</p>
<p>The red headed ex-clerk fairly laughed aloud at
this.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>“See here, Leroyd,” he said, still coolly: “you made
a break for those papers yesterday, I believe. What
did you get?”</p>
<p>“Hey?” roared the sailor.</p>
<p>“I said that you made a break for those papers of
Cale Wetherbee’s yesterday,” repeated Weeks, slowly
and distinctly. “Now, what did you get?”</p>
<p>“Not a blamed thing,” responded the sailor frankly,
after an instant’s hesitation.</p>
<p>“That’s what I thought. I thought Cale Wetherbee
took it altogether too coolly if you <i>had</i> made a
haul worth anything. Now, I could tell you something,
if I thought ’twould be worth my while.”</p>
<p>“What is it?”</p>
<p>“Do you know what the treasure hidden aboard
the brig consists of?”</p>
<p>“No,” replied Leroyd shortly, while old Arad gazed
from one to the other in bewilderment.</p>
<p>“Well, I do,” declared Weeks.</p>
<p>“Ye do?”</p>
<p>“Sure. I heard that Wetherbee and the boy and
old man Pepper talking it over.”</p>
<p>“Who’s Pepper?” growled Leroyd.</p>
<p>“He’s the feller who is going to back ’em in this
hunt for the brig. He’s going to furnish the vessel
and all.”</p>
<p>“Curses on the luck!” growled the sailor again.</p>
<p>Here old Arad interposed. The old man’s hands
were trembling violently, and his face was pale with
excitement.</p>
<p>“We—we must stop ’em—they ain’t got no right
ter do it,” he sputtered. “Horace Tarr was my nevvy,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>
an’ I’m the guardeen o’ that boy. There hain’t nobody
else got no right to go arter them di’monds.”</p>
<p>“Diamonds!” exclaimed Leroyd. “Is <i>that</i> the
treasure?”</p>
<p>“Ye—es,” replied Arad hesitatingly, looking at
Weeks. “I—I found a letter from this Wetherbee,
the mate of the Silver Swan, an’ it says so. Horace’s
brother Anson got ’em in South Afriky.”</p>
<p>“Good for you, old feller,” said Leroyd admiringly.
“Ye did take my advice, didn’t ye?”</p>
<p>Old Arad rubbed his hands together as though
washing them with imaginary soap, and grinned.</p>
<p>“Yes, diamonds is the treasure,” Weeks rejoined
calmly. “Now, you’ll start right off to find the brig
with Mr. Tarr here to back you with money, eh,
Leroyd?”</p>
<p>“Never ye mind <i>what</i> I’ll do,” returned Jim, uglily.
“I tell ye this hain’t none o’ your funeral, so you keep
out of it, Sneaky.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” asked Weeks, with a tantalizing
smile.</p>
<p>“Yes, I’m sure!” roared the enraged sailor.</p>
<p>“Well, don’t holler so loud,” the red haired one
admonished him. “But I think you’re mistaken.”</p>
<p>Leroyd glared at him like an angry bull dog but
said nothing.</p>
<p>“Now I s’pose,” continued Weeks, cocking his eye
at the smoke begrimmed ceiling of the bar room,
“that you expect to get a vessel an’ go in pursuit of
the Silver Swan; and that when you’ve got her you’ll
tow her in port, an’ you’ll have the salvage—that’ll
be a pretty good sum.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>“And the di’monds,” interjected Arad, with an avaricious
chuckle.</p>
<p>“Oh, will you?” said Weeks with cool sarcasm.
“That remains to be seen. You’ll have the brig fast
enough: but how’ll you get the stones?”</p>
<p>“Why, ef we git the brig won’t the diamonds be
aboard her?” queried Arad.</p>
<p>“Yes, they will; but <i>where will they be</i>, aboard her?
Can you tell me that?”</p>
<p>Arad’s jaw fell and he stared blankly at the shrewd
Weeks. Even Leroyd was visibly moved by this
statement.</p>
<p>“You don’t know where the diamonds are hidden,”
continued Weeks, pursuing his advantage. “You
might tear that whole brig to pieces an’ not find ’em,
<i>but I know just where they are and I can put my
hand right on ’em</i>!”</p>
<p>“You kin?” gasped old Arad.</p>
<p>“Is that straight, Sneaky?” demanded Leroyd, with
interest.</p>
<p>Weeks nodded calmly.</p>
<p>“I believe you’re lying,” the sailor declared.</p>
<p>“Well you can think so if you want to,” said the
ex-clerk, rising, “and I’ll go now and find somebody
to go in with me on this scheme, and I’ll run my
chances of getting to the brig first. You can have the
old hulk and welcome after I’ve been aboard her five
minutes, Leroyd.</p>
<p>“But, if you’ll let me in on the ground floor of this,”
he continued, “and give me one third of all there is
in it, why all right. If you don’t, probably you’ll get
nothing, while me and the other fellow’ll get it <i>all</i>,”
and Mr. Weeks smiled benignantly upon his audience.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIV<br />
<small>HOW A NEFARIOUS COMPACT WAS FORMED</small></h2>
</div>
<p>“<span class="smcap">But</span> yeou can’t do that!” cried old Arad Tarr,
the first to break the silence after Mr. Weeks had delivered
what might be termed his “ultimatum.”
“There hasn’t anybody got airy right ter go arter them
di’monds, but them I send.”</p>
<p>“That is where you make an error, Mr. Tarr,” responded
Weeks cheerfully. “This is what is called
‘treasure trove;’ the fellow who gets there first has
the best right to it.”</p>
<p>“It ben’t so, is it?” whined the old man, appealing
to Leroyd.</p>
<p>“Yes, I s’pose it is,” admitted the sailor, with a
growl. “He’s got us foul, old man.”</p>
<p>“Now, don’t talk that way, Leroyd,” exclaimed
Weeks briskly. “We three must strike hands and share
evenly in this thing. You need me, any way, though
I can get along without either of you; for you know
it wouldn’t take me long to find a man to back me
with a couple of hundred dollars against the chance
of winning thousands.”</p>
<p>“Well, you’re right,” said the sailor, seeing that it
would be for his advantage to make terms with
“Sneaky Al,” as the red haired Weeks was familiarly
called.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>“Two hundred dollars is an awful lot of money ter
risk,” muttered old Arad, knowing that he was the
one who would be expected to furnish the “sinews of
war.”</p>
<p>“’Tain’t much compared with mebbe three hundred
thousand dollars. I heered Cap’n Tarr say, myself,
that there was enough o’ them di’monds, ter make a
man fabulously rich,” responded Leroyd quickly.
“That’d be a clean hundred thousand for each of us.”</p>
<p>“But ef I furnish the money I’d oughter hev more
o’ th’ returns,” declared the farmer, who was quite
as sharp as either of his companions.</p>
<p>“Come, we won’t quarrel over that,” the sailor declared,
rising again. “But we want to talk this matter
over where it’s more quiet like. I’ve got a room
here. Let’s go up to it, where we shan’t be disturbed.”</p>
<p>“Now you’re talking sense,” Weeks declared, rising
gingerly from the chair in which he had again
seated himself.</p>
<p>At that instant Mr. Brady, who had been kept busy
at the bar by transient customers for the past half
hour, called Leroyd over to him.</p>
<p>“Now, look a-here, Jim,” he said, in a hoarse aside,
“wot be you an’ Sneaky Al up to? Dere ain’t goin’
ter be no game played on dat countryman here, see?
Ye got me inter ’nough trouble yest’day. Ef I hadn’t
a pull in dis ward, dey’d er—nabbed me, sure.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you fret, Jack,” responded Leroyd reassuringly.
“We ain’t inter any bunco business. The old
man knows what he’s about, ef he <i>does</i> look like a hay-seed.
Ef he don’t do <i>us</i>, it’ll be lucky.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>“Well, what’s de game?” Brady demanded.</p>
<p>“Never you mind, old man. We’re just going up
stairs for a private confab, an’ ef things turn out right,
I kin promise a cool hundred for keeping your mouth
shut. Savey?”</p>
<p>Brady nodded.</p>
<p>“I’m mum,” he said, with satisfaction. “On’y I
don’t want dem cops down on me ag’in, so mind yer
eye.”</p>
<p>Armed with a bottle and glasses, Leroyd led the way
into a small room a good deal nearer the roof of the
building, in which the New England Hotel was located.
His two companions, however, left the sailor
to dispose of the refreshments alone; the old farmer
because he had never used liquor in any shape at home,
and Weeks because he proposed to keep his brain perfectly
clear that he might be sure to retain the “whip
hand” of the other conspirators.</p>
<p>It is not my purpose to report verbatim the plans of
the three villains. Let it suffice to say that after much
discussion, and by virtue of coaxings, threatenings,
promises, and what not, the sailor and Weeks (who
saw at once that it would be for their mutual advantage
to play into each other’s hands) obtained old
Arad Tarr’s consent to furnish them with the sum of
over two hundred dollars (and more if it was found
to be actually needed) with which to charter the
vessel.</p>
<p>You may be sure that the two rascals never worked
harder (with their tongues) for two hundred dollars
in their lives, for the amount looked as large to old
Arad as ten thousand would to almost any other man.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>The plot of the conspirators likewise included the
discovery of Brandon’s whereabouts and his arrest on
the charge of robbery, as set forth in the warrant
with which Arad supplied himself before he left
Rhode Island. This part of the scheme Weeks proposed
to attend to.</p>
<p>Then, with a great deal of flourish and legal formula,
the astute Mr. Weeks drew up a most wonderful
document (he was well versed in legal phrases),
which bound each of the three, Arad Tarr, James Leroyd,
and Alfred Weeks, to a co-partnership, the object
of which was to seek and obtain the floating hulk
of the Silver Swan, and the treasure thereon, the profit
of the venture to be divided equally between them,
excepting the sum of one thousand dollars which was
to go to Arad Tarr under <i>any</i> circumstances. And,
of course, the document wasn’t worth the paper on
which it was written.</p>
<p>But the old man didn’t know this. He was a great
worshiper of the law, and he trusted in the legality of
the paper to hold his partners to their promises. He
lost sight, however, of the fact that the two men were
going together on the quest for the Silver Swan, and
that he—well, <i>he</i> was to stay at home, and <i>wait</i>.
Waiting isn’t very hard work, to be sure; but it is
terribly wearing.</p>
<p>These several things having been accomplished, and
it being long past noon, the conspirators went their
different ways—old Arad to interview the brokerage
firm of Bensell, Bensell & Marsden, which, he was
sure, was cheating him out of his dividends: Weeks
to hunt up a scaly friend of his to serve the warrant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>
upon unsuspicious Brandon; and Leroyd to look about
for a vessel which could be converted to their purpose
in the shortest possible time.</p>
<p>And now, let us return to Brandon and his two
good friends, Caleb Wetherbee and Adoniram Pepper,
and find out how much progress <i>they</i> have made in the
quest of the Silver Swan.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXV<br />
<small>UNCLE ARAD MAKES AN ANNOUNCEMENT</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">If</span> Caleb Wetherbee passed as sleepless a night as
did his young friend, Brandon, he showed no signs
of it when he appeared the next morning. They were
a very jolly party indeed at the breakfast table, for
the old sailor had recovered, to some extent at least,
his equanimity when in the presence of Miss Frances.</p>
<p>“Now, Caleb, have you decided to accept my offer
of last evening?” Adoniram inquired, as they arose
after the meal.</p>
<p>“Let’s see the steamer,” returned the sailor, noncommittally;
so the merchant and his two guests went
down to the docks at once.</p>
<p>To a person who has never seen a whaleback
steamer, the first view of one is certainly a most surprising
sight. He is at once reminded of Jules Verne’s
great story of the Nautilus, the wonderful steel ship
which could sail equally well below and upon the
surface of the ocean.</p>
<p>Number Three was more than two hundred feet in
length, and was shaped like a huge cigar, the blunt
end, oddly enough, being the bow. This blunt “nose”
is what suggested the term “pig,” as applied to the
whalebacks when first they appeared on the Great
Lakes.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>At the forward end of the steamer a turret arose
from the curved deck, furnished with one of the
American Ship Windlass Co.’s steam windlasses (with
the capstan above), and with hand steering gear, the
shaft and hub of the wheel being of brass to avoid
affecting the compass.</p>
<p>The cabin aft, which was fifteen feet above the
deck, and therefore presented a most astonishing appearance,
was supported by two turrets, and several
strong ventilating pipes, the latter connecting with the
engine room, fire hold, and cargo hold.</p>
<p>A low rail ran from bow to stern of the steamer,
on either side, inclosing the turrets within its shelter,
thus making it possible for the crew to go from the
aft to the forward turrets.</p>
<p>The deck, however, was so curved that the feat
would not be easy to perform in rough weather, if
the whaleback <i>did</i> roll as do other vessels.</p>
<p>“Ye call that a steamer, do ye?” demanded Caleb,
in disgust, when he first caught sight of Number
Three; but after he had gone aboard, and seen and
understood the advantages the whaleback possessed
over the other seagoing craft, he no longer scoffed.</p>
<p>Adoniram first led them to the officers’ quarters.
These were finished in oak, and furnished almost as
sumptuously as the cabin of a fancy yacht. The suite
contained a dining room of comfortable size, and a
chart room and offices on the port side of the cabin.</p>
<p>Below deck were the quarters of the crew, forward
and aft, and they were as comfortable as those on a
palatial ocean steamship.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>“It’s a wonderful boat,” Brandon declared, as they
examined the engine.</p>
<p>“It is that,” the ship owner assented. “I paid a
pretty penny for her, but she’s worth it—every cent.
She’ll outride any gale that ever blew, as long as you
keep her in deep water. ’Twould be hard to sink her.</p>
<p>“In the matter of ballast,” he continued, “there are
arrangements for carrying eight hundred ton of water—water
is used altogether for ballast in these whalebacks.
Then the engines are of the newest build, too,
you see.</p>
<p>“The steam is generated from these two steel
boilers, each eleven and a half feet in diameter by the
same in length, possessing a working pressure of one
hundred and twenty-five pounds. If the engine goes
back on you, you will have to get out the oars and
row ashore, for there is no chance for raising a sail,”
and the jolly ship owner laughed good naturedly.</p>
<p>“Well, I’ve been to sea on a good many craft—most
anything that would float, in fact, from a torpedo
boat to a Chinese junk—but this takes the bun,”
Caleb declared as they stepped upon the dock again.</p>
<p>“Then I take it you’ll try your hand at this?”
Adoniram asked slily.</p>
<p>“Oh, yes, I s’ppose so, Pepperpod—and the boy,
too. By the way, does Lawrence Coffin know anything
about this craft?”</p>
<p>“He went to West Superior (where she was built)
and came down in her,” declared the merchant.</p>
<p>“It’s all right, then. He’ll know what to do if we
get to sea and the blamed thing should roll over.”</p>
<p>But despite the fact that he scoffed at the vessel,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span>
Caleb set to work with his customary energy to make
ready for the voyage.</p>
<p>The ship owner gave him <i>carte blanche</i> to provision
the whaleback and secure the crew. The engineers
and firemen were already engaged and the work of
making ready for sea went on rapidly.</p>
<p>Caleb being a worker himself, expected a good deal
of everybody about him and Brandon found himself
with plenty to do during the next two days. He ran
errands, and bought provisions under the old sailor’s
directions, and saw to the storing away of the articles
purchased.</p>
<p>On the morning of the third day, however, came
an interruption, and one which promised to be most
serious.</p>
<p>In these times of hurried preparation Caleb and his
young second mate made the Water Street office of
Adoniram Pepper & Co. their headquarters. They
were in and out of the place a score of times a day to
the satisfaction of Adoniram, but, if the truth were
told, to the great annoyance of the solemn faced young
man whom Mr. Marks had sent up from the other
office to take the place of the departed Weeks.</p>
<p>About ten o’clock on this forenoon Brandon ran in
to see if he could find Caleb, as that individual was not
at the dock where lay the whaleback, and where the
boy had expected to meet him.</p>
<p>“Where do you suppose he has gone?” Don asked
of Mr. Pepper, who, good soul, seemed to have no
other business on hand but the getting ready of the
steamer.</p>
<p>“I don’t know, I’m sure. You’d better sit down,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>
my boy, and wait for him,” advised Adoniram kindly.
“He’s sure to turn up here, first or last.”</p>
<p>So Brandon sat down, striving to stifle his impatience.
He had not waited ten minutes, however,
when the door of the outer office was opened, and
somebody entered.</p>
<p>“Here he is now,” exclaimed the youth, thinking he
heard Caleb’s voice.</p>
<p>He threw open the door between the two offices,
gave one glance into the apartment beyond, and staggered
to the nearest chair in utter amazement.</p>
<p>“Great Peter! it’s Uncle Arad!” he gasped, in
answer to Adoniram’s questioning exclamation, and
the next instant Uncle Arad himself appeared at the
open portal of the private office.</p>
<p>“Thar ye air, ye young reskil!” exclaimed the old
man, shaking his bony forefinger at the youth.</p>
<p>Behind him was another man—a clean shaven,
foxy looking fellow, who, when old Arad had pointed
the boy out, stepped quickly into the room.</p>
<p>“Well, well!” exclaimed Brandon, recovering in
part from his surprise. “Who’d have thought of
seeing <i>you</i> here, Uncle Arad!”</p>
<p>“Not yeou, I warrant!” cackled the old man shrilly.
“I s’pose ye thought ye c’d git off scott free with yer
ill gotten gains, didn’t ye?”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>Brandon’s face flamed up redly, and he sprang to
his feet in rage.</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” he demanded.</p>
<p>“Don’t ye let him escape, officer!” the farmer exclaimed,
shrinking back. “He’s quick’s a cat.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span>But here Adoniram took a hand in the proceedings.</p>
<p>“I should like to know, sir, what you mean by
this?” he said, his gray eyes flashing behind the tip
tilted eye glasses. “Brandon is under <i>my</i> care, sir, and
I will not allow such remarks to be addressed to him.”</p>
<p>No one would have believed that it was the jolly
Adoniram, to see his face now. The habitual smile
had disappeared entirely.</p>
<p>“I dunno who yeou be,” Arad replied defiantly;
“but I kin tell ye who I be, purty quick. I’m Arad
Tarr; this young reskil here is my nevvy; an’ I’m his
nateral an’ lawful guardeen.”</p>
<p>“Ah!” said Mr. Pepper, with quiet sarcasm. “So
you are his guardian, are you? How long since?”</p>
<p>“How long since?” repeated the old man, in a
rage. “I’ll show ye! I’ve <i>allus</i> been his guardeen—leastways,
since his pa died.”</p>
<p>“Which occurred a little over two months ago,”
said Adoniram briefly. “Now, Mr. Tarr, for I suppose
that is your name, where are your papers making
you this lad’s guardian? Who appointed you?”</p>
<p>“I’m his nateral guardeen now,” old Arad declared
slowly; “but I’m goin’ to be ’p’inted by the court.”</p>
<p>“What court?”</p>
<p>“The Court o’ Probate, o’ Scituate, R. I.,” responded
the farmer pompously.</p>
<p>“Well, I think not,” said Adoniram, who was probably
never more angry in his life than at that moment.
“You have made a slight mistake, Mr. Tarr.”</p>
<p>“Hey?” returned the farmer, growing red in the
face, and looking daggers at the little merchant.</p>
<p>“I say you have made a slight mistake. You will<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>
<i>not</i> be appointed guardian of Brandon, by any court
in the land. Did it ever occur to you that Captain
Horace Tarr might have made a will?”</p>
<p>“A will?” gasped the old man.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir, a will.”</p>
<p>“But he didn’t hev nothin’ ter will, ’ceptin——”</p>
<p>“Well, excepting what?” Mr. Pepper demanded, as
the other hesitated.</p>
<p>“Nothin’.”</p>
<p>“Well, he <i>did</i> have something to will, and he appointed
me joint guardian, with another gentleman,
and <i>you</i>, Mr. Tarr, are <i>not</i> the party named to assist
me. We have already made application in the New
York courts to have the appointment allowed and the
will has been presented for probate.”</p>
<p>“I—I don’t believe it!” shouted Arad.</p>
<p>“You’re not obliged to. But that doesn’t affect
the facts of the case, just the same.”</p>
<p>For a moment the farmer was quite nonplussed:
but then he looked at the man he had brought with
him again, and his faith revived.</p>
<p>“Ye can’t escape me this way, ye young varmint!”
he exclaimed, turning upon Brandon as though he
were some way at fault for the wrecking of his plans.
“Mebbe I hain’t your guardeen, but I’ve power
’nough right here ter lug ye back ter Scituate an’ put
yer through fur stealin’ that money.”</p>
<p>“What money?” demanded Brandon, white with
rage. “To what do you refer?”</p>
<p>“That fifty dollars ye stole f’om me—that’s what
I mean,” old Arad declared. “Th’ money ye stoled
f’om my beury droor. I gotter warrant right here fur
ye, ’n’ this officer ter serve it!”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVI<br />
<small>CALEB WETHERBEE OBSTRUCTS THE COURSE OF THE LAW</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Brandon</span> was fairly paralyzed by Uncle Arad’s announcement.
He had realized that the old man was
sorely disappointed at his inability to keep him on the
farm. He had not, however, believed he would follow
him clear to New York, and hatch up such a scheme as
this to get him again in his power.</p>
<p>“You old scoundrel!” he exclaimed, too enraged
for the moment to remember that he was speaking to
a man whose age, if not his character, should command
his respect.</p>
<p>“Hush, Don,” commanded Adoniram Pepper admonishingly.
“It will not better matters to vituperate.
Mr. Tarr,” he added, turning to the farmer, “do
you realize what a serious charge you have made
against your nephew?”</p>
<p>“I reckon I do,” Arad declared with vigor. “I
got it all down here on er warrant—Squire Holt
made it aout hisself. I’m er-goin’ ter hev that boy
arrested for burglarizing me. Now you go erhead,
Mr. Officer, an’ arrest him.”</p>
<p>“Wait a moment,” and Adoniram stepped quickly
in front of Don before the foxy looking man could lay
his hand upon the boy’s shoulder.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>“Let me see that warrant?” he said.</p>
<p>The officer passed the paper over with a flourish,
and Adoniram examined it closely.</p>
<p>“Why,” he exclaimed, shortly, “this is returnable
to the Rhode Island courts.”</p>
<p>“Of course it is,” snarled old Arad.</p>
<p>“But do you propose taking the boy back to Rhode
Island?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I do.”</p>
<p>“But can’t this be settled here, officer?” asked
Adoniram nervously, knowing that any such delay as
this would ruin their plans for an early start after the
Silver Swan.</p>
<p>“No, sir; the robbery was committed in Rhode
Island—it must be tried there,” replied the officer,
with a crafty smile.</p>
<p>Adoniram handed the warrant back in utter bewilderment;
but at that juncture the door opened
again, and Caleb Wetherbee himself stumped in.</p>
<p>“Hey! what’s this?” the old seaman demanded,
seeing instantly that something was up.</p>
<p>Old Arad tried to shrink out of sight behind the
officer’s back as he viewed Caleb’s fear inspiring proportions.</p>
<p>“This is my <i>dear</i> Uncle Arad, Caleb,” Brandon
hastened to say, “and he has come all the way from
Rhode Island to arrest me and take me back.”</p>
<p>“For what?” cried Caleb, aghast.</p>
<p>“For robbing him; so he says. Isn’t he kind?”</p>
<p>Brandon was fairly furious, but he trusted in the
old seaman to get him out of his relative’s clutches.</p>
<p>“Robbing him!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span>Caleb’s face grew red with rage.</p>
<p>“What d’ye mean, ye old scamp?”</p>
<p>“He <i>hez</i> robbed me,” Arad shrieked.</p>
<p>“See here,” Caleb said coolly, “this looks to me like
petty persecution, don’t it to you, ’Doniram? I reckon
the courts would see it that way, too.”</p>
<p>“The courts’ll send that reskil ter the State reform
school—that’s what they’ll do,” Arad declared.</p>
<p>“So it’s locking him up you’re after, eh?” returned
Caleb. “Now, Brandon, don’t you worry about this.
We kin have it fixed up in no time.”</p>
<p>“But the boy’s got to be taken to Rhode Island,”
exclaimed Adoniram. “It will be a matter of weeks.”</p>
<p>“Weeks?” roared Caleb. “Why, the steamer sails
Tuesday. He can’t go.”</p>
<p>“I guess, mister, that you won’t have much to do
with it,” remarked the man with the warrant officiously.
“This warrant is returnable to the Rhode Island
courts, and to Rhode Island he must go. If the boy
had wanted to go on a voyage he shouldn’t have stolen
the money.”</p>
<p>Caleb actually roared at this and shook his huge fist
in the fellow’s face. Adoniram hastened to keep the
peace.</p>
<p>“How do we know you are an officer?” he demanded
sternly. “This is a most atrocious action on
Mr. Tarr’s part, and for all we know you may be
party to it.”</p>
<p>The officer smiled slily, and throwing back his coat
showed his badge.</p>
<p>“I’m a dep’ty sheriff an’ don’t you fear,” he said.
“The boy must come along.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>But as he reached out to clutch Don, the big sailor
seized the youth and whirled him in behind him, placing
himself between the officer and his prisoner.</p>
<p>“Don’t be too fast,” he said.</p>
<p>“Do you dare resist arrest?” the officer demanded
angrily.</p>
<p>“Nobody’s resisted you, yet.”</p>
<p>His huge bulk, however, barred all approach to
Don, who was now between all the others and the
outer door.</p>
<p>“If you arrest this boy you’ll seriously inconvenience
our plans, an’ we’ll make you sweat for it, now
I tell ye.”</p>
<p>“I don’t care; I’m er—goin’ ter hev him took up!”
shrieked old Arad, to whom all this delay was agonizing.</p>
<p>“You shut that trap of yours!” roared Caleb, turning
upon the old man in a fury. “Don’t ye dare open
it ag’in w’ile ye’re here, or there’ll be an assault case
in court, too.”</p>
<p>Old Arad dodged back out of range of the sailor’s
brawny fist with great celerity.</p>
<p>“Do——don’t ye let him tetch me, officer,” he implored,
jerking his bandanna from the pocket of his
shiny old black coat, and wiping his face nervously.</p>
<p>With the handkerchief came forth a letter which fell
at Mr. Pepper’s feet; but for the moment nobody but
the merchant himself saw it.</p>
<p>Brandon, who was directly behind the seaman,
leaned forward and whispered something in Caleb’s
ear. The old seaman’s face lit up in an instant, and
he changed his position so that his burly form completely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>
blocked the doorway leading into the outer
office.</p>
<p>“So you won’t settle this thing out o’ court, eh?”
he demanded.</p>
<p>The officer shook his head.</p>
<p>“It’s gone too far,” he said.</p>
<p>“It has, hey?” Caleb exclaimed in wrath. “Well,
so’ve <i>you</i> gone too far.” Then he exclaimed, turning
to Don: “Leg it, lad! We’ll outwit the landlubber
yet.”</p>
<p>“Hi! stop him! stop him!” shrieked Uncle Arad,
for at the instant Caleb had spoken, Don had
darted back to the street door and thrown it open.</p>
<p>“Good by, Uncle Arad!” the captain’s son cried
mockingly. “I’ll see you when I’ve returned from
the West Indies.”</p>
<p>He was out in a moment, and the door slammed behind
him.</p>
<p>The deputy sheriff sprang forward to follow, but
Caleb managed to get his wooden leg in the way, and
the officer measured his length on the office floor, while
Uncle Arad, fairly wild with rage, danced up and
down, and shrieked for the police.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVII<br />
<small>WHEREIN BRANDON TARR CONCEALS HIMSELF</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> doughty deputy sheriff was on his feet in an
instant, and with a wrathy glance at Caleb, dashed out
of the office after the fleeing Brandon. If he did not
make the arrest he would fail to get his money, and
he did not propose to lose that.</p>
<p>But Uncle Arad could not get to the door without
passing Caleb and he hardly dared do that. Just
then the big seaman looked in no mood to be tampered
with. The farmer, however, <i>did</i> sputter out something
about having the law on everybody in general.</p>
<p>“Bring on all the law you want to, you old scarecrow,”
responded Caleb, vigorously mopping his face.
“I reckon we kin take care of it. What ye got there,
Adoniram?”</p>
<p>Mr. Pepper had picked up the letter which had
fallen from old Arad’s pocket, and was looking at the
superscription in a puzzled manner.</p>
<p>Arad caught sight of the epistle as quickly as did
Caleb.</p>
<p>“That’s mine! give it here!” he cried, making a
snatch at the paper.</p>
<p>But Adoniram held it out of his reach.</p>
<p>“I don’t see how you make that out, Mr. Tarr,” he
said quietly. “This letter is not addressed to you.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>
It is in <i>your</i> handwriting, Caleb, and is addressed to
‘Master Brandon Tarr, Chopmist, Rhode Island.’”</p>
<p>“Oh, you swab!” exclaimed the old tar, with a
withering glance of contempt at old Arad, as he seized
the letter. “This ’ere’s what I wrote the boy w’en
I was in the hospital—w’ich same he never got.
Now, how came <i>you</i> by it? You old land shark!”</p>
<p>Arad was undeniably frightened. Although he
might explain the fact of his opening Don’s letter as
eminently proper, to himself, he well knew that he
could not make these friends of his nephew see it in
the same light.</p>
<p>“I—I—it came arter Brandon went away,” he
gasped in excuse.</p>
<p>“It did, hey?” exclaimed Caleb suspiciously.</p>
<p>Mr. Pepper took the envelope again and examined
the postmark critically.</p>
<p>“Hum—um,” he said slowly, “postmarked in New
York on the third; received on the afternoon of the
fourth at the Chopmist post office. I’m afraid, my
dear sir, that that yarn won’t wash.”</p>
<p>Uncle Arad was speechless, and looked from one
to the other of the stern faced men in doubt.</p>
<p>“He—he was my nevvy; didn’t I hev a right ter
see what he had written ter him?”</p>
<p>“You can bet ye didn’t,” Caleb declared with confidence,
and with a slight wink at Adoniram. “Let
me tell ye, Mr. Tarr, that openin’ other folks’ correspondence
is actionable, as the lawyers say. I reckon
that you’ve laid yourself li’ble to gettin’ arrested yourself,
old man.”</p>
<p>“Ye—ye can’t do it,” sputtered Arad.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>“If that monkey of a sheriff finds Brandon (w’ich
same I reckon he won’t), we’ll see if we can’t give
<i>you</i> a taste of the same medicine.”</p>
<p>The old man was undeniably frightened and edged
towards the door.</p>
<p>“I guess I better go,” he remarked hesitatingly.
“I dunno as that officer’ll be able ter ketch thet reskil.”</p>
<p>“No, I don’t b’lieve he will myself,” Caleb declared.
“And if you want to keep your own skin whole, you’d
best see that he doesn’t touch the lad.”</p>
<p>Old Arad slunk out without another word, and the
two friends allowed him to depart in contemptuous
silence.</p>
<p>When he had disappeared Adoniram turned to the
sailor at once.</p>
<p>“Where has Don gone, Caleb?” he asked anxiously.</p>
<p>“You’ve got me. He told me he was goin’ to skip,
and for us to go ahead with the preparations for getting
off next week, just the same. He’d lay low till
the old scamp had given it up, and then slip aboard
the steamer. Oh, the boy’s all right.”</p>
<p>“He is, if that sheriff doesn’t find him,” said the
merchant doubtfully.</p>
<p>“I’ll risk that,” responded Caleb, who had vast confidence
in Brandon’s ability to take care of himself.</p>
<p>But Adoniram shook his head.</p>
<p>“New York is a bad place for a boy to be alone in.
Where will he go?”</p>
<p>“Down to the pier, I reckon, and hide aboard the
steamer. I’ll agree to put him away there so that no
measly faced sheriff like <i>that</i> fellow can find him.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>“It’s a bad business,” declared Mr. Pepper, shaking
his head slowly. “If he hadn’t run off there might
have been some way of fixing it up so that he wouldn’t
have had to go back to Rhode Island, and thus delay
the sailing of the steamer. We might have scared the
uncle out of prosecuting him. He was badly frightened
as it was.”</p>
<p>Caleb gazed at his friend for several moments with
a quizzical smile upon his face.</p>
<p>“Do you know, Adoniram,” he said at length, “I
b’lieve you’re too innocent for this wicked world.”</p>
<p>“How do you mean?” asked the merchant, flushing
a little, yet smiling.</p>
<p>“Well, you don’t seem to see anything fishy in all
this.”</p>
<p>“Fishy?”</p>
<p>“Yes, fishy,” returned Caleb, sitting down and
speaking confidentially. “Several things make me believe
that you (and me, too) haven’t been half awake
in this business.”</p>
<p>“I certainly do not understand you,” declared
Adoniram.</p>
<p>“Well, give me a chance to explain, will you?” said
the sailor impatiently. “You seem to think that this
old land shark of an uncle of the boy’s is just trying to
get him back on the farm, and has hatched up this
robbery business for that purpose? I don’t suppose
you think Don stole any money from him, do you?”
he added.</p>
<p>“Not for an instant!” the merchant replied emphatically.</p>
<p>“That’s what I thought. Well, as I say, you suppose<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>
he wants Brandon back on the farm—wants his
work, in fact?”</p>
<p>“Ye—es.”</p>
<p>“Well, did it ever strike you, ’Doniram,” Caleb
pursued, with a smile of superiority on his face—“did
it ever strike you that if he was successful in
proving Brandon guilty, the boy would be locked up
and then <i>nobody</i> would get his valuable services—nobody
except the State?”</p>
<p>“Why, that’s so.”</p>
<p>“Of course it’s so.”</p>
<p>“Then, what is his object in persecuting the poor
lad? Is he doing it just out of spite?”</p>
<p>“Now, see here; does that look reasonable? Do
you think for a moment that an old codger like him—stingy
as they make ’em—d’ye think he’d go ter the
expense o’ comin ’way down here to New York out
of revenge simply? Well, I guess not!”</p>
<p>“Then, what is he up to?” demanded Adoniram,
in bewilderment.</p>
<p>“Well, of that <i>I’m</i> not sure, of course; but,” said
Caleb, with vehemence, “I’m willing to risk my
hull advance that he’s onter this di’mond business.</p>
<p>“Why, Pepper, how could he help being? Didn’t
he get that letter of mine, an’ didn’t I give the hull
thing away in it, like the blamed idiot I was? Man
alive, a sharper like that feller would sell his immortal
soul for a silver dollar. What <i>wouldn’t</i> he
for a big stake like this?”</p>
<p>“But—” began Adoniram.</p>
<p>“Hold on a minute and let me finish,” urged Caleb.
“That scoundrel Leroyd was up to Chopmist, mind ye.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>
Who knows but what he an’ old Arad Tarr have
hitched hosses and gone inter this together? I haven’t
told either you or Brandon, for I didn’t want to worry
you, but I learned yesterday that Jim is tryin’ ter charter
a craft of some kind—you an’ I know what for.</p>
<p>“He’s got no money; what rascal of a sailor ever
has? He must have backing, then. And who is more
likely to be the backer than the old sharper who’s
just gone out of here! I tell ye, ’Doniram, <i>they’re
after them di’monds</i>, and it behooves us ter git up an’
dust if we want ter beat ’em.”</p>
<p>The ship owner shook his head unconvinced.</p>
<p>“You may be right, of course, Caleb; I don’t say
it is an impossibility. But it strikes me that your
conclusions are rather far fetched. They are not
reasonable.”</p>
<p>“Well, we’ll see,” responded the old seaman, pursing
up his lips. “I shall miss Brandon’s help—a
handier lad I never see—but he will have to lay low
till after the whaleback sails.”</p>
<p>He went back to the work of getting the steamer
ready for departure, expecting every hour that Brandon
would appear. But the captain’s son did not
show up that day, nor the next.</p>
<p>Monday came and Number Three was all ready for
sailing. Her crew of twenty men, beside the officers,
were aboard.</p>
<p>The first and third mates were likewise present, the
former, Mr. Coffin, being a tall, shrewd looking, pleasant
faced man, who eternally chewed on the end of a
cigar (except when eating or sleeping) although he
was never seen to light one; and Mr. Bolin, the third,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>
a keen, alert little man who looked hardly older than
Brandon himself.</p>
<p>But Brandon did not come. The new captain of
the whaleback, and the owner himself, were greatly
worried by the boy’s continued absence.</p>
<p>They had already set on foot inquiry for the youth’s
whereabouts, but nothing had come of it.</p>
<p>They did discover that Uncle Arad had gone back
to Rhode Island, and gone back alone. The “scaly”
ward politician who held the onerous position of
deputy sheriff, and who had sought to arrest the boy,
had not been successful, Brandon’s friends knew,
for the man haunted the pier at which the whaleback
lay, day and night.</p>
<p>“If he don’t come tonight, Adoniram,” Caleb declared,
“we shall sail in the morning, just the same—and
that by the first streak of light, too. <i>You</i> will be
here, and I can trust you to look out for the lad. <i>I</i>
must be away after those di’monds. Don’ll turn up
all right, I know right well; and we mustn’t let them
swabs get ahead of us, and reach the brig first.”</p>
<p>He had taken the precaution ere this to have his own
and Brandon’s effects brought down to the boat. He
was ready, in fact, to cast off and steam away from
the dock at a moment’s notice.</p>
<p>As the evening approached Caleb ordered the fires
built under the boilers, and everything to be made
ready for instant departure. Adoniram Pepper came
down after dinner and remained in the whaleback’s
cabin, hoping to see Brandon once again before the
steamer sailed.</p>
<p>Caleb was too anxious to keep still at all, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>
tramped back and forth, occasionally making trips to
the wheelman’s turret in which he had stationed Mr.
Coffin and one of the sailors, so as to have no delay
in starting, no matter what should happen.</p>
<p>“By Jove, this beats blockade running at Savannah
in the sixties,” muttered the first mate, after one of his
commander’s anxious trips to the forward turret to see
that all was right. “This youngster they’re taking
all this trouble for must be a most remarkable boy.”</p>
<p>“There’s two fellows watching the steamer from
the wharf,” Caleb declared, entering the cabin again.</p>
<p>Just then there was a sound outside, and a heavy
knock sounded at the cabin door. Caleb pulled it
open in an instant.</p>
<p>Without stood three burly police officers.</p>
<p>“Well, well!” exclaimed Mr. Pepper, in wonder.</p>
<p>“What do <i>you</i> want?” Caleb demanded, inclined to
be a little combative.</p>
<p>“Beg pardon, sir,” said the spokesman of the two,
nodding respectfully to Mr. Pepper, “but we’ve been
sent to search the steamer for a boy against whom
this man holds a warrant,” and the officer motioned to
a third individual who stood without. It was the
deputy sheriff.</p>
<p>“Very well,” said Mr. Pepper quietly.</p>
<p>“Search and be hanged,” growled Caleb, glowering
at the man with the warrant. “If you can find him
you’ll have better luck than we.”</p>
<p>He refused to assist them in any way, however, and
Mr. Bolin politely showed the party over the whole
steamer. But of course, they found not a sign of
Brandon.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>After nearly an hour’s search the officers gave it
up and departed, Caleb hurling after them several
sarcastic remarks about their supposed intellectual
accomplishments—or rather, their lack of such accomplishments.</p>
<p>The deputy sheriff, whose name was Snaggs, by the
way, would not give it up, however, but still remained
on the wharf.</p>
<p>Mr. Coffin, who had begun to take a lively interest
in the proceedings, was pacing the inclined deck of
the whaleback on the side furtherest from the pier,
a few minutes past midnight (everybody on board
was still awake at even this late hour) when his ear
caught the sound of a gentle splash in the black waters
just below him.</p>
<p>He stopped instantly and leaned over the rail.</p>
<p>“Hist!” whispered a voice out of the darkness.
“Toss me a rope. I want to come aboard.”</p>
<p>Mr. Coffin was not a man to show his emotions,
and therefore, without a word, he dropped the end of
a bit of cable into the water, just where he could see
the faint outlines of the owner of the voice.</p>
<p>Hidden by the wheelhouse from the view of anybody
who might be on the wharf, he assisted the person
aboard, and in a minute the mysterious visitor
stood upon the iron plates at Mr. Coffin’s side.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVIII<br />
<small>THE DEPARTURE OF THE WHALEBACK, NUMBER THREE</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">No</span> emergency was ever too great for Lawrence
Coffin. The appearance of the stranger whom he had
lifted over the rail to the steamer’s deck may have
surprised him; but he gave no visible sign.</p>
<p>The instant the fellow was on his feet, Mr. Coffin
slid open the door of the wheelhouse and pushed the
newcomer in.</p>
<p>“Jackson,” he said sharply, to the man inside, “go
for Captain Wetherbee.”</p>
<p>Then he turned to the dripping figure that stood
just within the door of the turret.</p>
<p>The stranger was a youth of fifteen or sixteen, with
a sharp, intelligent face, and his saturated clothing
was little more than rags.</p>
<p>“Hullo!” said the mate, “<i>you’re</i> not Brandon
Tarr, I take it.”</p>
<p>“You kin bet on that, mister,” responded the youth
grinning. “An’ you, I reckon, ain’t Cale Wetherbee.
He’s got a wooden leg.”</p>
<p>“I’ve sent for Mr. Wetherbee,” replied Mr. Coffin.
“What do you want?”</p>
<p>“I’ll tell th’ boss, wot I was told ter see,” declared
the fellow shrewdly.</p>
<p>The youth was evidently of that great class of individuals<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>
known as “street gamins” who, in New York
City, are numbered by the thousand.</p>
<p>He was thin and muscular, quick in his movements,
and his eyes were shifty and uneasy, not from any
lack of frankness or honesty, perhaps, but because
his mode of life forced him to be ever on the watch for
what might “happen next.”</p>
<p>Mr. Coffin had hardly made this mental inventory
of the fellow, when Caleb, accompanied by Mr. Pepper,
came forward. The strange youth evidently recognized
the captain of the whaleback at once as the
individual he wished to see.</p>
<p>“You’re Captain Wetherbee,” he said quickly fumbling
in the inside of his coarse flannel shirt (the shirt
and trousers were all he had on) “I got somethin’
fur you from Brandon Tarr.”</p>
<p>“Where is he?” cried Mr. Pepper, in great excitement.</p>
<p>“He’s gone to sea, boss,” responded the boy calmly.</p>
<p>“Hey!” roared Caleb, and then the messenger
brought forth that which he was fumbling for—a
little waterproof matchbox.</p>
<p>“Gone to sea?” repeated Adoniram, in bewilderment.</p>
<p>“Dat’s it,” said the boy. “He went day ’fore
yest’day mornin’ in de Success.”</p>
<p>But Caleb had opened the matchbox and drawn
forth the folded paper it contained.</p>
<p>“It’s a letter—the young rascal! Why didn’t he
come himself?”</p>
<p>“Didn’t I tell ye he’d gone ter sea?” demanded the
youth in disgust.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span>“Listen to this,” exclaimed Caleb, paying not the
least attention to the messenger’s words, and he read
the closely written page aloud:</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Caleb</span>—Swivel is going to make a break with this
letter for me, although the Success sails, we understand, in
an hour or two. He can tell you how I came aboard here, so
I won’t stop to do that.</p>
<p>“What I want to say is, that Leroyd is aboard and that the
brig will touch at Savannah for Mr. Pepper’s old clerk, Mr.
Weeks, who is in the plot to find the Silver Swan, too. I
shall leave her at Savannah if it is a possibility.</p>
<p>“If you get into Savannah while she is there, however, and
I don’t appear, try to find some way of getting me out. I’m
afraid of Leroyd—or, that is, I should be if he knew I was
here.</p>
<p>“I’ve got enough to eat and drink to last me a long time
and am comfortable. I can make another raid on the pantry,
too, if I run short.</p>
<p>“Look out for Swivel; he’s a good fellow. He can tell
you all that I would like to, if space and time did not forbid.</p>
<p class="right"><span class="indentright2">“Yours sincerely,</span><br />
“<span class="smcap">Brandon Tarr</span>.</p>
<p>“P. S. We’ll beat these scamps and get the Silver Swan
yet.”</p>
</div>
<p>“Well, well!” commented Mr. Pepper, in amazement.
“What will that boy do next?”</p>
<p>“The young rascal!” Caleb exclaimed in vexation.
“What does he mean by cutting up such didoes as
this? Aboard the very vessel the scoundrels have
chartered, hey?”</p>
<p>“But how did he get there?” cried Adoniram wonderingly.</p>
<p>“This young man ought to be able to tell that,”
suggested Mr. Coffin, referring to the dripping youth.</p>
<p>Caleb looked from the open letter to the boy.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>“So you’re Swivel, eh?” he demanded.</p>
<p>The lad grinned and nodded.</p>
<p>“Well, suppose you explain this mystery.”</p>
<p>But here Adoniram interposed.</p>
<p>“Let us take him to the cabin, and give him something
dry to put on. He’ll catch his death of cold
here.”</p>
<p>“’Nough said. Come on,” said Caleb leading the
way.</p>
<p>Fifteen minutes later the youth who rejoiced in the
name of Swivel was inside of warm and dry garments,
several sizes too large for him, and was telling his
story to a most appreciative audience.</p>
<p>I will not give it in detail, and in Swivel’s bad grammar;
a less rambling account will suffice.</p>
<p>When Brandon Tarr had made his rapid retreat
from the office of Adoniram Pepper and Co. he had
run across the street, dodged around the first corner,
and then walked hastily up town. He determined to
keep away from the office for the remainder of the
day, hoping to tire out both Uncle Arad and the deputy
sheriff.</p>
<p>Finally he took a car and rode over to Brooklyn,
and it was there that he fell in with Swivel, who was a
veritable street gamin—a “wharf-rat” even—though
a good hearted and not an altogether bad principled
one.</p>
<p>It being a time in the day when there were no papers
to sell, Swivel (wherever the boy got the name
he didn’t know, and it would have been hard to trace
its origin) was blacking boots, and while he shined
Brandon’s the two boys scraped up an acquaintance.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>Fearing that Uncle Arad or the officer, or perhaps
both, would be on the watch about the shipping merchant’s
office, or the steamer dock, Brandon decided
that Swivel would be a good one to have along with
him to send ahead as “scout,” and for a small sum the
gamin agreed.</p>
<p>Brandon was a country boy, and was unfamiliar
with city ways or city conveniences. It never crossed
his mind to use the telephone communicating with his
friends, and Swivel knew very little about telephones,
any way.</p>
<p>So they waited until toward evening and then
came back to New York.</p>
<p>Water Street and its vicinity, and the docks, were
as familiar to Swivel as were the lanes and woods
of Chopmist to Brandon. By devious ways the gamin
led the captain’s son to the ship owner’s office, but it
was quite dark by that time and the place was closed.</p>
<p>So they went to the pier at which the whaleback
lay, and here Swivel showed that he was of great use
to Brandon, for had it not been for him, his employer
would have run straight into a trap. The deputy
sheriff, Snaggs, was watching the steamer, and no
less a person than Mr. Alfred Weeks himself, was
talking with him.</p>
<p>By careful maneuvering the two boys got into a position
from which they could hear some of the conversation
of the two rascals; but the way to the steamer
was right under Snaggs’ eye, and Brandon dared not
attempt it.</p>
<p>By intently listening, the captain’s son heard several
important items of news, and, greatly to his astonishment,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>
discovered that Uncle Arad, Leroyd, and Mr.
Weeks himself were playing right into each other’s
hands, and that their object was to keep Brandon
from getting back to his friends, and thus delay the
sailing of the whaleback so that the craft on which the
plotters expected to sail might get away first.</p>
<p>Snaggs was to keep a sharp lookout from the shoreward
side of the whaleback and there was already a
man in a boat patroling the riverside that Brandon
might not return from that direction, and a third person
was “shadowing” Adoniram Pepper’s residence.
The ship owner’s office would be watched during the
day.</p>
<p>As soon as Brandon made his appearance he was to
be seized at once on the strength of the Rhode Island
warrant and sent back to Chopmist. This, the conspirators
hoped, would keep Caleb Wetherbee from
sailing for several weeks, and by that time Leroyd
and the ex-clerk expected to overhaul the Silver Swan—that
is, this is what Weeks and Leroyd themselves
were planning to do; but the former took care to say
nothing about the Silver Swan to the deputy sheriff.</p>
<p>Finding that there was no chance to get aboard the
whaleback just then, and having heard Weeks say that
he was going to meet Leroyd and that they two were
to go that night and see the vessel and her commander,
Brandon decided to follow them, and find out the name
of the craft and where she lay, believing that the information
would be of value to himself and to his friends.</p>
<p>Piloted by Swivel, Brandon followed “Sneaky Al”
to the New England Hotel and while the ex-clerk
went inside for Leroyd the two boys waited without,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span>
and then took up the trail again when the two conspirators
appeared.</p>
<p>The sailor and Weeks went over to Brooklyn and
after two hours’ dodging and running and hiding, they
tracked the rascals to the brig Success, lying at a
Brooklyn wharf.</p>
<p>Brandon decided that it would never do to be so
near and not hear the plans the villains made with the
captain of the Success, so he rashly crept aboard and
listened to the conversation at the cabin skylight. And
this was when he got into trouble.</p>
<p>He heard the two plotters agree with the captain
of the vessel (who was not in the scheme at all) to pay
two hundred dollars for six week’s use of the brig,
providing the Success put to sea at once.</p>
<p>She already had a very fair cargo for Savannah,
and the agreement was that she should put in at that
port for the time necessary for the cargo to be landed.</p>
<p>Thus, of course, the captain, who was the owner as
well, was going to make a very good thing out of it,
indeed. He asked no questions as to what use the brig
was to be put to; and he agreed to allow Leroyd to
accompany him to Savannah, where Weeks would
meet them.</p>
<p>Brandon made a shrewd guess that the ex-clerk was
to remain in New York until he was certain of <i>his</i>
capture and incarceration; then he would reach Savannah
by steamer.</p>
<p>It was quite evident that the two rascals had managed
to “boil” more money out of old Arad Tarr than
they had first expected, and could afford to be more
lavish with their funds.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>But, as I said, the boys, by venturing aboard the
Success, got into trouble. Somebody came aft while
they were listening to the conference below, and to
escape discovery, they dodged down the after hatch.</p>
<p>The crew of the Success were already aboard, and
the two men who constituted the “anchor watch”
remained near the open hatchway (the other hatches
were battened down), and the two boys were unable
to leave the hold.</p>
<p>Morning came, and found them still there. The
cargo was nearly all in, and the crew went to work
to finish the lading by daylight. Brandon and Swivel
retreated into the bows of the vessel, and managed to
remain hidden all day.</p>
<p>They did not dare leave the hold, although they
suffered extremely from lack of food and water, for
Leroyd had come aboard to superintend the work, and
would have seen them.</p>
<p>At evening the hatches were battened down, and the
unintentional stowaways were left in darkness. But
Swivel, who a shrewd and sharp eyed lad, had noticed
a small door in the cabin bulkhead by which the cook
doubtless entered the hold for provisions from time to
time.</p>
<p>With their pocket knives they forced the fastenings
of this door and Swivel made a raid into the pantry,
which was left unguarded, and returned laden with
provisions enough to last them a week if need be. He
secured a big “beaker” of water, too.</p>
<p>Brandon also discovered the ship’s provisions stored
near the bows, and was sure that he could stand a
siege.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>Leroyd, they ascertained, hardly ever left the cabin
or deck of the Success, and Brandon dared not venture out.
At last, after talking the whole matter over,
Swivel agreed to take the risk of giving himself up
as a stowaway, and thus get put ashore before the
brig started.</p>
<p>Then he was to make his way to the whaleback and
explain Brandon’s situation to Caleb.</p>
<p>The captain’s son wrote his letter and placed it
in the matchbox, which Swivel in turn had hidden
in the breast of his shirt. Then the gamin pounded
on the hatch until the crew heard him and let him out.</p>
<p>Naturally the captain of the Success was angry
enough, for the brig was already to sail, and they were
getting the lines cast off, so he summoned a night
watchman from the dock, who took the unlucky Swivel
in charge and handed him over to a policeman.</p>
<p>This was a phase of the situation which neither of
the boys had considered. But there was no way out
of it, and the gamin spent the day in the police station,
for it was Sunday.</p>
<p>He was brought before the magistrate the next
morning, but of course there was nobody to appear
against him, so he was discharged with a reprimand.
The police captain, however, kept him busy about the
station until late in the afternoon, before he would let
him go.</p>
<p>“He kep’ me jugglin’ wid er mop er wipin’ up de
floor,” as the gamin expressed it to his hearers.</p>
<p>As soon as he was free he had hurried to the New
York side; but upon reaching the vicinity of the whaleback<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>
he discovered that the “patrol line” was drawn
even closer than before.</p>
<p>Snaggs and two of his friends were on duty, for as
the time approached for the sailing, they decided
that if Brandon came back he would do so very soon.</p>
<p>Swivel had seen the raid the policemen made under
the deputy’s instigation, and after the bluecoats were
safely out of the way, he had slipped into the water
and made for the steamer.</p>
<p>“An’ here I is,” he said, in conclusion. “Dey
didn’t ketch me, nor dat Brandon Tarr, nuther. We’s
too fly for ’em.”</p>
<p>“Of all the scrapes I ever heard of, this is the
worst,” Adoniram exclaimed in comment.</p>
<p>But Caleb, now that his fears for Don’s safety were
somewhat allayed, seemed rather to enjoy the situation.</p>
<p>“Oh, that boy’s smart,” he declared, with a chuckle.
“I’ll risk him even if he is in that vessel’s hold. Leroyd
won’t get the best of <i>him</i>. Probably, too, the
captain of the Success is not a bad sort of a fellow,
an’ he won’t see the boy maltreated.</p>
<p>“I feel better, ’Doniram, and with your permission
we’ll get under way at once.”</p>
<p>“But what shall we do with this lad?” asked the
little merchant, nodding and smiling at Swivel. “He’s
deserving of much praise for his honesty and faithfulness.”</p>
<p>“Oh, take me along, will yer?” exclaimed the
gamin, with eagerness. “I’ll work <i>hard</i> ef ye will!
I jest wanter see dis thing out, I do! I like dat
Brandon Tarr, an’ I wanter see him git the di’monts<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>
wot he said was on dat wreck yer arter. Say, lemme
go, will yer?”</p>
<p>Caleb looked at the ship owner in perplexity.</p>
<p>“Oh, take him, Caleb,” said Adoniram quickly.
“It may be the making of the lad to get him off the
city streets. He deserves it.”</p>
<p>“So be it then,” said Caleb, rising. “Now, Mr.
Coffin and Mr. Bolin—to work! You’ll have to go
ashore at once, Adoniram. I shall have Number
Three out of her berth in half an hour.”</p>
<p>Steam was got up, the crew flew about their several
duties under the energetic commands of the officers,
and within a short time the whaleback, to the manifest
disappointment of Mr. Snaggs, who watched proceedings
from the shadow of the wharf, cast off her
lines and steamed down the bay into the darkness of
the night.</p>
<p>Thus did she begin the voyage whose object was the
finding of the wreck of the Silver Swan.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIX<br />
<small>THE STOWAWAY ABOARD THE SUCCESS</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">As</span> we know, Brandon Tarr had no intention of remaining
long away from his friends when he slipped
out of Adoniram Pepper’s office to escape arrest on
the fraudulent charge of robbery, concocted by Uncle
Arad.</p>
<p>The events which followed, however, made it necessary
for him to remain away, and, finally, to go to
sea as a stowaway in the hold of the Success, the vessel
chartered by the conspirators to make search for
the Silver Swan.</p>
<p>After the friendly street gamin, Swivel, left him in
the hold, in the early hours of Sunday morning, Brandon
of course had no means of knowing what had become
of him—whether he had accomplished his purpose
of getting away from the brig before she sailed,
or whether, because she was short handed, the captain
of the Success had retained him.</p>
<p>After Swivel was let up on deck, and the hatch
closed, however, Brandon heard nothing further, except
the heavy tramping of the sailors, the creaking of
the ropes, and the hoarse roars of command from the
officers.</p>
<p>The work of getting the Success away from the
dock went rapidly on.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>Quite fortunately for the stowaway, the hold of the
Success was little more than two thirds filled with
Savannah goods. In the bows, beside a great many
bags and boxes and barrels of provisions for the use
of the crew, there were likewise spare sails, cordage,
etc.</p>
<p>It would be a very easy matter indeed for him to
hide among the stuff if any one came into the hold.</p>
<p>The scent of bilge water was not at all strong, for
the Success was a comparatively new vessel and had
evidently been recently pumped out.</p>
<p>Brandon judged her to be about the size of the
Silver Swan, much the same sort of craft in fact, and,
like his father’s vessel, the Success was a “tramp.”</p>
<p>It was night—or at least a gloomy twilight—at
all times in the hold; but Brandon thought that it was
surely daylight by the time the brig was under way.</p>
<p>She was taken down the river by a fussy little steam
tug and then, meeting the swells of the Atlantic, and
a brisk gale springing up, she shook out her sails and
dropped the tug astern.</p>
<p>Brandon was fearful that he might be sick, for he
had never really been to sea and the brig pitched not
a little in the waves of the ocean.</p>
<p>To reduce the possibility of this misfortune to a
minimum, he ate but sparingly the first day or two
out, and by that time all “squeamish” feelings passed
away.</p>
<p>It was dreadfully dull in the dark hold, however.
Of food and water he had a sufficiency, although the
latter was warm and brackish; but there was absolutely
nothing for him to do to pass away the time.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>
There was not even the spice of danger about his situation,
for nobody came into the hold.</p>
<p>He dared not explore much at first, for he was
afraid that he might be heard from the cabin or forecastle.</p>
<p>During a slight blow which came up the fourth day,
however, while the spars and cordage were creaking
so that all other sounds were drowned, he felt perfectly
safe in moving about. If he could not hear
what went on outside, nobody outside would be likely
to hear him.</p>
<p>On this day, however, he received several tumbles,
for the ship occasionally pitched so suddenly that he
was carried completely off his feet. Nothing worse
happened to him, though, than the barking of his elbows
and knees.</p>
<p>Gaining confidence in his ability to get around without
being discovered, he changed his position more
frequently after this. The weather remained fair for
some time following this small blow, and Brandon
hung about the cabin bulkhead, striving to hear more
of Leroyd’s plans, if possible.</p>
<p>It was plain that the captain of the brig knew nothing
of the real plans of the conspirators. They had
told him what they pleased, and he was to ask no questions.</p>
<p>It was not long, however, before the stowaway discovered
something which was quite a surprise to him.
There was a woman on board the brig; he heard the
rustle of her garments, and occasionally the tones of a
female voice.</p>
<p>At first he thought her to be the captain’s wife, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>
because of the youthfulness of her tones and some
words which the captain addressed to her, he changed
this opinion, and decided that she was his daughter.</p>
<p>Brandon was quite interested in her, for a girl on
a sailing vessel was certainly a novelty. He was sure
she must be a “jolly one,” as he expressed it, to sail
with her father on a merchantman. Not many girls
would have the pluck to do that.</p>
<p>As the days passed by, and the Success fled on before
the favoring gales, drawing nearer and nearer to
Savannah, Brandon became correspondingly worried
over the obstructions to a safe escape from the brig,
which were presented to his mind.</p>
<p>Once the brig reached port and the hatches were
opened, it would be “all day” with him. Nothing
but a miracle would save him from falling into the
hands of Jim Leroyd, and he didn’t like to think of
that.</p>
<p>He had good reason to believe that the rascally
sailor would not hesitate to injure him in any way
possible.</p>
<p>Naturally his mind reverted to the trap in the cabin
bulkhead by which Swivel had gained access to the
cook’s galley, as a possible means of escape before the
hatches were removed. If the brig reached Savannah
late in the day, doubtless the hatches would remain
battened down till the next morning. In that case
the trap might be his salvation.</p>
<p>Several times during the voyage the steward, sometimes
with a seaman with him, entered the hold by
this door, for something among the stores. At such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>
times Brandon “laid low” and his presence was not
discovered.</p>
<p>What little food he had purloined from the stores
was not noticed either.</p>
<p>Therefore, as the brig drew nearer to her destination
Brandon set about studying the topography of
the cabin—its entrances and exits—and how he
could best pass through it and reach the deck without
attracting the attention of anybody on board.</p>
<p>All this scouting had to be done at night, of course,
and many were his narrow escapes while engaged in
this most perilous undertaking.</p>
<p>“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” was the motto
of the Tarrs, father and son. In Captain Tarr’s case,
and in that of his brother Anson, it had been, as a
usual thing, a good deal of <i>venture</i> and little <i>gain</i>.</p>
<p>The same motive, however, was predominant in
Brandon’s nature, and he took many risks in thus
scouting about the brig’s cabin that almost any other
boy would not have taken.</p>
<p>One night he had cautiously set the narrow door
leading into the steward’s pantry ajar, and sat just
under it in the darkness of the hold, trying to discover
if all but the officers, excepting the one in command
of the watch, had turned in.</p>
<p>There was a light in the outer cabin, but he could
not see into the room from where he sat, and he dared
not enter the pantry until he was sure that the cabin
was unoccupied. Occasionally a sound of low conversation
would reach his ears from the deck, but
otherwise all was still.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_212.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="caption">“I’M A STOWAWAY. I’VE BEEN IN THE HOLD SINCE<br /> WE LEFT
NEW YORK.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>“I believe I’ll risk it,” he declared, after remaining
in a listening attitude for nearly half an hour. “I
need water badly—my throat is well nigh parched—and
if I could learn whether the lamp was usually left
turned up like that, whether the cabin was empty or
<i>not</i>, I might know better how to act when I do try to
escape.”</p>
<p>Finally he crawled through the opening and crept
softly to the cabin door. The apartment was empty—or
it appeared to be—although there was a chair
drawn up to the table, and some books lay there as
though having been in recent use.</p>
<p>“Guess I’d better not stay,” thought the stowaway
nervously. “But I must have a drink.”</p>
<p>He turned back into the cook’s galley, and took
a deep draught from a bucket he found there. Just
as he was about to leave the place he was electrified
by hearing a voice say,</p>
<p>“What are <i>you</i> doing here?”</p>
<p>Brandon wheeled about like a flash. There framed
by the cabin doorway was a young girl—the girl
whose voice he had heard more than once since his
incarceration in the hold of the Success—the captain’s
daughter!</p>
<p>“Who are you? What do you want!” she repeated,
eying him fearlessly, though with a puzzled
expression of countenance. “I never remember having
seen <i>you</i> before.”</p>
<p>Brandon was suddenly conscious that his long captivity
in the vessel’s hold had not improved his personal
appearance, and with his feeling of fright at
being discovered, there was also considerable vexation
at being seen in such a plight by a lady.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>The girl was bright looking and intelligent, with
a face which attracted the boy greatly; in fact, he was
almost tempted to believe that he had seen her somewhere,
so familiar did she appear.</p>
<p>Dressed in a simple blue flannel yachting suit, trimmed
with white braid, which set off her plump figure
to great advantage, she was a pleasing picture.</p>
<p>“Why don’t you answer me?” she demanded in
vexation, as Brandon continued silent.</p>
<p>“Sh! don’t give me away,” begged the boy, taking
a step nearer. “I’m a stowaway, I’ve been in the
hold ever since we left New York.”</p>
<p>“Another stowaway!” she exclaimed, but in a lower
tone. “Why father found one just before we left
port.”</p>
<p>“I know it,” returned Brandon. “He was with
me. What did they do with him?”</p>
<p>“Father gave him into the hands of the police,”
replied the girl gravely. “He’s very hard on stowaways.
Why did you get into the hold?”</p>
<p>“Because I <i>had</i> to; yes, I did—actually had to,”
declared Brandon, in a whisper. “I can’t tell you
the whole story now; but I will some time. I haven’t
done anything wrong—excepting taking a few provisions
from the ship’s stores. Those I will pay you
for now,” and he took his purse from the pocket of
his stained and ragged coat.</p>
<p>“No, no!” cried the girl, drawing back, “I do not
want your money.”</p>
<p>“Then I shall leave it, as I first intended, on the
cabin table when we get to Savannah.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span>“But the men will find you when we get in, even
if I <i>don’t</i> tell father.”</p>
<p>“I hope not,” Brandon replied, so earnestly that
the captain’s daughter looked at him curiously.</p>
<p>“Is there anybody aboard whom you fear?” she
asked shrewdly.</p>
<p>“Yes, there is. It is that evil looking man—the
one who has chartered the brig—Jim Leroyd.”</p>
<p>“He!” she exclaimed, in surprise. Then after a
little silence she added:</p>
<p>“He <i>is</i> an evil looking man; I’ve told father so
more than once, but he says that a man is not always
as bad as he looks. Father has seen so many people
and so much of the world, that I seldom question his
judgment; but I have been impressed from the first
that there was something wrong about him—and
about that Mr. Weeks, who is in partnership with
him, and whom we expect to meet at Savannah.</p>
<p>“It is a strange thing—this searching for a derelict
brig—any way. I tell father that there is something
wrong back of it.”</p>
<p>“There <i>is</i>,” Brandon declared. “I don’t dare tell
you about it now. You won’t let anybody know I’m
here, will you?”</p>
<p>“No—o, I’ll promise that. It wasn’t right to stow
yourself away aboard the brig, but you look honest—although
you <i>are</i> awfully dirty and ragged,” said this
most plain spoken young lady.</p>
<p>“I know it; I look terribly,” whispered Don, creeping
through the door into the hold again. Then he
turned about and asked, “What is your name, please?”</p>
<p>“Milly Frank.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>“Thank you; and mine is Brandon Tarr. Some
time I can explain all this to you, and you will see
that I did the only thing I could in stowing myself
away here.”</p>
<p>“But how do you expect to get out?”</p>
<p>“I hope we’ll get to port in the night. If we do,
then I’ll try to slip out through the cabin.”</p>
<p>“Somebody will catch you.”</p>
<p>“I hope not.”</p>
<p>“We-ell, I <i>hope</i>, not, too,” said Miss Milly frankly.
“I don’t suppose it is just right, but I’ll try to help
you. If I see a chance for you to get away I’ll come
to this door and knock—see, like this.”</p>
<p>She knocked twice in succession, but lightly, so that
nobody might hear her but the stowaway.</p>
<p>“Thank you—thank you!” murmured the boy,
and then he shut the trap quickly, for a heavy step
sounded from the cabin without.</p>
<p>Somebody had come down from the deck—probably
the officer of the watch.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXX<br />
<small>SHOWING WHAT MISS MILLY DOES FOR BRANDON</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Brandon</span> crept away from the trap in the bulkhead,
fearing that at any moment the person who had entered
the outer cabin during his conversation with the
captain’s daughter, might strive to capture him. He
was afraid that the person had heard his movements
in descending into the cargo hold again; but if the
newcomer <i>did</i> hear anything, Milly evidently convinced
him that there was nothing unusual going on,
for Brandon was not disturbed.</p>
<p>Then ensued for the stowaway a period of anxious
waiting. The very fact that some hope of successful
escape had been held out to him, made the waiting
all the harder to bear.</p>
<p>Each hour was bringing the Success nearer to Savannah,
and Brandon remained near the bulkhead all
the time, so as to miss no communication from his
fair assistant.</p>
<p>Miss Milly seemed to really enjoy her secret knowledge
of the stowaway’s presence, and before the Success
reached port she several times called him to the
bulkhead, ostensibly for the purpose of finding out
if he was all right, and was not going hungry. She
supplied him with water, too, these last two or three<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>
days, and he no longer had to leave the hold on midnight
foraging expeditions.</p>
<p>“We shall be in this evening—perhaps before dark—so
father told me last night,” she whispered to him
one morning, and Brandon’s heart leaped for joy at
the information.</p>
<p>Slowly, indeed, did that day pass.</p>
<p>The Success was beating up toward Savannah
against a light head wind, which gave promise of
becoming an off shore gale before it was through with.
Fortunately, the brig escaped it, taking a tug about
the middle of the afternoon, and pulling into her dock
about dark.</p>
<p>“Thank Heaven!” was Brandon’s mental ejaculation,
when this information was whispered through
the crack in the bulkhead door to him, and he was
indeed devoutly grateful.</p>
<p>His life in the hold from the time of departure
from New York, had been a continual fever of impatience
and doubt, and now that the real danger of
attempting to escape was at hand, he was rejoiced.
In a short time he would know whether he was to be
free, or in Jim Leroyd’s power.</p>
<p>Milly had informed him that Captain Frank was
exceedingly hard on all stowaways (as sea captains
usually are, in fact), and he had no doubt but that he
would be placed in a very uncomfortable, if not dangerous,
position if the doughty captain should discover
him.</p>
<p>Leroyd, of course, would step forward at once and
declare that he (Brandon) was wanted in New York
for robbery, and that fact could be proved by telegraphing,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>
should the Savannah officers desire to do
so. Then, if the whaleback steamer was not in, he
should be absolutely friendless, and at the mercy of
the vindictive sailor.</p>
<p>He lay close up against the door of the bulkhead
all through the early evening. Some of the crew, he
judged by what he heard, were allowed to go ashore
for a few hours, and a part of the officers went with
them—which officers, however, he could not tell.</p>
<p>There was both a first and second mate on the Success.</p>
<p>Brandon had no means of telling the time, but it
must have been well along towards ten o’clock—perhaps
later—when he heard the two gentle raps for
which he had been so anxiously listening.</p>
<p>“Are you there, Brandon?” whispered the captain’s
daughter, and as Don pulled the door slightly
ajar, she seized his hand, and aided him through the
opening.</p>
<p>“Is the coast clear?” he asked anxiously.</p>
<p>“Sh! Yes, father and Mr. Marsh have gone up
town with some of the men, and Mr. Barry has finally
gone to bed.” (Mr. Barry was the second officer.)
“I was afraid that he’d never stop talking to me. I
had to fairly <i>freeze</i> him out,” and the merry girl
laughed softly.</p>
<p>“But Leroyd?” pursued Brandon.</p>
<p>“He’s gone, too.”</p>
<p>“To bed?”</p>
<p>“No; up the street. I hope you can get off the
brig before any of them get back. Now hurry.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>“You’re a good girl, Miss Milly. I hope I shall
be able to repay you some time.”</p>
<p>“Hush! go along now,” she said, smiling, but pushing
him toward the companionway. “What’s that
for?” for Brandon had thrust a little wad of bank
notes into her hand.</p>
<p>“It is to pay for the stores I broke into below.
Take it, and put it where your father will see it.
Good by.”</p>
<p>He started up the ladder, but came back again to
ask,</p>
<p>“Is there a steamer in the bay? Did you get in
time enough to see?”</p>
<p>“Lots of them.”</p>
<p>“No, I should have said a whaleback steamer?”</p>
<p>“What are those—oh, I know what you mean. A
great long, steel boat, with cabins way up above the
hull, and no deck to speak of.”</p>
<p>“That’s it,” said Brandon eagerly.</p>
<p>“Yes, there <i>is</i> one here. I saw it and meant to
ask father what it was. I thought it was a dredger
of some kind,” and Milly laughed again gleefully.
“Is that a steamer?”</p>
<p>“Yes. My friends are aboard her.”</p>
<p>“Then you will find them,” she returned delightedly.
“That funny boat lies not far from our dock.
Now go, or somebody will catch you.”</p>
<p>Brandon crept noiselessly up the steps at this command,
and peered out across the deck. A sailor sat
on the rail some rods away, but his back was towards
him; nobody else was in sight.</p>
<p>“Now’s my chance,” muttered Don, and springing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>
quickly up the remaining steps, he darted as noiselessly
as a shadow across the deck, and leaped upon
the pier. An instant later he was on the street, and
slinking along in the shadow of the buildings, hurried
away from the vicinity.</p>
<p>He did not know in which direction the “funny
boat” Milly had seen, lay, but went blindly along, his
only care for the moment being to escape from the
neighborhood of the Success and from his enemy,
Jim Leroyd.</p>
<p>The street he followed kept close to the wharves—skirted
the waterfront in fact—and he passed many
sailors; but he kept in the shadow as much as possible
and nobody remarked about his apparel or the grime
on his face and hands.</p>
<p>Suddenly, as he approached a great pier, where
several large vessels were lying, he caught sight of
a familiar figure coming down the street toward him.
There was no mistaking that rolling, peculiar gait,
nor the sound of the sharp “tap, tap” of the steel
shod leg on the wooden pavement.</p>
<p>It was Caleb Wetherbee!</p>
<p>“Oh, Cale!” Brandon almost shouted, and running
forward fairly threw himself into the sailor’s arms.</p>
<p>“By the jumping Jehosophat!” cried the startled
Caleb, and then, recognizing the boy, despite his rags
and dirt, he uttered a loud “hurrah!” which left no
doubt in Brandon’s mind as to the sailor’s satisfaction
at seeing him once more.</p>
<p>But in a moment, he pushed the boy away from
him and holding him by both shoulders, peered down
upon him curiously.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>“Well, well!” he exclaimed. “Where in the name
o’ Davy Jones have you been? Ye look as though
you’d been stowed away in the hold o’ a coal barge
for a month.”</p>
<p>“Well, I <i>have</i> been stowed away in a brig’s hold—she
got in only this evening. I’ve just got away from
her. Did you get my note by Swivel?”</p>
<p>“I did, my lad.”</p>
<p>“And Swivel himself?”</p>
<p>“He’s aboard the steamer.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad of that,” declared Brandon. “I hoped
you’d be kind to him. He did me a lot of favors, and
I shan’t be able to repay him for some time to come.
Now, have you heard anything further from the Silver
Swan?”</p>
<p>“I have, my lad, this very afternoon. She was
sighted two weeks ago by a steamship from Rio to
New York. Adoniram telegraphed me. But there’s
something else that ain’t so pleasin’.”</p>
<p>“What’s that, Caleb?”</p>
<p>“The Kearsarge has been ordered to destroy several
of these derelicts, the Silver Swan included, on
her way down the coast to Havana. She sails tomorrow,
I hear.”</p>
<p>“Then we haven’t any time to lose,” Brandon exclaimed.
“Let’s go aboard at once, Cale. The first
thing I want is a wash—I’m as dirty as a pig—and
then I’ll tell you the whole story.”</p>
<p>“We’ll do so right now,” declared the big captain.
“Come on. My boat’s down here. Number Three
lays off some way.”</p>
<p>He hurried Brandon down to the dock, and they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>
were quickly seated in the steamer’s small boat, and
the men pulled out to the long, low, odd looking craft,
which, since her arrival in the bay three days before,
had attracted an enormous amount of attention.</p>
<p>“She sails like a swan, Don,” declared Caleb, who,
from openly scoffing at the whaleback, had begun
fairly to worship her. “I never see anything beat it.
She can outsail any cruiser in the navy, I believe, an’
if we don’t reach the Silver Swan in her first, it’s
because somethin’ busts!” with which forcible declaration
he helped the boy over the low rail to the iron
deck of the steamer.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXXI<br />
<small>WHEREIN NUMBER THREE APPROACHES THE SUPPOSED
VICINITY OF THE SILVER SWAN</small></h2>
</div>
<p>“<span class="smcap">We’ll</span> be off at once,” Caleb Wetherbee declared,
as soon as he had stepped upon the deck of the whaleback.
“Go up to the cabin, Don, and tell the steward
to fix you out with a bath and some clean clothes.
You know which stateroom yours is.”</p>
<p>Gladly did Brandon avail himself of this opportunity,
and while Caleb was personally seeing to the matter
of getting under way, he indulged in the luxury of a
bath and a full change of clothing.</p>
<p>Before he was presentable again, Number Three
had steam up (the fires had only been banked), and
was moving slowly away from Savannah.</p>
<p>“Quick connections on this trip, eh, lad?” Caleb
said, rubbing his hands gleefully, as he entered the
cabin and found Brandon “clothed and in his right
mind” again, as the youth himself expressed it.
“Three hours ago you were in the hold of the brig,
wasn’t you? Now, let’s hear your yarn.”</p>
<p>Brandon complied with his request, giving fullest
details of his incarceration in the hold of the Success.</p>
<p>“That ’ere is a mighty plucky girl,” was Caleb’s admiring
comment when the tale was finished. “What
d’ye say her name was?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>“Milly Frank; the cap’n is her father, and he owns
the brig himself.”</p>
<p>“Frank—Frank,” repeated Caleb slowly. “That
has a familiar sound.”</p>
<p>“It has to me, too,” said Brandon slowly. “I’ve
been trying to think, ever since I met the girl, where
I had heard her name and seen her face, too, for both
seem familiar.”</p>
<p>“I have it!” suddenly exclaimed Caleb, smiting his
thigh.</p>
<p>“Well?”</p>
<p>“Frank was the name of the chap as Adoniram’s
sister married—the little one, ye know.”</p>
<p>“You’re right. And her name was Milly, too,”
Brandon rejoined eagerly. “Bet you this was a
daughter of hers. I thought her face looked familiar,
and now I think of it, it was because she looked so
much like the face of Milly Pepper—her picture
hung in the room they gave me at Mr. Pepper’s.”</p>
<p>“’Twould tickle ’Doniram ’most to death to know
he had a niece,” Caleb said.</p>
<p>“And Miss Frances, too. As soon as we find the
Silver Swan we must look up the Success....
And that reminds me, Caleb. You say you’ve heard
of the wreck again?”</p>
<p>The captain of the whaleback drew a telegram from
his pocket and passed it over to his young second officer.</p>
<p>“That’s from ’Doniram. As I said, I got it this
afternoon.”</p>
<p>This was the message:</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>Rio steamship Creole Prince arrived this a. m., reports Silver
Swan as being sighted March 23rd, latitude 27:18, longitude
68:30.</p>
</div>
<p>“Still moving northeast, isn’t she?” Brandon said,
handing back the yellow slip.</p>
<p>“In course.”</p>
<p>“And what was that you told me about the Kearsarge?”</p>
<p>“Here’s the evening paper,” responded Caleb, handing
over a folded sheet. “There’s the item,” and he
pointed with his stumpy forefinger to a marked passage
which read as follows:</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>The Department has ordered the Kearsarge to leave the
Chesapeake tomorrow on her trip to the West Indies. Her
commander has received special orders to destroy several of
the most dangerous derelicts which are at present infesting
the coast below Hatteras, and especially off the Bermudas.
The hull of the Hattie Marvin, floating bottom upwards north
of Bermuda, and that of the Silver Swan, south of the same
islands, both of which have been frequently reported of late
and are exceedingly dangerous, will have the early attention
of the midshipmen, who consider the excitement of blowing
up derelicts a boon indeed.</p>
</div>
<p>“We have a good start of her,” Brandon declared
with satisfaction. “It will be because we’re not smart
if we can’t find the Silver Swan first.”</p>
<p>“Right, lad. An’ we <i>will</i> find her, too,” said Caleb
hopefully.</p>
<p>“And about Swivel,” went on Don, changing the
subject; “where is he?”</p>
<p>“He’s below with the men. Smart lad, he is, an’
I reckon we’ll make quite a man of him yet.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span>“I must do something for him—if I get those diamonds,”
Brandon added. “Now, Captain Wetherbee,
with your permission I’ll turn in and get some
sleep, for I haven’t slept decently for a week, I was
so worried.”</p>
<p>At sunrise the whaleback had left the mouth of the
Savannah river, and the shores were low down on the
horizon behind them. At sunset, when Brandon finally
arose from a long slumber, the steamer was alone
on a vast extent of heaving, restless sea. The land
had entirely disappeared.</p>
<p>Brandon took up his duties of second officer with
enthusiasm. He had everything to learn—or about
everything—but the work was right along the line
of his strongest taste. He loved it, and therefore went
about it earnestly, and learned rapidly.</p>
<p>Messrs. Coffin and Bolin assisted him in every way
possible, for they were greatly attracted to the boy.
Of course, Caleb was ever his faithful mentor and
teacher, and Brandon soon fell into the ways and
duties of the ship, and accredited himself very well,
indeed.</p>
<p>The swift steamer kept on her southeasterly course
for several days without incident of importance. No
derelicts were sighted, and but few vessels.</p>
<p>Brandon was told, however, that coming down from
New York the whaleback had sighted two wrecks, but
the captain dared not delay to investigate them until
the principal object of the voyage was accomplished.
Caleb determined to let all other derelicts but the
Silver Swan severely alone.</p>
<p>The whaleback passed the Bermudas low down on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span>
the sea line, and being well supplied with fuel kept
on toward that portion of the ocean where the hull
of the Silver Swan was supposed to be making her objectless
voyage.</p>
<p>A sharp lookout was kept day and night, but it was
not until after the Bermudas had faded from sight
that anything other than passing sailing vessels and
steamers were sighted. At night the whaleback ran
very slowly, indeed, so that naught might escape her,
but during the day she traveled at a high rate of
speed.</p>
<p>Just before sunrise one morning Brandon was
aroused by a commotion on deck. He leaped from
his berth at once, and having been to sea long enough
now to know how to dress quickly, was outside in less
than a minute. Then he made out what the lookout
on the top of the forward turret was shouting:</p>
<p>“Wreck—dead ahead, sir!”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXXII<br />
<small>RELATING HOW THE SILVER SWAN WAS HEARD FROM</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">As</span> the sun rose and lit up the sea more fully Brandon
could plainly view the wreck which the steamer
was now rapidly approaching.</p>
<p>It was not, he believed at first glance, the Silver
Swan. It was the hull of a vessel, sunk a good deal
at the stern; but one mast was standing, and a great
tangle of cordage and torn sails was still attached
to it.</p>
<p>“That’s never the Silver Swan, lad,” Caleb declared.
“She was swept as clean as a whistle. This
was a square rigged vessel, however.”</p>
<p>The steamer ran in very close to the wreck, and
Brandon made out the words, “Porpoise, New
Haven,” under the bows.</p>
<p>The derelict gave every appearance of being what
Mr. Coffin called “an old stager,” and labored in the
seas most heavily.</p>
<p>“That’s a mighty dangerous wreck,” Caleb declared
reflectively, as the whaleback steamed slowly by. “It
wouldn’t take long to sink her, although ’twould cost
something. What d’ye say, Mr. Coffin—will you
go aboard her, and if she isn’t worth towing in, drop
enough dynamite into her hold to blow her up? You<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span>
know how to run that battery Mr. Pepper had put
aboard.”</p>
<p>“Aye, aye, sir,” the first officer replied, and bustled
away to order a boat launched at once.</p>
<p>By special request Brandon was allowed to accompany
the expedition. The old hulk was found to be
in ballast, and Mr. Coffin therefore placed a quantity
of the powerful explosive in her hold, attached the
wire, and they pulled back toward the steamer.</p>
<p>When the small boat was out of danger the officer
touched the button and an instant later the still morning
air was shattered by a terrific roar.</p>
<p>The wreck seemed almost to rise from the sea, a
great volume of fire and smoke issued from her amidships,
and she broke in two, the water rushing in and
filling the interior with a sound like the echo of the
explosion.</p>
<p>Slowly the derelict settled, her stern going first, until
the very tip of the tottering mast disappeared below
the surface. Only a few splintered deck timbers,
which would soon follow the ship to the bottom, remained
to show where the hulk had disappeared.</p>
<p>“Good job, that,” Caleb declared, when the boat
had returned to the steamer, “though it cost us three
hours’ time. That hulk had been floating for nearly
a year, according to the pilot charts.”</p>
<p>The second day after the blowing up of the derelict
Porpoise, a steamship was sighted by the whaleback.
It was the City of Havana, of the James E. Ward line,
and, by running in close, Caleb was able to hold converse
with the ship’s captain.</p>
<p>To the satisfaction of the captain of Number Three,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span>
the City of Havana’s commander could, and did, give
him some information about the derelict brig of which
they were in search.</p>
<p>The steamship had sighted the Silver Swan in latitude
28, longitude 69:13, and reported the vessel in
a remarkable state of preservation. The spring storms
had not appeared to damage her much.</p>
<p>This news was hailed joyfully by Caleb and Brandon,
and the course of the whaleback was changed a
little more to the east.</p>
<p>The weather, however, which had been all that they
could wish thus far since leaving Savannah, began to
get nasty. The sea became short and choppy, though
without apparently affecting the sailing of the whaleback,
and the sky looked bad.</p>
<p>Finally, after a day or two of this, a dead calm occurred,
and Caleb shook his head sagely.</p>
<p>“We’re goin’ to ketch it,” he declared, “an’ we’ll
have a chance to find out how the steamer rides in a
gale, whether we want to or not.”</p>
<p>And he was right. While the whaleback steamed
slowly ahead, a heavy swell came on, although there
was not a breath of air stirring. The sea heaved and
rolled, seemingly in throes of agony.</p>
<p>At first the cause was entirely submarine. At
length, however, there was a groaning, moaning sound,
which gradually increased in volume, until, with a
sudden roar, the hurricane swooped down upon them.
The waves were tossed toward the wind driven, leaden
clouds with awful fury, breaking like surf over the
whaleback; but the steamer withstood the fearful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span>
shocks as easily as she had the choppy waves which
preceded the gale.</p>
<p>She kept but little headway, however, and as the
black night shut down about the craft, Brandon
realized fully the terrible risks and hazardous chances
taken by “those who go down to the sea in ships.”</p>
<p>For two days the gale continued, but with less fury
than signaled its first appearance. Number Three
might have put back into Bermuda, but she acted so
well that Caleb decided to stay outside and thus lose
no possible opportunity of sighting the Silver Swan.</p>
<p>Brandon had never contemplated what a storm at
sea meant before and he was thankful indeed that he
was not upon a sailing vessel.</p>
<p>During the first of the gale they had sighted several
vessels, with close reefed sails, scudding before the
wind, but all were riding the sea well.</p>
<p>Late in the afternoon of the second day, however,
the lookout, who was lashed to the top of the wheelhouse,
reported a wreck ahead.</p>
<p>At first Caleb and Brandon, who were both armed
with glasses, could not make it out clearly enough to
decide what it was.</p>
<p>Finally the old seaman declared with conviction.</p>
<p>“It’s the hull of a vessel an’ her masts have been
carried away sure.”</p>
<p>“Do you think it is the brig, Caleb?” the young
second mate asked eagerly.</p>
<p>“Ye got me there. It <i>may</i> be, and then ag’in it
may not. We’ll run down an’ see.”</p>
<p>The storm was by no means abating and Caleb
dared not run very close to the wreck.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>As they approached it, however, the former mate
of the Silver Swan became convinced that it was not
the wreck they sought. He was familiar with every
line of Captain Horace Tarr’s vessel and this, he declared,
was not it.</p>
<p>Suddenly Swivel’s sharp eyes caught sight of something
which the others had not seen.</p>
<p>“There’s something tied to that stump of a mast,
sir,” he exclaimed, pointing toward the forward part
of the wreck. “It’s a flag o’ some kind.”</p>
<p>“It’s a signal!” Mr. Coffin declared. “There’s
some poor soul on the wreck. See—there he is.”</p>
<p>At the instant he spoke they all descried a moving
figure on the derelict—some one, who, clinging
with one hand to the cordage which still hung to the
mast, with the other waved a signal frantically at the
approaching steamer.</p>
<p>“Great Heavens!” exclaimed Mr. Coffin, strongly
moved by the scene. “What shall we do? No mortal
man can help him in this gale.”</p>
<p>“We must do something,” Caleb replied.</p>
<p>“A boat couldn’t live in this sea, sir,” said the first
officer despairingly.</p>
<p>“We must try to throw him a line.”</p>
<p>But upon trial it was found that it would be exceedingly
hazardous to run down near enough to the
wreck for that. The hull was rolling so frightfully
that it might turn completely over at any moment and
carry the steamer to the bottom with it should they run
in too near.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXXIII<br />
<small>IN WHICH COMRADES IN COURAGE LAUNCH THEMSELVES
UPON THE DEEP</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Brandon’s</span> glass had been turned upon the figure
on the wreck for the few moments during which the
others had been discussing the possibility of saving
the poor creature. Now he exclaimed hurriedly.</p>
<p>“That’s not a man—it’s a woman! Don’t you see
her skirts blowing in the gale? She is alone on the
wreck.”</p>
<p>Caleb seized his own glass again, and Mr. Bolin
dived into the cabin for his.</p>
<p>“You’re right, lad,” the captain declared. “Either
all the men have been swept overboard, or the white
livered rascals have taken to the boats and abandoned
her.”</p>
<p>But Brandon was making other discoveries. As the
steamer cut through the huge waves, approaching
nearer and nearer to the wreck, something about the
outlines of the female figure seemed familiar to him.</p>
<p>He knew the face which was turned pleadingly
toward the steamer—the powerful glass revealed
every feature clearly.</p>
<p>It was Milly Frank!</p>
<p>At the instant of Brandon’s discovery, the steamer
gave a sudden roll, and he was thrown partially from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>
his balance and his glass wavered an instant from the
girl’s face.</p>
<p>In that instant the stern of the fated vessel came
within range of his vision and he plainly saw the word
“Success” painted in tarnished gold lettering upon it.</p>
<p>“Caleb! Caleb!” he cried, forgetting for the moment
to apply the proper term of respect to the captain
which, according to the quarter deck etiquette, he
should have done, “that’s the Success, and the <i>girl</i>
is the captain’s daughter!”</p>
<p>“Oh, it can’t be, lad!” cried the old man, unwilling
to believe such a fact possible.</p>
<p>“It is the Success—I see her name,” Mr. Bolin
declared.</p>
<p>“Poor little girl! poor little girl!” exclaimed the
honest old sailor brokenly. “We can’t stand here and
see her perish.”</p>
<p>“I shan’t,” Brandon affirmed, passing his own glass
to Mr. Coffin.</p>
<p>“What can you do, lad?” queried Caleb. “The
gale’s not abating a mite.”</p>
<p>“All that we can do I see, sir, is to stand by till
the sea goes down, and then, God willing, take her
off,” said Mr. Coffin.</p>
<p>“Why, that old hulk may sink at any moment!”
cried Brandon. “I won’t stay idle and see that girl
drown after all she has done for me.”</p>
<p>“An’ it’s Adoniram’s niece—no doubt of it,” murmured
Caleb.</p>
<p>“That is another reason why we should try to save
her. I haven’t forgotten all that Mr. Pepper has done
for me,” declared Brandon decidedly.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span>“But, lad, lad, what can we do?” gasped the captain.
“It’s not a living possibility to send a boat to
that brig, and I dare not risk the lives of all these
men in my care by running in near enough for a
cable to be thrown.”</p>
<p>“And the girl probably couldn’t fasten it, if we
did,” added Mr. Bolin.</p>
<p>“Then we must do something else. Run by her,
Caleb, and I’ll carry a rope to the brig.”</p>
<p>“You’re crazy!” cried Mr. Coffin.</p>
<p>“Maybe I am,” Brandon returned, his face white
and set; “but I shall do it.”</p>
<p>Swivel, who was clinging to a guard rope within
hearing, struck in with him.</p>
<p>“Lemme do it, Brandon—I mean Mr. Tarr. I kin
swim like a fish.”</p>
<p>“Nobody shall go but myself,” the boy declared,
with emphasis. “I won’t suggest a perilous undertaking
and not be the one to carry it out.”</p>
<p>“Cap’n Tarr right over again,” Caleb muttered.</p>
<p>Then he turned suddenly upon his young second
officer.</p>
<p>“Kick off your shoes, lad, and try it. If it’s the
Lord’s will that you accomplish it, well and good; if
you can’t, we’ll haul you back. Quick, now! I’ll
order Mike to go ahead full speed.”</p>
<p>Before the words were scarcely out of the captain’s
mouth, Brandon had kicked off his light shoes.</p>
<p>Swivel, who could not be taught strict quarter deck
manners, followed the young officer’s example.</p>
<p>“What are you about, you young limb o’ Satan?”
demanded Mr. Coffin, catching hint at this.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>“Ef he goes, I’m goin’ an’ you ain’t goin’ ter stop
me, Mr. Coffin,” announced the gamin. “I’m in dis!”</p>
<p>“Behave yourself,” Brandon commanded, quickly
knotting a light, strong cable about his waist, while
Mr. Bolin fastened a life preserver beneath his arms.
“One is enough.”</p>
<p>“Den I’m de one!” the boy declared vehemently,
and dodging Mr. Coffin’s outstretched arm, he seized
a second coil of rope, one end of which was fastened
to a ring in the deck, and ran to the stern of the
steamer.</p>
<p>“Come back here!” roared the first mate angrily.
“I’ll rope’s end you, you little scamp!”</p>
<p>“You’ll have ter do it when I get back from dat
wreck!” returned the boy, with an impish grin, and
the steamer having now forged ahead of the laboring
brig, and Brandon being all ready, the fearless Swivel
also dropped over the rail, and clinging with one
hand a moment, let go simultaneously with his friend
and patron.</p>
<p>Brandon tried to send him back, but it was too late
then. The first wave seized them in its embrace and
they were carried far out from the steamer’s stern.</p>
<p>The cork belt kept the young second mate above
the waves, but even with this assistance, he found himself
much less able to cope with the heavy seas than
was his companion.</p>
<p>Swivel dived through the rollers like a gull, keeping
faithfully by his friend’s side; and had it not been for
the street gamin, Brandon afterward declared that he
should never have reached the wreck alive.</p>
<p>He had no idea how furious the waves were until<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>
he was among them, battling for his life, and trying
to reach the distant brig.</p>
<p>It was a terrific struggle, lasting perhaps not five
minutes, but a few more seconds would have completely
exhausted him.</p>
<p>A great wave suddenly swept them directly under
the brig’s bows. Swivel seized Brandon’s hand with
one of his own and with the other grabbed a rope
trailing over the rail of the wreck.</p>
<p>Fortunately the other end of the rope was securely
fastened, and with an almost superhuman effort Swivel
raised Brandon until the second mate of the whaleback
could grasp the rail.</p>
<p>In another moment Brandon was aboard the brig,
and had pulled Swivel over the rail after him.</p>
<p>“Wot—did—I—tell—ye?” gasped the gamin,
whose spirit no amount of danger could quench.
“Two heads <i>is</i> better’n one, ef one <i>is</i> a cabbage head.
Where’s de girl?”</p>
<p>But Milly was already creeping forward to their
position on her hands and knees.</p>
<p>“How can you take me back?” she asked at once,
her voice sounding as firmly above the gale as though
danger was the farthest of anything from her thoughts.</p>
<p>Then she recognized Brandon.</p>
<p>“You?” she exclaimed, in surprise. “I never
thought of you being on that steamer.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t forget what you did for me,” Brandon
said in reply. “I’d have risked a good deal more
than this for you.”</p>
<p>“You couldn’t risk any more,” she declared firmly;
“for you’ve risked your life.”</p>
<p>Meanwhile Swivel was signaling to those on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>
steamer to attach a heavier cable to the one tied about
his waist. This was done in a short time, and then
all three of the endangered ones laid hold and pulled
the cable in, hand over hand.</p>
<p>It was hard work. The heavy rope was wet and
unmanageable, and the strain on their young muscles
was terrible.</p>
<p>Milly worked as unceasingly as did the two boys,
but the cable came across the tossing waves but slowly.</p>
<p>“Where are the crew—where is your father?”
asked Brandon.</p>
<p>The girl’s face worked pitifully at this question.</p>
<p>“Father is dead,” she sobbed, “and the crew took
to the boats while I was below. That was early this
morning.”</p>
<p>“And you’ve been here alone ever since!” said
Brandon pityingly.</p>
<p>At that instant there was a slight exclamation from
Swivel, and the small cable by which they were endeavoring
to gain the larger one, came in over the rail
with fearful suddenness.</p>
<p>All three were sent sprawling on the deck.</p>
<p>“What is it?” gasped Milly.</p>
<p>“The rope’s parted,” cried Brandon in horror.</p>
<p>“Never mind; don’t you give up, missy,” Swivel
exclaimed. “We’ve got anoder rope yet. Where’s
de end o’ dat rope you had tied ’round you, Brandon?”
he demanded.</p>
<p>Brandon only groaned.</p>
<p>“Where is it?” shrieked the other lad, fairly shaking
him in his impatience.</p>
<p>“I cast it loose,” was the disheartening reply. “It
is gone!”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXXIV<br />
<small>THE INCIDENTS OF A NIGHT OF PERIL</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Night</span> was shutting down over the face of the
storm tossed ocean—night of the blackest and wildest
description. Already the outlines of the steamer
ahead were scarcely visible from the bows of the
water logged brig.</p>
<p>By a series of misfortunes (Brandon Tarr bitterly
accused himself of causing the crowning mischance of
them all) the three unfortunates on the Success were
entirely cut off from escape.</p>
<p>“Oh,” cried Milly, in bitterness of spirit second
only to Brandon’s own, “you have lost your lives for
me—both of you. I am not worthy of it!”</p>
<p>“Don’t ye lose heart, missy,” Swivel declared, with
a courage he was far from feeling. “Th’ ship hain’t
sunk.”</p>
<p>“No one but God Himself knows how long it will
keep afloat, though,” Brandon returned despairingly.</p>
<p>“And the gale is increasing again, too,” added Milly
softly.</p>
<p>“This is the last end of it, that’s wot I think,” declared
Swivel cheerfully. “It’ll blow itself out now
purty soon.”</p>
<p>Brandon could not look at the situation thus hopefully,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>
but he determined to say nothing further to make
the girl despair.</p>
<p>Swivel’s tone shamed him into thinking of her
rather than of himself.</p>
<p>The men on board the steamer, had ere this discovered
what had happened, but they could do nothing
to assist the three on the brig.</p>
<p>It was absolutely necessary to keep some headway—considerable,
in fact—on the whaleback, to prevent
her from swinging around into the trough of the
waves. Every moment they were getting farther and
farther away from the doomed derelict.</p>
<p>Caleb roared something to them through the trumpet,
but the distance and the howling of the gale prevented
them from making out what he said. The
wind and spray beat upon them alternately as they
crouched together in the high bows, and every other
sound but that of the elements was drowned.</p>
<p>“Come back in the shelter of the mast,” Brandon
shouted at last. “We can do nothing further here.
Our position is so exposed that we may be washed off
before we know it.”</p>
<p>Each of the boys grasped an arm of the captain’s
daughter and with no little trouble they managed to
reach the great tangle of rigging and shreds of canvas
which hung about the one remaining mast.</p>
<p>The topmast had long since been carried away, but
the main spar still defied the storm, writhing and twisting
like a thing of life in the fierce grasp of the gale.</p>
<p>Here, crouching under its lee, the shipwrecked boys
and girl clung to the stiffened ropes with hands little
less stiffened by the cold and water.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>As an extra precaution they bound themselves together,
and then fastened the same rope to the mast,
knowing that a wave might board the lumbering brig
at any moment and sweep everything on it that was
not fastened, into the sea.</p>
<p>Occasionally, as the wreck climbed heavily to the
summit of an enormous roller, they could catch a
glimpse of the steamer’s lights; but as the hours
dragged slowly on, these became less and less distinct.</p>
<p>Without doubt the whaleback was drawing slowly
away from the wreck, and the worst of it was, those on
the steamer probably did not suspect it.</p>
<p>The castaways had no means of showing their
whereabouts by lights, and the steamer was too far
away, and had been since the darkness shut down, for
those aboard her to see the outlines of the brig.
Therefore Caleb Wetherbee and his officers had no
means of knowing that the steamer was traveling
nearly two miles to the brig’s one.</p>
<p>Suddenly there was a flash of light from the
steamer’s deck, and a rocket went hurtling upwards
into the leaden sky, to fall in showers of sparks into
the sea. It was a message of hope to the unfortunates
on the brig—it was meant as such, at least—but
they had no way of replying to it.</p>
<p>“Aren’t there any rockets aboard?” asked Brandon
of the captain’s daughter.</p>
<p>“There may be, but I do not know where,” the girl
replied; “and the cabin is half filled with water, too.”</p>
<p>“Never mind if it is; I believe I’ll try to find them.
There must be something of the kind aboard.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>“Ye’d better stay here,” Swivel warned him anxiously.
“I don’t like ter see ye git out o’ sight.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you think I can take care of myself?”
Brandon demanded.</p>
<p>“Not alone,” was the prompt reply. “I reckon
’at none of us can’t take very good keer of ourselves
in this gale. We’d best not git too fur apart.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m going to try to get into the cabin,”
Brandon added. “Nothing ventured, nothing
gained.”</p>
<p>He unfastened the rope from about his waist, and
in spite of the objections of his two companions, crept
aft toward the cabin companionway.</p>
<p>The feat was not of the easiest, as he quickly found;
but once having determined to do it, he would not give
up.</p>
<p>The door of the cabin was jammed fast, but after
some little maneuvering he was able to force an entrance
and descended into the apartment, which was
knee deep with water washed in from the heavy seas
which had broken over the brig during the day.</p>
<p>There was no means of lighting a lantern, however,
and after rummaging about in the darkness for half
an hour, he had to return to the deck without having
accomplished anything.</p>
<p>As he stepped outside again, he found the brig pitching
worse than ever. The gale was full of “flaws”
now—a sure sign that it was blowing itself out—but
occasionally it would rise to greater fury than
it had shown in all the two previous days.</p>
<p>Just as he reached the deck one of these sudden
squalls occurred, and a huge green roller swept in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span>
over the stern of the brig, and advanced with lightning
speed along the deck, sweeping wreckage and all else
before it.</p>
<p>Brandon had just closed the door, and by clinging
to the handle, was able to keep himself from being
washed overboard; but he was almost drowned during
the few moments while the wave filled the companionway.</p>
<p>As it passed, there was a sudden crack forward, and
even above the shriek of the gale, he heard Swivel’s
cry of alarm.</p>
<p>With a rush and roar like the fall of a mighty forest
tree, the mast, splitting at the deck, toppled over
across the rail.</p>
<p>Brandon uttered a despairing shout, for it seemed
impossible for the wreck ever to right herself, the
weight of the fallen spar dragged her over so far.</p>
<p>But providentially the mast had split clear off at
the deck, and after staggering a moment from the
blow, the brig shook off her incumbrance, and came to
an even keel again.</p>
<p>But following the falling of the mast came a shriek
from Milly Frank which pierced his very soul.</p>
<p>“Brandon! Brandon! Help!”</p>
<p>With that cry ringing in his ears, the boy dashed
forward along the slippery deck and reached the spot
where he had left his companions.</p>
<p>“Quick! this way!” called the girl’s clear voice, and
darting to the rail he was just able to grasp the captain’s
daughter and drag her back from the cruel sea.</p>
<p>“Now him!” commanded the girl, and pulling in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>
the line which was still attached to her waist, Brandon
drew the form of Swivel out of the waves.</p>
<p>“Oh, he is dead!” cried Milly in agony. “He
saved me, Brandon. When the mast fell he cut the
rope and took me in his arms and ran, but one of the
ropes tripped him up and we were washed to the rail
by that great wave.”</p>
<p>“I hope he isn’t dead—oh, I hope not!” Brandon
returned, kneeling down beside the motionless boy,
and chafing his forehead tenderly.</p>
<p>Milly took one of the poor street gamin’s hands in
her own and chafed it likewise.</p>
<p>Probably never before during his miserable, eventful
existence had Swivel known such gentleness. His
life had been hard indeed, and it looked as though its
lamp had gone out now in the performance of a noble
and courageous deed.</p>
<p>There on the storm swept deck Milly and Brandon
knelt for nearly an hour before the unconscious boy
showed the least sign of life.</p>
<p>Then the eyelids fluttered a little and he drew in his
breath with a slight sigh.</p>
<p>“He’s coming to!” Brandon exclaimed.</p>
<p>But although poor Swivel opened his eyes once or
twice, it was a long time before he seemed to realize
where he was or what had happened.</p>
<p>At last he whispered brokenly.</p>
<p>“Don’t—don’t—fret yerself—missy—I’m—I’m
goin’ ter be all right.”</p>
<p>“Are you in pain, Swivel?” queried Brandon, having
almost to shout to make himself heard.</p>
<p>Milly was crying softly. The strain of the last<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>
twenty hours was beginning to tell on even her bravery
and fortitude.</p>
<p>“Dret—dretful!” gasped the injured boy weakly.</p>
<p>Brandon had to place his ear almost to his lips to
distinguish his words.</p>
<p>“Right—here,” and he laid his hand feebly on his
chest.</p>
<p>“That’s where he struck across the rail,” declared
Milly, when Brandon had repeated these words to
her. “Oh, the poor fellow has been hurt internally.
<i>Do</i> you think the morning will ever come, Brandon?”</p>
<p>“I’m afraid it will come very soon for him, poor
boy,” replied Don meaningly, and there were tears in
his own eyes.</p>
<p>Swivel had closed his eyes and a strange, grayish
pallor was spreading over his drawn features.</p>
<p>His hearing seemed wonderfully acute, however.
He heard the word “morning” at least, and his eyes
flew open again and he struggled to raise himself on
his elbow.</p>
<p>“<i>Is</i> it morning now?” he asked feebly.</p>
<p>“No, no,” replied Brandon soothingly. “Not yet,
Swivel. Don’t exert yourself. Lie down again.”</p>
<p>The injured youth strove to speak once more, but
suddenly fell back upon the rude pillow Don had made
of his coat, and a stream of blood flowed from his
lips.</p>
<p>Milly uttered a startled gasp, but Brandon hastily
wiped the poor fellow’s lips, and after a moment the
hemorrhage ceased.</p>
<p>But they looked at each other meaningly. They
had lost all hope now of the shock not proving fatal.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>While they had watched Swivel, the gale, as though
at last satisfied with its cruel work, had gradually lessened.
The wind ceased almost wholly within the next
hour, although the waves did not entirely go down.</p>
<p>Swivel lay motionless during all this time, occasionally
opening his eyes to gaze up into the faces of his
two friends, whom he could see quite clearly, but
otherwise showing no sign of life.</p>
<p>Finally he attempted to speak again.</p>
<p>“It’s—it’s hard—on me—ain’t it?” he gasped,
in Brandon’s ear. “I—I—don’ wanter die.”</p>
<p>His friend did not know what to say in reply to
this, but Milly seized his hand and tried to comfort
him.</p>
<p>“Don’t be afraid. Swivel,” she said, trying to make
her own faith serve for the dying fellow too. “It will
be better over there.”</p>
<p>“Mebbee—mebbee they won’t let me come.”</p>
<p>“Yes, you may, if you ask, Swivel. Don’t you love
God?”</p>
<p>“I hain’t—hain’t never—heered—much erbout
Him,” returned the lad. “I heered the chap at the
mission—school talk erbout—erbout Him some. I—I
never paid much ’tention.”</p>
<p>His voice was stronger now, but in a moment the
blood gushed from his lips again.</p>
<p>“Don’t talk—oh, don’t talk, Swivel?” cried Brandon
beseechingly.</p>
<p>“’Twon’t matter—not much,” the boy returned, after
a few minutes.</p>
<p>He felt blindly for Brandon’s hand and seized it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span>
tightly. Milly, still kneeling on the opposite side, held
the other.</p>
<p>“Can’t ye say a prayer, like—like that feller in the
mission did—er one o’ them hymns?” he muttered.</p>
<p>The boy and girl crouching above him looked into
each other’s faces a moment in silence.</p>
<p>Brandon Tarr might have faced a thousand dangers
without shrinking, but he could not do this. It remained
for Milly to comply with the poor boy’s request.</p>
<p>After the terrific howling of the gale, the night
seemed strangely still now. The hurrying, leaden
clouds were fast breaking up, and here and there a
ray of moonlight pierced their folds and lit up the
froth flecked summits of the tossing billows.</p>
<p>One narrow band of light fell across her pale face
as she raised it toward the frowning heavens and began
to sing:</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="first">“Jesus, Saviour, pilot me,</div>
<div class="verse">Over life’s tempestuous sea;</div>
<div class="verse">Unknown waves before me roll,</div>
<div class="verse">Hiding rock and treach’rous shoal:</div>
<div class="verse">Chart and compass come from the Thee:</div>
<div class="verse">Jesus, Saviour, pilot me.</div>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<div class="first">“When at last I near the shore,</div>
<div class="verse">And the fearful breakers roar</div>
<div class="verse">Twixt me and the peaceful rest,</div>
<div class="verse">Then, while leaning on Thy breast,</div>
<div class="verse">May I hear Thee say to me,</div>
<div class="verse">‘Fear not, I will pilot thee’!”</div>
</div></div></div>
<p>Faintly at first, but mounting higher and clearer,
rose the sweet girlish voice, and not only the poor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>
street gamin, but Brandon himself listened entranced.</p>
<p>When the beautiful hymn was finished, Brandon felt
that it was a prayer not only for him whose spirit
might at any moment depart, but for Milly and himself,
who should remain behind at the mercy of the
storm tossed sea.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXXV<br />
<small>SHOWING HOW CALEB APPEARED ON THE SCENE JUST
TOO LATE</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> anxiety of Caleb Wetherbee for Brandon’s
safety was really pitiful to behold. When the cable
parted which attached the wrecked brig to the steamer,
the captain at once realized that his ward and his two
companions were in a very serious predicament.</p>
<p>There was absolutely nothing that those aboard the
whaleback could do in that howling gale to assist in
the rescue of the castaways.</p>
<p>Occasionally Caleb had a rocket fired to show the
unfortunate trio that he was remaining near them;
but, as we know, that was very sorry comfort to Brandon
and his two companions. It simply served to convince
them how rapidly Number Three was leaving
them astern.</p>
<p>On one point Caleb’s calculations were very much
amiss. He was running the whaleback as slowly as
practicable, keeping just enough headway on to keep
her from broaching to; but he failed to realize that
even at that speed he was sailing two miles or more
to the brig’s one.</p>
<p>Of course, when once the night had shut down it
was impossible for anybody aboard the steamer to
see the outlines of the wreck, and therefore this fact<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>
escaped their attention. The water logged Success
moved at a snail’s pace, and all night long the steamer
drew away from her, so that, after the storm had
cleared away and the sun rose, not a sign of the brig
appeared.</p>
<p>“Has she sunk?” queried Caleb in distress, as, in
company with his two remaining officers, he swept
the horizon with his glass.</p>
<p>“Rather, we have left her behind,” declared Mr.
Coffin, making a shrewd guess as to the real facts
in the case. “The brig must have sailed slower than
we supposed.”</p>
<p>“Then we must turn about at once and run back,”
Caleb declared, and the necessary orders were given.</p>
<p>The day following the cessation of the gale was
most beautiful, but Caleb cared nothing for that. He
neither ate nor slept, but remained on deck nearly all
the time, scanning the wide stretch of sea visible from
the top of the after cabin.</p>
<p>The day passed and night came on, however, without
a sign of the wreck appearing.</p>
<p>During this time the steamer had been running in
a direction generally south; while the gale was on
she had run northeast. The whole day being spent
in fruitless search in this direction, however, Caleb
commanded the steamer to be put about again at
evening.</p>
<p>All that second night she ran slowly to the eastward,
thus allowing for the supposed drift of the
Success, but they saw no signs of the derelict, although
the night was clear and the moon bright.</p>
<p>The day following they spoke several partially dismantled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span>
vessels whose crews were beating into the
Bermudas for repairs. None of these, however, had
sighted the wreck of the Success.</p>
<p>“They’ve gone to the bottom,” groaned poor Caleb
that afternoon, as he sat on the edge of the berth in
his stateroom.</p>
<p>He could not sleep, but had taken Mr. Coffin’s advice
and tried to.</p>
<p>“All gone—Brandon, whose dead father I promised
I’d look out for him, an’ that other poor lad, an’
the little girl. God help me! how can I go back and
tell Adoniram about this?</p>
<p>“An’ then, we’ve not found the Silver Swan yet—nor
air we likely to after this gale. She’s gone to
the bottom, too, mayhap, and Brandon’s fortune along
with her. Well——”</p>
<p>Just here he was interrupted in his soliloquy by the
hurried entrance of Mr. Bolin.</p>
<p>“Will you please come on deck, sir?” said the
third officer, evidently somewhat excited. “We have
sighted what appears to be a steamer and a dismantled
vessel with her. Mr. Coffin wishes you to come up
and see if you can make her out.”</p>
<p>But Caleb was out of the cabin before Mr. Bolin
had finished speaking, glass in hand.</p>
<p>“Where is she?” he demanded.</p>
<p>“Right ahead, captain,” replied Mr. Coffin.
“There! you can see the black smoke rising from the
steamship’s funnels now. The wreck, if it is a wreck,
is between her and us.”</p>
<p>Caleb got the range of the two vessels almost immediately,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span>
and it did not take a very long look to assure
him that his mate was right.</p>
<p>“That’s a wreck, sure enough,” he declared, paying
but very little attention to the steamship. “Order
the engineer to go ahead at full speed.”</p>
<p>Fifteen minutes later they were near enough to see
the wreck quite plainly. The steam vessel seemed
to be lying quietly upon the sea now, and as they
looked a boat was lowered and pulled toward the dismantled
hulk.</p>
<p>They were still several miles away, however, and
could not see whether the wreck was boarded by those
in the small boat or not.</p>
<p>“It strikes me,” began Mr. Coffin after a prolonged
gazing through his glass at the wreck, “that that
doesn’t have the same appearance as that vessel the
boys are on. What do you think, Mr. Wetherbee?”</p>
<p>Caleb had doubts in that direction himself.</p>
<p>“I tell ye what it is,” he said: “the Success had
a mast for’ard. This one hain’t.”</p>
<p>“It’s my opinion that’s the hull of a brig, just the
same,” Mr. Coffin declared.</p>
<p>Suddenly Caleb uttered an exclamation.</p>
<p>“That’s no steamship,” he declared. “See her
colors and open ports. Why, it’s a man o’ war!”</p>
<p>“Right you are,” returned the mate.</p>
<p>“It’s the Kearsarge,” added Mr. Bolin. “She was
to come down this way, you know. Going to the West
Indies.”</p>
<p>“One of her duties was to blow up derelicts—the
Silver Swan among them. Suppose this hull is the
Swan!” cried Mr. Coffin.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span>Caleb had fairly grown white in spite of his tan.</p>
<p>“Great Peter!” he ejaculated. “Look-er-there!”</p>
<p>The small boat had left the side of the wreck, and
was now some distance away from her.</p>
<p>The whaleback was near enough to see that the officer
commanding the cutter had ordered the men to
cease rowing and was standing up in the bow of the
boat.</p>
<p>“They’re going to blow her up!” shouted Caleb.
“Crowd on every ounce of steam she’ll hold. We
must stop it! Suppose that it is the Silver Swan!”</p>
<p>He fairly groaned aloud, and in his excitement allowed
the costly glass to fall upon the deck, which
treatment did not materially benefit it.</p>
<p>Mr. Bolin darted away to the engine room, and in
another moment the funnels of the whaleback began
to pour forth the blackest kind of smoke, and the
water beneath her stern was churned to foam by the
rapid beats of the propeller.</p>
<p>They were all of a mile away from the wreck yet,
and every instant was precious. Caleb stumped up
and down the deck, fairly wild with apprehension, his
eyes fixed on the cruiser’s cutter, in the bow of which
the officer seemed to be adjusting something.</p>
<p>If the whaleback had been armed Caleb would have
fired a shot to attract the attention of the cruiser’s
people, but there wasn’t a weapon larger than Brandon’s
rifle on the steamer.</p>
<p>Mr. Coffin looked at his commander anxiously. He
did not fully understand why the captain wished to
reach the Silver Swan and save it, if <i>this was</i> the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span>
Silver Swan; but he did not believe that they could
accomplish it. And he was right.</p>
<p>The whaleback was still half a mile away from the
scene of operations when suddenly the officer in the
cutter sat down, and the instant following there was a
loud explosion.</p>
<p>A column of smoke and flame shot into the air, and
when the smoke cloud rose, only a few harmless
splinters on the surface of the sea remained to show
the former position of the wreck!</p>
<p>And then, when it was too late, the officer in the
small boat discovered the approach of the whaleback.</p>
<p>Number Three was still driving ahead at full speed,
and when her steam was shut off she had such headway
that she nearly passed the cruiser’s cutter.</p>
<p>Caleb, his voice trembling with apprehension, leaned
over the rail and shouted his question to the officer
who had just “touched off” the charge that had
blown the derelict into atoms.</p>
<p>“What craft is that you blew up?” he asked.</p>
<p>“That was a derelict,” responded the officer, who
was an ensign, in surprise.</p>
<p>“What was her name, d’ye know?”</p>
<p>“She was sunken so low at the stern that we
couldn’t read her name.”</p>
<p>“But can’t you guess?” cried Caleb, in great exasperation.</p>
<p>“Oh, there’s not much doubt in our minds as to
who she was. She was one we were ordered to
destroy. The name on her bow was badly battered,
but we could make out part of it.”</p>
<p>“Well, for heavens’ sake, what was it?” burst forth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span>
the wooden legged captain wildly. “Don’t beat
’round the bush any longer.”</p>
<p>The ensign began to grow as red as a peony. The
old man’s manner of questioning ruffled his dignity
sorely.</p>
<p>“To the best of my belief it was the brig Silver
Swan, of Boston, U. S. A.,” he declared stiffly.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXXVI<br />
<small>THE CASTAWAYS ON THE BRIG SUCCESS</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">To</span> Milly and Brandon on board the water logged
brig, it seemed as though the long night would never
end. They crouched together over the body of poor
Swivel, until his clasp relaxed from their hands and
he sank into a deep sleep.</p>
<p>Brandon did not believe that the injured boy would
ever awake from that unconsciousness; nevertheless,
he made his way below to the cabin again and brought
up an armful of blankets to add to his comfort.</p>
<p>He wrapped one about Milly, and she made him
share it with her, when Swivel was more comfortable.</p>
<p>Thus sitting close together on the cold, wet deck,
they conversed in whispers till dawn; Milly, at Don’s
earnest solicitation, relating all that had occurred since
the night he had escaped from the Success at Savannah.</p>
<p>It was rather a disconnected story, for the poor girl
often broke into weeping at the memory of her father’s
violent death. She had sincerely loved him, although
he was a stern, rather morose man.</p>
<p>It seemed that Leroyd had learned that the plans
of himself and his friends to delay the departure of
the whaleback from New York had failed, and that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span>
the steamer had touched at Savannah and departed
the very night the Success got in.</p>
<p>Finding that Sneaky Al had already arrived by
steamship from New York, he promised Captain
Frank an extra hundred dollars if he would land only
a portion of his goods and set sail for the Bermudas
again.</p>
<p>The brig’s commander could not resist this temptation,
and therefore the Success lay at Savannah
but a day and two nights. Then, with Messrs. Weeks
and Leroyd aboard, she had sailed directly for that
part of the ocean in which the whaleback had run
across her during the gale.</p>
<p>Brandon also elicited the information that the brig
had not been successful in her search—had not seen
a derelict, in fact, since leaving Savannah—and that
Leroyd was in a fiendish temper before the gale came
up.</p>
<p>When that began, he and his friend, Weeks, turned
to with the brig’s crew and did all they could to keep
her afloat. Captain Frank, however, was crushed under
a falling spar and instantly killed when the gale
first started in, and the first officer was washed overboard.</p>
<p>When the brig became unmanageable and the crew
rushed for the boats, nobody thought, or at least nobody
stopped, for the bereaved girl in the cabin. She
discovered that the crew had gone and left her only
by coming on deck after the water had begun to fill
the cabin.</p>
<p>Brandon and the captain’s daughter had ample time,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span>
before the sun appeared, to get very well acquainted
with each other.</p>
<p>Don told her all about himself, about the object of
the voyage of the whaleback, and of the plot concocted
by his uncle Arad and Messrs. Leroyd and Weeks to
find the Silver Swan and obtain the treasure aboard
her themselves.</p>
<p>As soon as it <i>did</i> grow light, Brandon made his way
below again and after a great deal of trouble lit an oil
lamp and heated a little water over its blaze. He was
then able to make some warm drink for Swivel and
Milly, denying himself until she had swallowed some,
and between them they had forced a little of the mixture
between the injured boy’s lips.</p>
<p>After this Swivel brightened up a bit, and, as he
did not try to talk, the hemorrhage did not return.
But he was very weak.</p>
<p>Milly and Brandon ate a little solid food too, but
their companion was unable to do that.</p>
<p>Now that it was light enough for them to see over
the expanse of waters, they found as they had feared,
that the whaleback had left them behind during the
night.</p>
<p>Not a sign of her presence nor of the presence of
any vessel which might come to their assistance, appeared.</p>
<p>The condition of the Success worried them a great
deal—or worried Don and Milly at least—for she
was gradually sinking at the stern, and the water
was gaining more rapidly than they liked in the cabin.
Whereas it had only been to Brandon’s knees when
he had first gone below, it was now up to his waist.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span>During one of these trips of his to the flooded interior
of the brig, he heard Milly’s voice excitedly
calling to him to come on deck.</p>
<p>“What is it?” he asked, hastily making his appearance.</p>
<p>“Look! look, Brandon!” cried the girl.</p>
<p>She was standing up in the stern and looking over
the starboard side.</p>
<p>Brandon hurried toward her and followed the direction
of her hand with his eyes.</p>
<p>Far across the tossing sea a dark object rose and
fell upon the surface. It was not far above the level
of the water, and therefore, though hardly three miles
away, had until now remained unseen by the voyagers
of the Success.</p>
<p>“Is it a wreck like this?” she inquired eagerly.</p>
<p>“It must be,” said Brandon, after a careful examination.</p>
<p>“Bring poor papa’s long glass up from his stateroom,”
cried Milly. “You can see it then more
plainly.”</p>
<p>The boy hurried to obey this suggestion and quickly
brought the instrument from the dead captain’s cabin.</p>
<p>By the aid of the glass the shipwrecked boy and
girl could quite plainly view the second wreck, for
wreck it was. There was no room for doubt of that.</p>
<p>“It’s the hull of a vessel like this,” Brandon declared,
“though it’s not sunken at the stern, and it
rides the waves easier.</p>
<p>“There isn’t a sign of a spar upon it—it’s swept
as clean as this,” he continued. “There must have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span>
been many vessels treated that way in the storm.
Derelicts will be plentiful enough.”</p>
<p>He stopped with a startled exclamation, and stared
at his companion in perplexity.</p>
<p>“What is it, Brandon?” Milly asked, noting his
change of manner.</p>
<p>“I was thinking,” he said slowly, “that if the Silver
Swan—my father’s old brig, you know—kept afloat
through this last hurricane, she would likely be in just
such shape as yonder hulk.”</p>
<p>“Oh, it couldn’t be possible, could it?” gasped the
girl. “That would be too wonderful a coincidence.”</p>
<p>“Not as wonderful as you might think,” Brandon
returned decisively, gaining confidence in the idea now
that some one opposed him. “We are in the very
part of the ocean—or at least, I have reason to think
we are—in which the Silver Swan was last reported.
I tell you, Milly, it may be she!”</p>
<p>“If you could only get to her and see,” cried the
young girl anxiously.</p>
<p>“I—I will get to her!” declared Brandon, and
then he handed the glass to her and went back to sit
by poor Swivel and think it over.</p>
<p>Milly, however, remained to watch the distant wreck
through the instrument.</p>
<p>By all appearances it was much more buoyant than
the Success. Whereas the latter staggered up the
long swells and labored through the trough of the sea,
the strange derelict rode the waves like a duck, and,
propelled by some current, moved a good deal faster,
though in the same general direction as themselves.</p>
<p>Brandon, meanwhile, sitting beside the injured boy,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span>
who was now sleeping deeply, was turning over in
his mind the project he had suggested.</p>
<p>He knew, even better than Milly, that the Success
was sinking deeper and deeper every hour, and that
before evening the water might begin to wash in over
the stern.</p>
<p>The ocean was rapidly becoming smooth. Together
they would be able to launch a small raft—a hatch
covering, perhaps—place Swivel thereon, and by
using oars, or perhaps a small sail, might reach the
distant derelict quite easily.</p>
<p>Whether it was the Silver Swan he had sighted, or
not, it certainly rode the swells better and seemed to
be far more seaworthy than the Success.</p>
<p>Finally, when Milly came up from the stern, he
broached his plan to her.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to force you into this, Milly,” he
said. “You shall have the deciding vote. Perhaps I
am influenced by the hope that yonder vessel is the
Silver Swan, and maybe this is a dreadfully foolish
plan for us to try. I think, though, that it is the best
and wisest thing we can do.”</p>
<p>“What can we use for a raft?” the girl asked
slowly.</p>
<p>“One of the hatch covers. I have found a tool
chest below—I can get at it yet—and there are
spars and pieces of canvas for a sail in the same place.
I saw them only this morning.”</p>
<p>“Can we launch a raft?” asked the practical Milly.</p>
<p>“I believe we can. It is growing calmer all the
time, now, and the rail is so low at the stern that we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span>
can push a well balanced raft into the sea and load it
afterward.”</p>
<p>“And Swivel?”</p>
<p>“I’m afraid,” said Brandon, looking down at the
injured boy sadly, “that whatever we do cannot affect
Swivel. We can make him as comfortable on the
raft as elsewhere.”</p>
<p>“Then let us do it,” agreed Milly energetically.
“I have been watching the other wreck and it seems
to sail much better than the Success. The old brig
may go down now at any time.”</p>
<p>And so they set to work at once at the task of building
a raft.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXXVII<br />
<small>LEFT IN DOUBT</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> task they had set themselves was no child’s
play, and this Brandon and Milly soon discovered.
But they were working for their lives, for according
to their reckoning, the Success would not remain above
the surface many hours.</p>
<p>The captain’s daughter showed herself not only
capable of handling tools, but she was strong, too.
For years she had sailed up and down the seas with
her father—nearly all her life, in fact—for her
mother, Brandon had discovered by questioning, had
died when she was quite young.</p>
<p>This information assured him that there could be
no reasonable doubt of Milly Frank’s identity. But
for the present he said nothing to the girl about her
relatives in New York.</p>
<p>Milly’s life, therefore, had made her hardy and
strong, although her education was limited in many
lines.</p>
<p>But she had a good basis of hard, common sense to
build upon, and with a few terms at a well conducted
school, she would make as well informed a girl as
one could find.</p>
<p>With some trouble they managed to wrench away
the fastenings of the forward hatch, and with a heavy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span>
bit which Brandon found in the captain’s chest ’tween
decks, he was able to bore a hole of sufficient size to
receive the butt of the small spar.</p>
<p>He brought two oars on deck also, and a square of
sailcloth which was bunglingly fashioned into a sail.</p>
<p>Brandon proposed to leave nothing undone which
would make the success of their undertaking more
sure. Something <i>might</i> happen to keep them from
reaching the other wreck, so he brought up several
cans of sea biscuit and some canned meats from the
cabin stores, and placed them in readiness for loading
the raft after it was launched.</p>
<p>Then with the aid of heavy rollers and a short bar
they got the raft under way, and once it was started
down the inclined deck they had no trouble whatever
in keeping it going. The only bother was to keep it
from moving too fast.</p>
<p>Brandon found it impracticable to launch the raft
from the stern, and therefore cut away a piece of the
rail on the starboard side wide enough to admit of
the passage of the lumbering hatch.</p>
<p>They took the precaution to fasten a cable to the
raft, that it might not get away from them in its
plunge overboard, and then, by an almost superhuman
effort, rolled the platform into the sea.</p>
<p>It went in with a terrific splash, the sea water wetting
both the castaways a good deal, for they had to
stand at the rail to steady the raft’s plunge into the
ocean.</p>
<p>“Hurrah!” Brandon shouted. “It floats, and we
shall be able to get away.”</p>
<p>He hastened to pull the hatch up under the brig’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span>
rail; and, with Milly’s aid, stepped the short mast.
Then he placed the boxes and provisions aboard and
lashed them firmly, after which a bed was made for
Swivel on the raft.</p>
<p>Once more he descended into the half submerged
galley and made some more warm drink for the injured
boy, and this time Swivel was able to eat a
little cracker with it.</p>
<p>They told him what they were about to do, and he
seemed to take more interest in the plan than he had
in anything since the night before.</p>
<p>“Can—can you carry me, Don?” he asked faintly.</p>
<p>“I can if I don’t hurt you,” the other replied.
“Now don’t try to talk, Swivel; but, if I hurt you
badly, touch me so I’ll know.”</p>
<p>With this he lifted the slight form of the lad in
his strong arms, and carried him quickly, though easily,
across the sloping deck and stepped aboard the raft,
which floated almost even with the brig’s rail.</p>
<p>The sea had gone down very much now, and it was
therefore a simple matter to embark upon the hatch.</p>
<p>Swivel was made comfortable among the blankets,
his two friends hoisted the rule sail, the painter was
cast off, and the castaways moved slowly away from
the hulk of the Success.</p>
<p>By this time it was quite late in the afternoon. Still
there were several hours of daylight left them, for in
this latitude the sun does not set very early, even in
the spring.</p>
<p>The time which had elapsed since they had first
sighted the second wreck had given this latter an opportunity
to sail by the Success, for she moved much<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span>
faster than the water logged brig. The raft, however,
wafted along by the brisk breeze, began to overhaul
the stranger at once. By the aid of an oar, in
lieu of a rudder, Brandon was able, with little difficulty
to keep headed toward their objective point.</p>
<p>Milly, who had brought her father’s glass along, as
well as the log book of the Success, and all papers of
any value belonging to her father, occupied her time
in trimming the sail, under Brandon’s directions, and
in gazing through the glass at the strange vessel.</p>
<p>Soon the outlines of the latter became quite clearly
visible.</p>
<p>“It was a brig like papa’s,” declared the girl, scrutinizing
the hull which, although denuded of every
inch of spar and rigging, still rode the long swells as
though perfectly seaworthy.</p>
<p>“Can you see the stern, Milly?” Brandon asked,
in excitement.</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Is there a name on it? The Swan had her name
on the stern?”</p>
<p>“There is something on the stern, but it’s too far
off yet for me to be sure,” she replied.</p>
<p>“The raft is behaving beautifully,” Brandon declared,
“and we shall be near enough presently for
you to be sure of what you <i>do</i> see.”</p>
<p>Milly put down the glass and knelt by Swivel a
moment, to place his head more comfortably. Then
she went back to the instrument again.</p>
<p>Fifteen minutes passed before she uttered a word,
while Brandon watched her face with eager interest.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span>
Finally she passed him the glass and seized the steering
oar herself, although she said never a word.</p>
<p>With hands that trembled slightly Brandon placed
the instrument to his eye and ranged it upon the stern
of the derelict. Long and earnestly did he examine
the lettering upon it, and then closed the glass with a
snap.</p>
<p>“The Silver Swan—thank God!” he said.</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m so glad, for your sake, Don!” exclaimed
Milly, tears of happiness shining in her eyes. “You’ll
get your father’s diamonds and be rich.”</p>
<p>“Riches on a wreck won’t do us much good,” returned
Don grimly. “I’d rather be a pauper ashore.”</p>
<p>“Ah, but somebody will come very quickly now to
take us off,” she said confidently.</p>
<p>“Perhaps. But, did you ever think, that perhaps
somebody has been before us?”</p>
<p>“How do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Why, I mean that perhaps somebody has boarded
the brig already and secured the diamonds.”</p>
<p>“Who?” asked the girl doubtfully. “Who knows
about it excepting your Mr. Wetherbee and that Leroyd
and his friend Weeks?”</p>
<p>“Nobody that I know of.”</p>
<p>“And nobody else knew where the jewels were hidden?”</p>
<p>“Probably not.”</p>
<p>“Then do you suppose the steamer has been here
first?”</p>
<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_268.jpg" alt="" /></div>
<p class="caption">LONG AND EARNESTLY DID HE EXAMINE THE LETTERING<br /> UPON IT THEN CLOSED THE GLASS WITH
A SNAP</p>
<p>“Oh, no; Caleb would have towed the old Swan to
a place of safety if he had found her—especially if<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span>
she is as seaworthy as she appears to be from this
distance.”</p>
<p>“Then what <i>do</i> you mean?” demanded Milly in exasperation.</p>
<p>“What about Leroyd and Weeks?” asked Brandon
slowly.</p>
<p>“Well, what about them?”</p>
<p>“Do you suppose they are drowned?”</p>
<p>“They may be.”</p>
<p>“And then again they may not be. If they were
picked up by some vessel they might have still continued
their search for the derelict; might have found
her by accident, in fact.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Don,” cried the girl, “you are supposing altogether
too much. Don’t conjure up such disheartening
ideas as that. Let us hope that we are the
first, who know about the treasure, to find the Silver
Swan.”</p>
<p>“Well, it doesn’t seem hardly possible that I should
get the diamonds without any more trouble,” Brandon
said, with a sigh. “I’m afraid there’s something
wrong about it.”</p>
<p>“Don’t talk that way, but be thankful that you
haven’t had more trouble—though, I should say
you’d had almost enough,” returned Milly, laughing
a little.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXXVIII<br />
<small>HOW THE ENEMY APPEARED</small></h2>
</div>
<p><span class="smcap">Slowly</span> the rude craft drew near the hull of the
Silver Swan. The brig floated as well as though she
had never struck upon Reef Eight, nor been buffeted
by the gales of this southern sea for well nigh three
months.</p>
<p>The recent storm had done little damage to her
deck either, although the rails were smashed in one
or two places. Her wheel had been lashed firmly,
and strangely enough it still remained so, and now,
in this quiet sea, the brig held as even a keel as though
she was well manned.</p>
<p>Within two hours of the time the castaways had
been assured that the wreck they were nearing <i>was</i>
the Silver Swan, the raft came up under her lee rail,
and Brandon caught the bight of a cable over a pin
on the quarter. Then he leaped aboard himself and
made the rope secure.</p>
<p>The rail of the Silver Swan was so much higher
above the surface of the sea than that of the sinking
Success had been that Brandon and Milly had to fashion
a “sling” of the sail, in which to get Swivel
aboard. The injured youth bore the pain this must
have caused him uncomplainingly and was soon made
comfortable on the deck of this, their new refuge.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span>They did not let the raft float away, although they
hoped that they should not need it again, and Brandon
even took the precaution of fastening it with a
second cable before they started to explore the brig.</p>
<p>The Silver Swan had been almost uninjured by her
long journey with no pilot but the fickle winds and
currents of the ocean. The masts had, of course, all
gone in the first gale, and her crew had cut away every
bit of the wreckage before leaving her to her fate on
the reef.</p>
<p>The hatches had been battened down and the doors
of the forecastle and cabin likewise closed, so that the
occasional seas which had washed over her had done
little toward injuring the interior.</p>
<p>Leaving Milly to look out for Swivel, Brandon
forced open the cabin door (it had swelled badly during
the long siege of stormy weather which the brig
had withstood) and went below. Naturally everything
was in confusion—tables, chairs, and what not
overturned; but nothing about the cabin seemed injured.</p>
<p>The cook’s quarters showed a bad state of affairs,
however, for there wasn’t a whole dish (except the tin
ones) in the place, and the stove lay on its back kicking
its four feet in the air as though in its last expiring
agonies.</p>
<p>Brandon righted this useful utensil first, and mended
the broken pipe as best he could. Then, when he had
a fire started in the thing, he went on to examine the
smaller cabins or staterooms.</p>
<p>He knew his father’s well enough and looked in.
But he could not bear to enter that just now, and so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span>
fixed upon one, which should have belonged to the second
mate, for the use of poor Swivel.</p>
<p>He went back to Milly and the injured boy then,
and removed the latter to the brig’s cabin.</p>
<p>Milly, who was a capable girl in more ways than
one, went to work at once to get up a substantial meal
from the stores which they had brought from the Success,
with the addition of some eatables belonging to
the provisions of the Swan.</p>
<p>It was rapidly growing dark, and to prevent the
liability of a collision, Brandon hunted out some of the
ship’s lanterns and hung two in the bows, and another
at the masthead, devoutly hoping that the lights, placed
in these peculiar positions, would attract the attention
of some passing vessel.</p>
<p>Then the lamp in the cabin was filled and lighted,
and for the first time in forty-eight hours or more,
they sat down to a comfortable meal.</p>
<p>At least, Milly and Brandon sat down; Swivel remained
in his berth, with the door of the stateroom
open, and watched them with a wan smile on his pale
face.</p>
<p>“Now, Brandon, why don’t you see if the diamonds
are here?” asked the young girl, as they finished their
supper. “I thought you would be eager to look as
soon as you got aboard.”</p>
<p>Don glanced across the table at her curiously.</p>
<p>“Do you know,” he said hesitatingly. “I’m half
afraid to. It would be a terrible disappointment if
they should not be there—and perhaps they are not.”</p>
<p>“Come, come! don’t be foolish,” said practical Milly.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span>
“Take a look in the secret closet—wherever it is—or
I shall be tempted to do it myself.”</p>
<p>Brandon, thus urged, rose and approached the companionway.</p>
<p>“Third panel, on port side,” he repeated. “That
was Caleb’s direction, if I remember rightly. Now
let’s see.”</p>
<p>He pressed on the designated panel, first one way
and then another. It seemed a trifle loose, but otherwise
refused to move.</p>
<p>“Maybe I’ve made a mistake,” he muttered, when
suddenly, on his pressing downward on the edge of the
wood, a section of the panel dropped out leaving a
shallow, metal lined cavity displayed to view.</p>
<p>“Bring the lamp, Milly,” he cried eagerly.</p>
<p>The girl obeyed and held the light so that it might
illuminate the interior of the secret closet. There
was something in the compartment!</p>
<p>Brandon hastily thrust in his hand and drew forth
a flat, heavy package, sealed in oiled silk and bound
with a cord. Hurrying to the cabin table with his
prize he tore off the cord, broke the seals, and unwound
the outer wrappings.</p>
<p>Milly, quite as excited as himself, held the lamp
closer, watching his movements anxiously.</p>
<p>Beneath the outer covering was a flat pouch of
chamois skin, the flap sealed at one end. This seal
the youth broke without hesitation, and in another instant
had poured a glittering shower of gems upon the
polished surface of the cabin table.</p>
<p>“Diamonds! diamonds! thousands of dollars’
worth!” cried Milly delightedly, running her fingers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span>
through the little heap of glittering stones and letting
them fall in a flashing shower from her hands.</p>
<p>The gems were uncut—at least by the hand of man—but
even in their crude state they sparkled wonderfully.</p>
<p>For several moments they feasted their eyes on the
brilliant spectacle, and then Milly filled both hands
with the precious gems and ran to show Swivel.</p>
<p>“Whew!” whispered that youth, his eyes growing
round with wonder. “Wot a lot of shiners!”</p>
<p>“Don’t let him talk, Milly,” commanded Brandon,
beginning to see that it would never do for them to
excite the sick boy by the sight of the gems. “When
he is better he can see them all.”</p>
<p>The young girl came back with the jewels, smiling
happily at her friend. She seemed quite as joyful because
of his good fortune as though the gems were
her own.</p>
<p>Brandon took the precautions to close the door between
the cabin and Swivel’s stateroom soon after
this, that the boy might go to sleep, and then he and
Milly sat down at the table and counted the diamonds.</p>
<p>There were no very large gems among the lot, but
they were of fair size and of the purest white.</p>
<p>It was late that night before the two castaways retired.
Brandon prepared what had once been Caleb
Wetherbee’s quarters for Milly, but he himself slept in
the cabin, rolled up in a blanket on the floor, that he
might be near Swivel.</p>
<p>They were so exhausted from their privations of
the past day and a half that they slept until far into
the next forenoon. Swivel was actually better, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span>
had no more sinking spells, so that Milly and Brandon
began to hope for his recovery.</p>
<p>Just after they rose Brandon saw a sailing vessel
far down on the horizon; but it passed by without
noticing the brig. And once during the day the smoke
of a steam vessel blotted the lines where the sky and
sea met, far to the eastward.</p>
<p>These momentary glimpses of other craft gave them
some hope, for it showed them that they were not entirely
out of the track of shipping.</p>
<p>That night Brandon hung the lanterns out again,
and according to arrangement with Milly, remained
on deck to watch. She was to watch days, and he at
night, and he fulfilled his lonely vigil faithfully.</p>
<p>But not a vessel appeared to gladden his lonely eyes.</p>
<p>Milly rose early on that third day and prepared
breakfast, after eating which Brandon went to bed.
The sky remained beautifully clear, and they had nothing
to fear from the elements, for the glass forecasted
a continued spell of fine weather.</p>
<p>Milly took up her position with the long spy glass
on the deck, and swept the horizon for some sign of
rescue. Occasionally she went down to look in on
Swivel, and about noon to prepare the dinner.</p>
<p>When the meal was nearly ready the young girl ran
up the companionway stairs again for a final look before
she summoned Brandon from his stateroom. As
she put the glass to her eye and gazed toward the
west a cry of surprise and joy burst from her lips.</p>
<p>Approaching the derelict brig, with a great expanse
of canvas spread to the fresh breeze, was a small<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span>
schooner, the water dashing white and frothy from her
bows!</p>
<p>“Saved! saved!” gasped the girl. “Oh, thank
God!”</p>
<p>While she had been below the vessel had come in
sight, and was now less than half a mile from the
wreck.</p>
<p>What seemed strange, however, was that the
schooner was laying a course directly for the brig as
though it was her intention to board her.</p>
<p>“Brandon! Brandon!” she cried, running back to
the cabin and rapping on the door.</p>
<p>“Aye, aye!” he shouted, and was out of his berth
in a moment.</p>
<p>“What is it?” he asked, appearing in the cabin.</p>
<p>“There is a schooner coming right for us!” cried
Milly, laughing and crying for joy. “I’ve just discovered
it. It’s about here.”</p>
<p>She was about to dart out upon deck again, but
Brandon grasped her arm.</p>
<p>“Wait, Milly,” he said cautiously. “Have they
seen you yet?”</p>
<p>“No; but I want them to.”</p>
<p>“Not yet. We don’t know what they may be. Let
me look at them,” said the boy rapidly.</p>
<p>He seized the glass, and mounting to the top of the
stairs, peered out from the shelter of the companionway
at the strange schooner.</p>
<p>She lay to about a quarter of a mile away from the
derelict, and a boat was already half way between the
vessel and the wreck. Brandon examined the men in
it intently.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span>Only a moment did he scrutinize them, and then he
dropped the glass with a cry of alarm. He had
recognized Jim Leroyd and the fellow Weeks among
the crew of the small boat!</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXXIX<br />
<small>SHOWING HOW MR. WEEKS MADE HIS LAST MOVE</small></h2>
</div>
<p>“<span class="smcap">What</span> is it, Brandon?” gasped Milly, seeing the
look upon her companion’s face.</p>
<p>“Look! look!” whispered the youth, thrusting the
glass into her hands.</p>
<p>Milly gazed in terrified silence at the approaching
boat.</p>
<p>She, as well as Don, at once recognized the villainous
Leroyd and his friend, Sneaky Al, and her heart sank
with fear.</p>
<p>“What shall we do?” she inquired at last, turning
to Brandon.</p>
<p>The latter turned back into the cabin without a
word, opened the secret closet and grasping the package
of diamonds thrust it into the breast of his shirt.</p>
<p>“I’ll hide in the hold,” he said, appearing to grasp
the situation at once. “I do not believe they’ll find
me. Tell Swivel, and he’ll know what to tell and
what not to tell, if they try to pump him.</p>
<p>“They needn’t know that I’m here at all, or that
you know anything about me. They’ll not dare to
hurt you, Milly. But I shall be on hand in case they
try it.”</p>
<p>“But what can you do against so many?” she returned,
with a hysteric laugh.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span>“Something—you’ll see. They shan’t hurt you
while I’m alive,” he declared earnestly.</p>
<p>“But suppose they take us off with them—Swivel
and I?”</p>
<p>“Go, of course,” returned Brandon promptly.
“Leave me to shift for myself. When you get ashore
communicate with Adoniram Pepper & Co. of New
York, and tell them how I’m fixed. Good by, Milly!”</p>
<p>He wrung her hand warmly and disappeared in the
direction of the booby hatch ’tween decks. At the
same moment there were voices outside and the noise
of the schooner’s small boat scraping against the
side of the brig.</p>
<p>Milly, with hands clasped tightly across her breast,
as though in the endeavor to still the heavy beating
of her heart, remained standing beside the cabin table
as the men boarded the brig and entered the cabin.</p>
<p>The first to come below was the ill featured Leroyd
himself, and close behind him was Alfred Weeks and
two other men from the crew of the schooner.</p>
<p>“Dash my top lights!” cried the sailor, as he caught
sight of the young girl standing there so silently.</p>
<p>He retreated precipitately upon his friend Weeks,
who was almost as greatly astonished as himself.</p>
<p>“How under the sun came you here, Miss Frank?”
demanded Sneaky Al, stepping forward.</p>
<p>But Leroyd grabbed his arm and strove to drag him
back.</p>
<p>“Stop, man! ’tis not a human!” he gasped, his usually
red face fairly pallid. “It’s the spirit of the
poor girl. I knowed how ’twould be we’en we left
her aboard the Success.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span>Weeks shook off his grasp in contempt.</p>
<p>“I’m only too willing to meet such a charming ghost
as this,” he said, with a smirk, smiling at the young
girl. “Don’t be a fool, Jim. It is Miss Frank herself,
though how she came here is the greatest of all
mysteries.”</p>
<p>“’Tis the work o’ Davy Jones hisself,” muttered the
sailor.</p>
<p>The other two men, both low browed, sullen appearing
fellows looked on without comment.</p>
<p>“How did you get here?” repeated Weeks.</p>
<p>“We came from the Success just before she was
about to sink,” Milly declared. “Did you come to
save us?”</p>
<p>“<i>Us?</i>” cried Weeks, in utter amazement. “For
goodness’ sake, who’s with you?”</p>
<p>“After poor papa was killed,” there was a little
choke in Milly’s voice here, “a vessel overhauled the
Success and a boy tried to save me. He brought a
rope to the wreck, but it parted before we could haul
in a heavier cable, and the gale swept the other vessel
away during the night.”</p>
<p>“Brave chap!” muttered Weeks. “Where is he
now?”</p>
<p>“There,” she said, pointing to the open door of the
stateroom in which Swivel was lying. “He is hurt.”</p>
<p>“But that doesn’t explain how ye got here, miss,”
said the sailor suspiciously.</p>
<p>“I hadn’t got to that, Mr. Leroyd. Had you been
men, you would not have left me to drown as you did,
and then there would have been no necessity for my
remaining for three days on these two vessels.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span>“You misjudge us, I assure you,” Weeks hastened
to say, as Leroyd shrank back at the girl’s scornful
words. “Both Leroyd and I were in one boat and
the second mate was in the other boat. He declared
you to be safe, and I thought, and so did Mr. Leroyd,
that you were with him.</p>
<p>“It was not until we were picked up by the schooner
Natchez, of Bermuda, and carried to those islands,
that we discovered your deplorable loss.”</p>
<p>But Milly did not believe this plausible story. She
had too vivid a remembrance of Leroyd and the cowardly
Weeks during the gale, to be impressed by this
tale.</p>
<p>“This brig passed the Success on the second day
after you left me, and we made a raft and came to it,
because it was so much more seaworthy than papa’s
vessel,” said Milly coldly.</p>
<p>“You say this boy is hurt, eh?” said Weeks, stepping
around to the stateroom door and peering in at
Swivel, who was sleeping heavily despite the sound
of voices. “Gee! he does look bad, doesn’t he?”</p>
<p>“Well, wot in thunder shall we do?” growled Leroyd
at length. “We’ve got no time to spend in fooling,
Al. No knowing what that—that other craft
is.”</p>
<p>“Miss Milly,” Weeks assured her, without paying
any attention to the words of his companion, “we
shall have the pleasure of taking you and your brave
young friend ashore with us—after we settle a little
business here.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m glad ter hear you gittin’ down ter business,”
declared Leroyd, with satisfaction. “Come,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span>
now, skin out of here, you fellers,” he added, addressing
the two men at the companionway. “We’ll come
up or call for you when we want ye.”</p>
<p>The men departed and the sailor turned again to his
partner.</p>
<p>“Hurry!” he exclaimed eagerly. “Where’s the
place you said they were hid? It’s somewhere in the
cabin here, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Then send the gal on deck, too, and let’s rummage.”</p>
<p>“We won’t be rude enough to do that,” said Weeks,
with another smirk at Milly. “We will just request
the young lady not to speak of what she sees us do.”</p>
<p>“I don’t care. Anything, so long’s we get ’em and
get out o’ here. Suppose—”</p>
<p>“Never mind supposing any longer. Let me see,
now,” and Weeks walked slowly to the upper end of
the cabin and counted off three panels from the companionway
on the port side.</p>
<p>Quickly his long finger touched the surface of the
panel, pressing here and there and rattling the loose
board, and finally the panel dropped down, disclosing
the secret cupboard—empty!</p>
<p>Leroyd darted forward.</p>
<p>“What is it? Is it there?” he cried.</p>
<p>“The infernal luck! it’s empty!” shouted Weeks,
and with a volley of maledictions he staggered back
and dropped into the nearest chair.</p>
<p>Leroyd was fairly purple.</p>
<p>“Have you tricked me!” he yelled, seizing his partner
by the shoulders and shaking him.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span>“No, you fool! why should I trick you? That is
where Caleb Wetherbee said the diamonds were hid.”</p>
<p>“Sh!” growled the sailor. “D’ye want that gal ter
know everything? She knows too much now.”</p>
<p>“She doesn’t know anything about this; why should
she?”</p>
<p>“Then, what’s become of them?”</p>
<p>“I can tell you that,” returned Weeks. “Cale
Wetherbee’s been here.”</p>
<p>“And left the Silver Swan a derelict—almost as
good as new—an’ him with a steamer?” roared Leroyd.
“Man, you’re dreaming!”</p>
<p>“Then—what—has happened!” asked Alfred
Weeks slowly.</p>
<p>“The gal—the gal here,” declared Leroyd, turning
fiercely upon Milly. “She’s found ’em, I tell ye!”</p>
<p>He advanced upon the shrinking girl so threateningly,
that Milly screamed, and rushed to the companionway.
Leroyd pursued her, and Weeks followed
the angry sailor.</p>
<p>Up to the deck darted the girl, and almost into the
arms of one of the men whom Leroyd had driven out
of the brig’s cabin. The fellow looked excited and he
shouted to the angry sailor as soon as he saw him:</p>
<p>“De steamer come—up queek. Mr. Leroyd! Dey
put off-a boat already.”</p>
<p>Milly, who had dodged past the speaker, turned her
eyes to the east—the opposite direction from which
the schooner had appeared—and beheld a steamship,
her two funnels vomiting thick smoke, just rounded to,
less than two cable lengths away.</p>
<p>It was the whaleback steamer, Number Three!</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span>Already a boat had put off from the whaleback and
it was now being swiftly propelled toward the Silver
Swan.</p>
<p>The two men whom Leroyd and Weeks had brought
with them from the schooner, had been smoking in the
lee of the deck-house and had not discovered the
steamer’s approach until she was almost upon the derelict.</p>
<p>“Curses on it!” Weeks exclaimed as he took in
the situation and recognized the steamer, whose smoke
they had beheld in the distance, before boarding the
brig.</p>
<p>But Leroyd kept on after the fleeing Milly. He believed
that she knew something about the missing
gems, or had them in her possession, and he was determined
to get them.</p>
<p>Milly ran to the bows of the brig, with Leroyd close
behind her.</p>
<p>“Let that gal alone!” roared a voice from the approaching
boat. “Give way, boys! I won’t leave a
whole bone in that scoundrel’s body, once I get my
paws on him.”</p>
<p>In an instant the small boat was under the brig’s
rail, and Caleb Wetherbee himself was upon her deck
with an agility quite surprising. Mr. Coffin and two
of the boat’s crew were right behind him.</p>
<p>A moment later the panting girl, having eluded the
clumsier sailor, was behind the shelter of Caleb’s towering
form and those of his companions.</p>
<p>Weeks stopped Leroyd in his mad rush for the
girl, and whispered a few swift sentences in his ear.
Then he stepped forward.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span>“By what right do you board this brig, Mr. Wetherbee?”
he asked. “This is a derelict. We have
seized her and propose to tow her to port for salvage.
I command you to leave her.”</p>
<p>“How long since you boarded her for that purpose?”
Mr. Coffin demanded, for Caleb was fairly
purple with rage and surprise.</p>
<p>“Since half an hour ago,” replied Weeks calmly.</p>
<p>“If that is the case, I think I have a prior claim,”
suddenly interrupted a voice. “I came aboard two
days ago and I claim the Silver Swan as mine by right
of discovery!”</p>
<p>The astounded company turned toward the cabin entrance
and beheld Brandon Tarr just appearing from
below.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span>
<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XL<br />
<small>IN WHICH THE ENEMY IS DEFEATED AND THE QUEST OF
THE SILVER SWAN IS ENDED</small></h2>
</div>
<p>“<span class="smcap">Brandon!</span>” shouted Caleb; “it’s the boy himself!”</p>
<p>But Leroyd uttered a howl of rage and sprang toward
the youth, his face aflame and his huge fist raised
to strike. Caleb, however, despite his wooden leg, was
too quick for him.</p>
<p>He flew to Don’s rescue, and ere Leroyd could reach
his intended victim, the old mariner felled the villain
to the deck with one swing of his powerful arm.</p>
<p>Weeks, who had also dashed forward to aid in
Brandon’s overthrow, was seized by the doughty captain
of the whaleback and tossed completely over the
brig’s rail.</p>
<p>“Git out o’ here, the hull kit an’ bilin’ of ye!” Caleb
roared, starting for the two men belonging to the
schooner.</p>
<p>They obeyed with surprising alacrity, and the old
man picked up the dazed Leroyd and tossed him into
the boat after them. Weeks, dripping and sputtering,
was hauled aboard by his companions, and the small
boat was rowed back to the schooner, while Brandon,
unable to restrain his emotion, threw up his hat
and shouted, “Hurrah!” with all his might.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span>It occupied the three castaways—Milly, Brandon,
and Swivel—and Mr. Coffin and Caleb, fully two
hours to straighten out matters satisfactorily. They
had so much to tell and so much to explain for one
another’s benefit, that the whaleback had run in and
the crew passed a hawser from her stern to the bow
of the brig, under Mr. Bolin’s directions, ere the conference
was ended.</p>
<p>Words cannot well express the astonishment that
those on the whaleback felt at finding the castaways
aboard the Silver Swan—or at finding the brig itself.
For the past twelve hours they had all believed
that the derelict was a victim of Uncle Sam’s feverish
impatience to destroy all obstructions to commerce in
his ocean.</p>
<p>Upon figuring the whole matter up, it was pretty
evident that it was the Success which the naval ensign
had exploded, for she had been sunk at the stern
sufficiently to cover her name, and had been so battered
by the waves that the lettering on the bow was
also probably unreadable.</p>
<p>After believing, as they did, that the Swan was
sunk and all her treasures with her, the whaleback had
sailed about in circles, seeking the wreck of the Success,
on which they believed Brandon and his two companions
to be.</p>
<p>It was only by providential fortune that the brig
had finally been sighted, and the whaleback had
steamed up just in time to wrest the Silver Swan from
Messrs. Leroyd and Weeks.</p>
<p>Swivel was taken aboard the steamer and carefully
examined by Lawrence Coffin, who was no mean surgeon,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span>
and he pronounced the youth as seriously, if
not dangerously, injured. He had burst a blood vessel
and had sustained other internal injuries, and
would probably be unfit for work of any kind for a
long time.</p>
<p>“Best place for him is the Marine Hospital,” declared
Mr. Coffin to Brandon and Caleb that night in
the steamer’s cabin.</p>
<p>“Hospital nothin’!” exclaimed Caleb, with conviction.
“The hospital is all right for them as hain’t
go no homes—like as I hadn’t, nor no friends—a
good deal as I <i>was</i>—nor nothing; but <i>that</i> boy ain’t
goin’ to lack a shelter as long as <i>I’m</i> alive.”</p>
<p>“Best not take him on a sea voyage just yet, Mr.
Wetherbee,” responded Mr. Coffin seriously.</p>
<p>“I don’t intend to. He’s goin’ ter live with me,
though.”</p>
<p>“But won’t you sail the Silver Swan?” asked the
first officer. “She’s as good as new and she’s yours,
too, I understand.”</p>
<p>“No, sir, I’m not. When the Silver Swan is in
shape again, I shall put Mr. Bolin in command of her.
I’ve already spoken to him about it.”</p>
<p>“Whew!” whistled Mr. Coffin. “And the whaleback?”</p>
<p>“You’ll command her; that was the agreement I
made with Adoniram before we left New York.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Mr. Wetherbee,” exclaimed the first
officer gratefully. “But may I ask what you propose
to do?”</p>
<p>“I shall retire from the sea—that is, from commandin’
a ship, any way.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span>“So you’re goin’ to keep bachelor’s hall, and going
to take this Swivel to it?” and Mr. Coffin shook his
head gravely. “He really needs a woman’s nursing.”</p>
<p>Caleb grew very red in the face, and blew his nose
furiously.</p>
<p>“He—he’ll get it, Mr. Coffin,” he said hesitatingly.</p>
<p>Both Brandon and the first officer looked at the old
tar in blank amazement.</p>
<p>“I said he’d get it,” repeated Caleb solemnly, though
with a rather shamefaced look. “He’ll get it, sir,
an’ from the trimmest little woman ye ever see.”</p>
<p>“It’s Miss Frances!” burst forth Brandon at
length.</p>
<p>“It is her, my lad. An’ hain’t I right erbout her
bein’ a mighty trim one?”</p>
<p>“She is, indeed! She’s splendid!” cried Brandon
enthusiastically, seizing his friend’s mighty palm.</p>
<p>Mr. Coffin also offered his congratulations, but went
away afterward with rather a dazed look on his face.</p>
<p>He was pretty well acquainted with the old seaman,
and he wondered, as did Brandon, how under
the sun Caleb had ever plucked up the courage to ask
Adoniram Pepper’s sister for her hand.</p>
<p>“Yes, lad,” said the old man gravely; “I’ve been
floating about from sea to sea and from land to land
for the better part of fifty years, an’ now I’m goin’ ter
lay back an’ take it easy for the rest of my days.”</p>
<p>And as Brandon wrung his hand again he felt that
the old seaman fully deserved it all.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>In good time the whaleback, with her tow, the derelict
brig, arrived in New York, where the Silver<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span>
Swan was at once sent to the shipyard for repairs, and
is now doing her owner good service as a merchantman.</p>
<p>Adoniram Pepper & Co.’s scheme of recovering
derelicts in general and towing them in for their salvage,
has never amounted to anything yet, for directly
following the trip of Number Three (rechristened the
Milly Frank, by the way), the owner received a good
offer for putting the whaleback in the European trade,
and she is still carrying grain to England, with Mr.
Coffin as commander.</p>
<p>Milly Frank’s joy at finding her relatives, of whose
existence her father had never told her, was only
equaled by the joy of Adoniram and Frances Pepper
themselves in recovering their “little sister” again—for
as such Milly appears to them.</p>
<p>Miss Frances is of course Miss Frances no longer;
but with her husband, she still occupies her brother’s
house in New York, and Milly dwells with them.</p>
<p>Brandon, who is at present in the naval school, resides
there also during vacation, and calls the company
of assorted humanity there gathered “the happy
family.”</p>
<p>Swivel is in the West—that land of bracing and
salubrious climate—for after he recovered from the
accident he sustained on the wreck, the doctors told
him that he could never live and be strong in the East
again. So, with the assistance of Caleb, Adoniram,
and Brandon, who quarreled not a little as to who
should do the most for him, he was sent West, and a
glorious start in business life was given him in that
rapidly growing country.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span>Brandon himself, though made independently rich
by the sale of the diamonds found by Anson Tarr,
loves the sea too well to give it up altogether, and, as
I said, is in the naval academy at Annapolis. When
he is through school and gets his appointment, he
and Milly may—but I won’t anticipate.</p>
<p>As for the disappointed Uncle Arad, he never
pressed the matter of Brandon’s arrest after the failure
of the plot (hatched up by himself and Messrs.
Leroyd and Weeks) to convert his nephew’s property
to his own use. He still remains on the farm at Chopmist,
and by report is as crabbed and stingy as ever;
but Brandon has had no desire to return to the farm
since his Quest of the Silver Swan was ended.</p>
<p class="center">THE END</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
<div class="chapter">
<div class="transnote">
<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p>
<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p>
<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p>
<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p>
</div></div>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 68182 ***</div>
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