Peter Cotterell's Treasure

by Rupert Sargent Holland

  Produced by Roger Frank and Sue Clark

  PETER COTTERELL'S TREASURE

  John Tuckerman sat down carefully, "Now, Captain Hallett,give your orders."]

  PETER COTTERELL'S TREASURE

  BY

  RUPERT SARGENT HOLLAND

  Author of "The Boy Scouts of Birch-Bark Island," "The Blue Heron's Feather," etc.

  WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WILL THOMSON

  PHILADELPHIA & LONDON J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

  COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

  PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A.

  Table of Contents

  I--JOHN TUCKERMAN COMES TO BARMOUTH II--COTTERELL'S ISLAND III--BEN AND DAVID MAKE A DISCOVERY IV--VISITORS V--THE MAHOGANY MAN VI--THE CLIPPER SHIP VII--THE TIGERS PLAY CAMP AMOUSSOCK VIII--THE CANOE IX--THE CHEST IN THE ROCKS X--LIGHTS ON THE ISLAND XI--THE MAN IN GREEN XII--THE ADVENTURE AT THE COVE XIII--ON THE FISHING-SMACK XIV--BEN AT THE GABLES XV--VARIOUS CLUES XVI--THE CAMPERS CALL AT BARMOUTH XVII--PETER COTTERELL XVIII--THE PIRATES ASHORE XIX--THE COTTERELL SILVER PLATE XX--SIR PETER'S PARTY XXI--THE BOYS AND JOHN TUCKERMAN

  Illustrations

  John Tuckerman sat down carefully, "Now, Captain Hallett, give your orders."

  In the marshy ground in front of them were two distinct footprints.

  "Sampson put the chest there," he concluded.

  "My wardrobe is still upstairs. Make what use of it you please."

  I--JOHN TUCKERMAN COMES TO BARMOUTH

  Tom Hallett lived in an old town on the Atlantic seaboard, a port of NewHampshire that was wedged in between the rocky coast of Maine and thesandy beaches of Massachusetts. If he crossed the broad river to thenorth, the beautiful Pesumpscot, by the old toll-bridge that seemed asancient as the town itself, he came into the Pine Tree State. If hesailed to the south, he had not far to go before he reached Cape Ann.Back of him, to the west, lay the foothills of the White Mountains, andhe had often tramped far enough in that direction to see the nobleoutline of Mount Washington rise grandly against the sky. In front--forpeople who live along the seacoast always think of the ocean as being attheir front door--was the harbor of Barmouth, a wide semi-circle, itstwo horns sticking way out to the east, its broad bosom dotted with manyislands. Once Barmouth town had sent many ships to sea, merchantmen tothe West Indies, around Cape Horn, to the fabled lands of India andChina, fishing fleets to the Grand Banks off Newfoundland, whalers tothe Arctic; now, however, ships were not so plentiful, sails had givenplace to steam, and the young men stayed ashore to make their livingrather than seek the rigors and gales that were a part of the tollexacted by Father Neptune.

  Tom Hallett's house had the cupola on top of its roof that told of theold sailing days, the "widow's watch," as it was commonly called, forfrom there the wives of sailors used to watch for the first sign ofhomebound sails. His grandfather had been a sea-captain, and the housewas full of the treasures he had collected. Many a time Tom and hisolder sister Milly had listened to the amazing yarns the weatherbeatenmariner had spun by the winter fire.

  Barmouth was an excellent place for a boy to live. There was plenty oflawn around most of the houses, the streets were wide and well-shaded,open country was near enough to be reached by a ten-minute walk. Therewas coasting and skating in winter--all that one could wish--and theponds that rang with the music of steel runners in January wereswimming-holes in July and tempting places to fish. And there was alwaysthe harbor and the wind from the sea, calling young sailors to launchtheir dories and try their skill over the rippling waves.

  Tom was sixteen that summer, and wanted something to do--something alittle different from his usual holiday jaunts. He told his father aboutit, and his father said he would think the matter over. And then oneevening, as Tom was leaning on the garden gate, wishing that someadventure would come his way, he found himself addressed by a stranger.

  "Do you know of a young fellow out of a job?" said the stranger. "Alikely young fellow, who doesn't mind roughing it?"

  Tom regarded the man. The latter was tall and spare, and wore big,horn-rimmed spectacles that gave him the look of a wise and thoughtfulowl.

  "Maybe I do, and maybe I don't," Tom answered, copying the cautiouswords and tone of voice that he had often heard his uncle Samuel Jordan,who was a lawyer, use when he was asked questions.

  "You're Yankee through and through, aren't you?" said the man. "Youdon't want to commit yourself to anything definite until you know allthe facts. I don't suppose I could interest you in buying a calico horseuntil you'd got out a pail of water and soap and a scrubbing brush tosee if the spots would wash off."

  Tom laughed; the stranger looked so extremely solemn in his big glasses,and yet his tone indicated a joke. "Even if the spots didn't wash offI'm not sure you could interest me in that horse," he retorted. "I don'tsee how I could use him just now."

  "Well, he's not for sale, my friend. I need him out on the old farm inIllinois, where I come from." The man stroked his chin while he regardedTom reflectively. "I'm looking for a young and able seaman, for to tellyou the truth, I don't know much about salt water. I provide the gruband the boat and whatever else is needed, and the sailorman provides thelore of the sea."

  Tom's interest was aroused. If this stranger really wanted a sailor tohelp him with a boat it seemed odd that he should be seeking informationfrom a young fellow lounging on a gate in one of the quiet, elm-shadedstreets of Barmouth. It would have been much more natural to look forsuch information along the waterfront, at some of the docks or piers."Why don't you hunt up one of the captains?" Tom suggested. "They mightknow just the man for you."

  "I don't want a man," was the answer. "I want a likely young fellow,someone about your age and general cut of jib--that's the rightseafaring expression, isn't it? I've got an adventure on hand, and Iwant company. I wouldn't mind two, or even three, young fellows, if theywere the right kind."

  An adventure! Tom pricked up his ears. The man was certainlyinteresting, he would like to know more about him. "Where are you goingto sail, and how long would you be away?" he questioned.

  "My cruise will probably be limited to the islands in Barmouth Harbor,and we'd be away anywhere from a week to a month."

  "Well," began Tom, "I don't know----"

  "Neither do I," said the stranger, with a grin. "There are a number ofthings I don't know about this adventure. But then the main point aboutan adventure is that we can't tell everything about it in advance. Isn'tthat so?"

  "I suppose it is," Tom granted. And after a moment's thought he added,"I know my way round the harbor pretty well, and I can sail a dory, andI've got a couple of friends----"

  "Fine!" declared the man. "Do you know, it may seem odd to you, but as Icame along the street and my eyes lighted on you, I said to myself,'that's precisely the type of messmate I'm looking for; an upstandingfellow, with a good head on his shoulders.'"

  Naturally Tom felt pleased. He straightened up and stuck his hands inhis pockets. "The only
thing I don't understand," he said, "is how youexpect to find a real adventure in the harbor. Of course we could cruisearound, and fish and swim. Is that what you had in mind?"

  "Did you ever hear of Cotterell's Island?" The stranger lowered hisvoice.

  Tom nodded. "Of course I have. We call it Crusty Christopher's Islandaround here."

  "Have you ever been on it?"

  "No," Tom was forced to admit. "The man who lives there won't let anyone land. He's put up signs warning people off and he keeps watch-dogs."

  "The island belongs to me," announced the stranger, "and I'm going tocamp out on it."

  Tom stared at the man in surprise. "But surely you're not CrustyChristopher!" he exclaimed. "I always heard he was old and had a whitebeard."

  "Mr. Christopher Cotterell," explained the stranger, "was my uncle;though as a matter of fact I only saw him once, when I was a small boy.He died last year and I have inherited his island and the house on it.The house has a history. I'm very much interested in old houses, andparticularly in this one. My name is John Tuckerman."

  "Well," said Tom, "that's interesting, to be sure. I hope you don'tthink I meant to call your uncle names."

  "Oh no, you didn't offend me," said the man promptly. "I've heard himcalled Crusty Christopher before, and I shouldn't wonder if he deservedthe nickname. There have been a number of queer characters in theCotterell family; there was old Sir Peter Cotterell, for instance, whobuilt that house on the island and lived there during the Revolution."

  "Sir Peter?" queried Tom. "I don't seem to remember him."

  "He wasn't really Sir Peter," Mr. Tuckerman explained. "He was onlyplain Mr. Peter, like his neighbors in Barmouth. But he had the badtaste to side with the King of England when the colonists objected topaying taxes without being represented in the government--in otherwords, he was what they called a Tory--and so the people nicknamed himSir Peter in joke. There are lots of stories I could tell you about him.I'm very much interested in history, you see."

  Tom nodded. The more he listened to this Mr. John Tuckerman the more heliked him. And yet simply to camp out on an island in the harbor, evenon Cotterell's Island, where he had never set his foot--though he hadoften wanted to--didn't strike him as a very thrilling adventure.

  Perhaps Mr. Tuckerman read his thought, for, lowering his voice again,he said, "There's a mystery connected with the place; I've foundreferences to it in some old family letters. And the house is full ofold furniture and bric-a-brac. I can hardly wait to explore it."

  The man's tone was undoubtedly eager, and though Tom had never felt anygreat interest in old furniture and such things he found his curiosityrapidly rising. An island and a house to explore--Crusty Christopher'sat that--and possibly a mystery. He might be making a great mistake ifhe let this adventure escape.

  Mr. Tuckerman was speaking again. "I might as well explain at once thatI'm a dreadful landlubber. I don't know anything about sailing boats,and not very much about fishing. I'm afraid my education has been verymuch neglected along certain lines. I want to camp on that island, and Iwant company. Do you know how to cook--to cook the sort of thingscampers eat, I mean?"

  "I can cook some things. But my friend David Norton can cook almostanything. He's one of the fellows I meant."

  "It would be splendid if we could get David, too. I'd take along plentyof provisions, but one does get tired of living on canned things."

  "Ben Sully's a corking fisherman," said Tom. "Ben and David and I havecamped out a lot together."

  "I'd like to keep the expedition as quiet as I can," Mr. Tuckermanstated. "I don't want a lot of curiosity-seekers poking round theisland."

  "I think you're right," agreed Tom. "I'll swear both of them to secrecy;except to their families, of course. You wouldn't mind our telling ourparents?"

  To that John Tuckerman agreed. "This is just what I hoped to find," hesaid, "some young fellows with the spirit of adventure. You know theropes, and I don't. Let's see; what's your name?"

  Tom told him. "Wouldn't you like to come in and see my father?" hesuggested.

  "I must be getting back to the hotel," said Tuckerman. "You tell him myname, and say I'm Mr. Cotterell's nephew. You sign up to go, do you? Andyou'll try to get your two messmates? I'll see to the boat and grub andcooking outfit--and I think I can promise you a bit of adventure."

  "If Father says yes, I sign," agreed Tom, smiling at the man's air ofbusiness. "And the more adventure there is, the better I'll like it,too. Things are sort of quiet here this summer."

  Tuckerman held out his hand. He had a formal manner about him thatamused Tom greatly. "See you at Lowe's Wharf at two o'clock tomorrowafternoon."

  "Right," said Tom, shaking hands. "And I'll have the other two fellowsthere with me. They've always wanted to have a look at that island."

  The tall, lank man turned, and shortly disappeared behind the big clumpof lilac bushes at the corner of Wentworth Street. Tom, thoughtfullyjingling a bunch of keys in his trouser pocket, chuckled as heconsidered the situation. In fifteen minutes this Mr. John Tuckerman, atotal stranger, had persuaded him to camp out for a fortnight or so onCrusty Christopher's island. Tom could well believe that Mr. Tuckermanneeded some companions who were used to the water and campcraft; helooked as if he might be a Professor and more knowing about history andsuch things than about how to reef a sail or hook a flounder.

  Still grinning at this unusual happening, Tom went into the house, wherein the sitting-room his father was reading, his mother sewing, and hissister Milly trimming a new straw hat. "I'm going camping on Cotterell'sIsland," he declared. "It's a sort of a secret, so you must all promisenot to tell."

  Milly looked up quickly. "On Cotterell's Island? If you step ashorethere, somebody'll pitch you off."

  "Oh no, they won't. I'm going with the owner."

  Milly wrinkled her nose, as she did when she felt scornful. "I supposethat pleasant old man has sent you an invitation. 'Dear Mr. ThomasHallett, I should be _so_ delighted if you'd drop in on me.'" And Millytilted the straw hat on her hand so as to judge the effect of the ribbonaround the brim.

  Tom walked across to the fireplace, where he stood with his back to thehearth, as his father often did when he had an announcement to make."Mr. Christopher Cotterell is dead," he said. "I received my invitationfrom his nephew, Mr. John Tuckerman."

  Milly turned around, surprised. "What are you springing on us? Where didyou meet this man?"

  "Down at the gate to-night," said Tom calmly. "He wanted a likely youngfellow to help him explore the house and the island he's inherited, andnaturally he came to me."

  "Yes, what Tom says is quite true," declared Mr. Hallett. "Mr. Tuckermanis the new owner. So he asked you to help him, did he?"

  "He called himself a landlubber. I've an idea too that he doesn't wantto stay on the island alone. I'm to get Ben and David, and we're to sailhis boat for him and fish and cook and keep him company."

  "Humph!" sniffed Milly. "That doesn't sound very exciting. You're to dothe work while he loafs around."

  "Oh, I don't know about that. He hinted that we might find somethingvery interesting. He called it an adventure. And he let slip somethingabout a mystery."

  Milly put the hat down. She herself was very fond of camping and sailingand swimming, and although she pretended to be quite grown up she stillyearned at times for her old tomboy ways. "I suppose he isn't going tobe like Old Crusty--I mean Mr. Christopher Cotterell? He won't mindpeople coming out to see that queer old house."

  "That's just what he does mind," said Tom. "He wants to keep the wholething dark, for the present, at least. Why, if he didn't, all Barmouthwould be going out there. Most of them never got nearer the place thanto read the signs; and they'd all be crazy to go."

  "Well, it seems to me," argued Milly, "if he's going to explore thehouse he ought to have someone out there who knows something aboutfurnishings. I daresay there's lots of old silver and curtains and rugsand maybe chests of fine linen. Now of course a woman--well, it'
s onlynatural that a woman--you know what I mean, a woman could help a greatdeal in sorting such things out."

  "When you say a woman," inquired Tom, "do you happen to be thinking ofMiss Milly Hallett?"

  Milly, in spite of her tan, flushed a fiery red. "You know perfectlywell, Tom, that you've always said I was a great help on a campingparty."

  "So you are, Milly," Tom admitted loyally. "You cook better even thanDave does. But Mr. Tuckerman didn't say anything about bringing a girlalong. I'm afraid he'd think that wouldn't be business-like."

  "Tom's right, Milly dear," said Mrs. Hallett. "This is Mr. Tuckerman'saffair, and it wouldn't be right to offer him any suggestions. Butperhaps, while they're out on the island, he wouldn't mind if some daywe went over to look at the house. When do you start, Tom?"

  "To-morrow at two--that is, if father says it's all right."

  "Oh, you're going to ask my consent, are you?" said Mr. Hallett, with asmile. "Well, if Mr. Tuckerman is such a landlubber as he appears to be,I think it's only right you should give him your help. I don't see how,with Ben and David and you, he can possibly get into hot water."

  "He can't," agreed Milly, picking up the hat again and pretending toshiver. "The water isn't even warm around the islands in the harbor.However, I don't suppose this Mr. Tuckerman is apt to care much forswimming." And as she went on twirling the hat in her hands and puffingout the big blue bow, she hummed a little tune to indicate that she wasmuch more interested in her millinery than in Tom's prospectiveadventure.

  Tom walked down the street to the small, pitched-roof house--a whitehouse with green shutters and door, and tall pink and red hollyhocksstanding up against the sides--where Benjamin Sully lived. As luck wouldhave it, David Norton was sitting with Ben on the doorstep. "Hello!"cried Tom. "I'm looking for a couple of able-bodied seamen."

  "Aye, aye, sir," answered Ben. "What port are you bound for--the BarbaryCoast or Barbadoes or round the Cape of Good Hope?"

  Ben was a small, dark boy, agile as a monkey. When he was with DavidNorton he looked smaller and darker than ever, for David was big offrame and his sandy hair topped a cheerful, freckled face. These two andTom Hallett were about of an age, and had always shared each other'ssecrets.

  "Cotterell's Island, lads. A place where the foot of a white man hasnever set heel before." And standing in front of his two friends, Tomrelated John Tuckerman's proposal.

  When he had finished, Ben nodded. "The plan sounds good to me. I'vealways meant to have a look at that island. As I've sized it up, CrustyChristopher wouldn't have been so concerned to keep people away if hehadn't had something he wanted to keep secret."

  "I don't know about that," said David. "Some people are made that way;they just naturally don't want other folks around. Maybe the place isjust like any other island."

  "Well, I'm going anyhow," declared Tom. "I guess I can look after Mr.Tuckerman all right by myself. But I didn't want to seem mean and leaveyou two out."

  Ben jumped up. "I'm going, all right. I'd hate to think of you and thatignorant fellow out there all by yourselves. Count me in on this, Tom."

  "I guess your friend wouldn't get much good cooking," said David,"without me to superintend."

  "Oh, I don't know about that," retorted Tom. "He's going to take plentyof good stuff."

  "Canned!" snorted David. "I know--hardtack and beans out of a tin. No,siree. You'd be squabbling inside of two days if you didn't have me andsome of my famous flapjacks to keep you pleasant."

  "Nice, modest David," said Ben, stroking his big friend's arm. "However,though he doesn't think very well of himself, I vote that we let himcome along. Maybe he'll be useful."

  "You bet I'll come," announced the tow-headed one. "Do you think I'd letyou two and a queer man go prowling around a mysterious island withoutyour Uncle David? I'll be there when the boat sails, with my petfrying-pan!"