VI--THE CLIPPER SHIP
Ben Sully was a boy who would rather work out a puzzle than do almostanything else. He had a tremendous amount of patience, which possiblyexplains why he was such a successful fisherman, since he could waitlonger, dangling a piece of bait in the water, than nine out of tenfishes could resist the temptation to find out what the bait tastedlike. Any kind of a _puzzle_, from cut out sections of cardboard thatfitted together to make a picture all the way to ingenious contraptionsof metal links that didn't want to come apart, was a delight to Ben. Hehad boxes and boxes of them stored away in a closet at home. He hadinvented secret codes and cryptograms by the score, and when he was onlyten years old had constructed a private language of twenty-five wordsthat he had taught to Tom and David and which the three of them had usedamong themselves to the great admiration and envy of all the rest oftheir school.
Naturally then Ben felt that this _puzzle_ of Peter Cotterell's treasurewas right in his line, and the finding of the half-sheet of parchmentwhetted his appetite to discover more. He walked about the room,whittling shavings right and left, he sat down and kept on whittling, hestood up again, and since by now the willow-stick had been whittled downto almost nothing, he threw what was left in the fireplace.
That done, he went to a bookcase and took down from the shelf on top theold notebook that Tuckerman had found in his uncle's bedroom. He thumbedthe pages until he came to the place where Tuckerman had inserted a slipof paper. Ben read the words at the top of the page out loud. "Find themahogany-hued man with the long, skinny legs and look in his breastpocket. That's a saying my father handed down. What can it mean?" Benlooked at the desk. "Well, we've done that, anyhow." He shook his headin deep thought. "I don't understand why that piece of parchment wasn'tdiscovered before. They might not have taken the desk to be the mahoganyman; but surely Crusty Christopher or his father would have known ofthose three little drawers. However, they might have found that writingand left it there. That's possible, of course. Probably it didn't tellthem any more than it's told us so far."
Turning again to the notebook, he ran his eye down the page. Nothing butChristopher Cotterell's comments on all sorts of subjects, nothing thatinterested Ben. He turned a page, two pages, another, and then hisglance fell on this: "I've heard that the old clipper ship got some ofthe cargo that the mahogany man carried. But if she did, what use isthat to us now? She sailed out of Barmouth Harbor during theRevolution."
On and on down the page Ben's eyes traveled, but lighted on nothing thatcaught his special attention. So he went back and reread that passage.Then he closed the book, replaced it on the shelf, stuck his hands inhis pockets, and stared through the window.
"I wonder if there was a real mahogany man," he mused, "and a real ship.There might have been. There were men from the West Indies in this partof the country in those days. One of them might have had valuables inhis clothes, and part of the things he was guarding might have beencarried off in the hold of a ship. Was there a real man, or was it thatsecretary? And how about the ship?"
Presently Ben walked around the drawing-room, as if he were searchingfor something. From there he went to the dining-room and the kitchen,and then upstairs to Christopher Cotterell's bedroom. He looked intoclosets and behind curtains, he pulled open wardrobe doors and peered inat the shelves. But each time he shook his head, as much as to say:"There's nothing there that I want."
Under the slanting roof at the top of the house was an attic, alreadyexplored by Tuckerman and the boys. It was filled with every kind ofthing, from an ancient lacquered Indian temple--the green and gold ofthe lacquer now sadly tarnished and chipped--to a collection of RedMen's arrowheads, neatly fastened to a board by small straps of leather.Ben looked around at the strange medley of objects, thinking how manycountries and how many different races of men had contributed to thefurnishing of this attic; and then his roving eyes lighted on somethingthat made them glisten--on a bracket against the wall sat the model of aship.
Ben knew the model to be that of a Yankee clipper--three masts, loftilyrigged, with three sky-sail yards, and a long mainyard. She wasbeautifully built, every detail complete, the deck and hull shining withvarnish. "Hello," sang out Ben, "clipper ship ahoy!" And pushing a boxclose against the wall he stepped up opposite the bracket.
In the deck of the model was a little lid. He pried this up with hisknife-blade. There was just room for him to squeeze his fingers through,and when he drew them out again they held a small roll of paper.
"Yes," said Ben, "it's parchment," and very much thrilled he took hisfind over to the window and smoothed it out.
The ink on this parchment was faint and purplish, like that on the sheetalready found in the desk, and the left hand words were close to theedge. Ben read them aloud:
to the north the boat cape with it off the shore it in the rocks. There veins that like a cross. James Sampson.
"Good enough!" said Ben, and ran down the stairs to the first floor.
The little drawer in the secretary was again made to disgorge itshalf-sheet of parchment and Ben laid the two papers side by side on thedesk-lid. They fitted perfectly; now their message was complete.
I took the box to the north cliff where was the boat meaning to escape with it but they were off the shore and so I hid it in the pocket in the rocks. There are two big veins that make a mark like a cross. James Sampson.
"Well, that's clear enough," said Ben, "though why anyone should cutJames Sampson's writing in two is more than I can understand." He copiedthe words on a sheet of paper and put the two pieces of parchment in thesecret drawer. "Now let's see what we've got. Sampson meant to leave theisland with his box at the northern end, but he saw some enemies waitingthere, so he hid the box in a crevice where the rocks are marked like across. All right for Mr. Sampson. That's easy sailing. But why didn'tsome of the Cotterells find what was in the hold of that little ship'smodel long before this? Funny--that is." Again his brows bent inthought. "Was James Sampson the real mahogany man? Was there a realclipper ship?" At last he shook his head. "I don't know. But at leastI've found something."
Ben left the house. It was noon, and warm. The others were sailingaround the island; there was no knowing when they would be back. Hedebated whether to go fishing, and finally decided against it. Withoutany definite purpose in mind he took the path at the back of CotterellHall that led toward the little creek.
It was only a short distance across to the inlet where David and he hadlanded. He went through the bushes and trees until he saw the waterbefore him. There was the creek and there was the marshy ground wherethey had found the footprints. He descended the bank to look at themarks again.
There were no footprints there now: they had utterly vanished!
Ben hunted along the edge of the creek, although he was positive wherethe marks had been. There was not a sign of them. There had been no rainto wash them out. The soggy ground was above the reach of the tide.There was only one explanation: someone had been there since David andhe had landed and had carefully removed any sign of footsteps.
To discover footprints on a supposedly uninhabited shore is thrilling,but to discover that those footprints have disappeared is even moreexciting. What did it mean? Well, to Ben it clearly indicated that theperson who had made those marks in the first place had some very goodreason for wanting no one to know that he had been there.
Cotterell's treasure was an ancient mystery; but this was a new one, noolder in fact than the day before yesterday. This was new matter overwhich to cudgel one's brains, and Ben, sitting on the bank, gave deepconsideration to it until he saw the sail of the _Argo_ creeping up fromthe south.
Should he tell the others of his discoveries or not? He decided to keepthem a secret, including the vanished footprints, for a short time atleast. But he jumped up, and ran down to the shore, and sent anear-piercing yell across the water. The answer was a wave from Tom, andpresentl
y the _Argo_ drew closer inland and laid her course for a small,grass-topped headland on Ben's side of the creek.
"Don't jump; slide down, Benjie, slide," directed Tom.
"And slide gently," added David. "Not as if you were making for thirdbase with the ball getting there before you. Remember the Professor's atthe helm and we don't want to tilt the boat."
"Don't you worry," sang out Ben. "I'll drop in so you'll think I'm aslight as a feather." And as the _Argo_ slipped along under the headlandhe let himself down, lightly and easily, but, as it happened, right onthe shoulders of David.
The big fellow gave a growl. Ben's legs had somehow contrived to twinethemselves around David's neck, and Ben was sitting there on the broadshoulders, his hands on the other boy's head.
"Hi there! Look out!" cried Tuckerman. "You'll upset the whole shebang!"
But Tom came to the skipper's rescue. A steadying hand on the tiller andthe _Argo_ moved out from the shore.
Slowly Ben pushed David forward until they both came down in a heap inthe little cockpit. "Behave yourselves," ordered Tom. "I've got a dipperhere and I'll souse you both with cold water!"
The threat was enough. The two sat up. David grinned. "The littlefeller's all right; he's got some muscle. I shouldn't wonder if I couldmake a real man out of him some day."
Under Tom's teaching John Tuckerman was learning something abouthandling a sailing dory, just as Ben had given him lessons in flounderfishing, David in making flapjacks, and the three in various swimmingstrokes. It was true that he still regarded the _Argo's_ sail, when asudden puff of wind filled it, as an inexperienced driver regards hishorse when the animal shows signs of shying--his muscles grew tense, andhe frowned, and stopped talking--but he didn't ask Tom what to do and hemanaged to keep the dory fairly close to the course he intended. And hewas a good sport! He didn't try to crawl out of his mistakes by arguingabout them; he admitted them with a grin, and that grin was always sowhole-souled and hearty that it made one want to slap him on the backand tell him that he hadn't really made a mistake after all.
When Tuckerman had the _Argo_ well in hand again and could think ofother matters, he said to Ben, "We've seen plenty of rocks and ledges,but nary a thing that could properly be called a cliff. A cliff, I takeit, is something fairly high and mighty, not so steep as Gibraltarperhaps, but as large as a good-sized barn-door."
"While we've been hunting for cliffs," said David, "I suppose Ben hasworked this all out. What are your conclusions, oh wise one?"
"Never you mind, my boy. The clever magician waits till he haseverything in order before he performs his trick."
"Ben's got something up his sleeve," put in Tom. "I can always tell whenhe talks in that grand way. But there's no use trying to make him tellus, Dave. The way to make an oyster talk is to pay no attention to it."
Ben said nothing, though the temptation was great as the _Argo_ reachedthe northern end of the island, where high rocks came down to the water.
Tuckerman admitted these were cliffs, but there were a number of them,and how was he to tell which was the one they wanted? They sailed slowlyalong, watching the shore and speculating as to what the message in thedesk referred. And while the other three talked Ben sat silent, tryingto picture what had happened to James Sampson there more than a centurybefore.
Ben had a good imagination, and it led him to see Sampson as a servantof Sir Peter Cotterell, a faithful serving-man, who always did what hismaster told him. When the men of Barmouth threatened to take Sir Peter'streasure the old Tory gave some of his most valuable possessions toSampson, and the latter carried them to this end of the island where hehad a small boat that should carry him to the mainland. When he reachedthe shore, however, he saw other Barmouth men patrolling the coast intheir own boats and so his escape that way was cut off. With quick withe hid the treasures in a cleft of the rock and blocked up thehiding-place. Ben could see it all, even to Sir Peter, in knee-breechesand wig, commending James Sampson when the man returned and related whathe had done. "Good and faithful servant," said Sir Peter; "the rascalsare outwitted again!" And doubtless Sir Peter took Sampson into thedining-room and poured him out a glass of rum. Ben wasn't sure aboutthat; it might not have been rum; but rum sounded well, it smacked ofold-time adventure. Yes, probably it was rum; and Sampson had wiped hismouth with the sleeve of his jacket and laughed with his master at thethought of the men of Barmouth sitting out there in their boats, like somany cats waiting outside a mouse-hole.
"Come out of it, Ben! Wake up!"
Ben looked up with a start. Tom was laughing at him. "Where are you,Benjie? A million miles away!"
"No," answered Ben, "I was listening to Sir Peter talking to a man youdon't any of you know anything about."
"Your precious mahogany man?" asked Tom. "Don't tell me you learnedsomething more about him while you were up at the house."
"He means the man with the big feet," said David. "Did you find hisprints in the house?"
"David," said Ben solemnly, "you're absolutely certain you saw thosefootprints of a man on the bank of the creek, are you?"
"Absolutely," David stated. "You don't think it was some animal wearinga man's shoes, do you?"
"No. I thought you saw them. But I looked this morning in the sameplace, and there aren't any prints there now."
There followed a moment's silence; then Tuckerman exploded a loud"What?"
"Vanished, vamoosed, flown away," Ben said with a nod.
"My eye!" exclaimed David. "This is too horrible! Is the islandhaunted?"
"It is peculiar," said Tuckerman, frowning at the shore.
"Look out!" sang out Tom.
The _Argo_, her helmsman unheeding his business, was slowly comingabout, with a ledge of rock dead ahead. Tuckerman wheeled around, putthe tiller over--the dory righted again.
"Ben," said Tom, "don't you spring anything like that on us again, withthe Professor sailing this boat. If you've got any other fairy tales,you keep them till we're on shore."
"My fault," said the skipper. "I'm learning. My first business is tobring us safe up to the dock."
"And my first business," added David, "is to get something to eat.Mysteries may come and go, but three square meals a day are alwaysneedful. How about that, Ben, my son? What did Sir Peter and this otherfriend of yours live on?"
"Rum," said the solemn Ben.
"Rum! You're a rum one! Are you sure you didn't drink some of SirPeter's rum before you went to the creek and found that the footprintswere missing?"
But Ben only smiled. He could afford to smile when he knew that he, andhe alone, had a copy of James Sampson's complete message tucked away inhis pocket.
Peter Cotterell's Treasure Page 6
