by Howard Pyle
As they swept under the lee of the barque Mr. Winterbury stood up in the stern sheets of the boat. There were a row of faces looking down at them from the forecastle, and two or three sailors were standing on the bulwarks, holding on to the shrouds. They, too, were looking down into the boat. Two men were standing near to the break of the poop. One of them was a handsome young fellow of about twenty; the other was a tall, rather loose-jointed man, somewhat round-shouldered, and a little past the prime of life. He had his hands clasped behind him, and he hailed the first mate as soon as the cutter came alongside.
“Did you find them all safe and sound, Mr. Winterbury?”
“Yes, sir; safe and sound.”
Mr. Winterbury went up the side first, and Jack and Tom followed close at his heels. They were met by Captain Williamson as soon as they had stepped upon the deck. He shook hands with them, and immediately asked them to step into the cabin, for he must have seen that it was trying to them to be stared at by all of the ship’s crew. There was a decanter of Madeira and three glasses on the cabin table. Captain Williamson bade Tom and Jack be seated, and then sat down himself. He filled one of the glasses, and then passed the decanter to the others, bidding them to fill likewise, which they did.
It may not be out of place here to give you a description of Captain Williamson. He was one of the skippers of the last century, the like of which we rarely, if ever, see nowadays. He was part owner in the craft that he sailed, and made a good thing of it. He came of an old Annapolis family, and was a courteous, kindly, Christian gentleman, though stiff and formal in his manners. He fancied that he looked like General Washington, and it was a weakness of his to act and carry himself as nearly as he could after the manner of the General, who, by the by, was a distant relative or connection, though by marriage, if I mistake not. Another weakness of his was a fancy that he would have made a great naval captain if he had only had the opportunity.
As it was, he had never smelt fighting powder in all his life; nor was he likely to do so, for, though no coward, he was cautious and careful in the extreme, and would never willingly have entered into action, even with a fighting bum-boat. He always wore a cocked hat, like an admiral, knee-breeches, buckles and pumps, and when he was standing still rested mainly on one foot, with his hands clasped behind him and the knee of the other leg bent, just as General Washington always stands in the pictures that one sees of him.
So he sat now, with one knee crossed over the other, very stiff and straight, just as General Washington might have sat if he had been sitting in the cabin.
“May I ask which of you is the first mate?” said he.
“I’m the first mate, sir,” said Jack.
“Mr. Baldwin, I believe?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was it you, sir, who conceived the extremely ingenious and clever plan of sending bags or bladders of porpoise hide afloat, with your condition and location inclosed within them?”
“No, sir,” said Jack, “it was my mate here,” and he chucked his thumb toward Tom.
“It was a very clever thought — very clever indeed,” said Captain Williamson, turning to Tom. “How did you get that black substance with which it was covered?”
“We mixed the porpoise blubber with soot,” said Tom.
The captain nodded his head. “Very clever indeed,” said he again, “it was very efficacious, for the bladder was quite covered with the substance when we picked it up — so much so, indeed, that my fingers were thoroughly befouled in the handling of it. And was it you, also, who made the map of the island?”
“Yes, sir,” said Tom again.
Then Captain Williamson nodded his head once more, and said for the third time: “Very clever — very clever, indeed.” Then he told Tom that the Baltimore had picked up the bladder off the Florida coast. “It was,” said he, “but fifty miles out of my course to come to this island, for I am bound for New York harbor. I recognized the situation of the island from the plan of it found enclosed in the bladder.”
“It was a kind and Christian act on your part,” said Tom. “Very few captains would have run fifty miles out of their course to pick up two poor souls, ‘specially while so many British cruisers are about. I and my mate—”
Here he stopped, for a great lump rose in his throat until it seemed to choke him.
“Tut! tut! tut! tut!” said Captain Williamson, holding up his hand deprecatingly; “it was no more than one Christian man ought to do for another. Say no more of that, I beg of you. There are many questions that I wish to ask of you in reference to the loss of the Nancy Hazlewood, but I will not trouble you with questions just at this season. I will beg of you to give such an account, however, after you are refreshed with clean linen and clothes, and what not.”
As Captain Williamson paused for a moment Tom looked at Jack, and saw that he fidgeted restlessly in his chair when the other spoke of the Nancy Hazlewood. There was a great deal about her loss that would be very difficult and very bitter to tell.
“In the meantime,” said Captain Williamson, resuming his speech, “you need have no anxiety about anything that you may desire to fetch away from the island with you, for I have sent a boat ashore under my second mate, Mr. Bright. He will see that everything is brought safely away from your hut or cabin. So, as I said, you need have no anxiety on that score.”
At these words Jack and Tom sprung to their feet, for the thought struck them both at once that their money would be found, and that in an hour’s time every man aboard of the ship would not only know that the two castaways had been digging for treasure, but would also know where that treasure had been found. It would be no secret then, but would be known to all, and there was no telling what such knowledge might bring with it. It was a thing that no one but the captain or the chief officers of the ship should be aware of just at the present time.
“Captain Williamson,” cried Jack, “for the love of heaven, don’t let that boat go ashore just yet! Tom, you speak to him, you’re blessed with the gift of talk; speak to him, and tell him about the mon — , about you know what.”
“Yes, captain,” cried Tom, “for heaven’s sake don’t let the boat go ashore till we tell you something first.”
Captain Williamson had also risen to his feet. He seemed to be very much amazed at their words. “Why not? Why shouldn’t the boat go ashore?” said he. “What does all this mean?”
“Has the boat left the ship yet, captain?” said Tom.
“Yes; the boat has left the ship; but what does all this mean, I say?”
“Then, stop it — call it back!” cried Tom.
Jack was walking up and down, patting his clenched fist in his excitement. “I’ll tell you what it means,” he blurted out; “it means that there’s nigh to nine thousand dollars in silver money in that hut, and that the crew of the boat mustn’t find it there.”
“Nine thousand dollars!” repeated Captain Williamson; and then he stopped and stood glaring at the two men as though he doubted he had heard aright.
“Yes,” said Jack, thumping his fist down on the table, “nine thousand dollars, and if you let that boat’s crew find it, and find where it came from, you’ll be chucking a fortune from your own hands into their pockets. For heaven’s sake, stop the boat — call it back!”
Then Captain Williamson stepped quickly to the door and flung it open. “Mr. Winterbury!” cried he, sharply.
“Aye, aye, sir!”
“Call the cutter back!”
“Call the—”
“Call the cutter back!”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
There was a pause, and then Tom and Jack heard the bellow of the mate’s voice in the trumpet:
“Cutter ahoy-y-y-y!”
Captain Williamson stood with his head out of the cabin door, and presently they heard him ask:
“Do they hear you, sir?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then signal them back.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
&n
bsp; Then Captain Williamson drew in his head, shutting the door carefully, and resumed his seat. He passed his hand over his face, and crossed his knees, and then put on his Washingtonian air again. I think that he was half ashamed of the excitement that had driven him out of it a moment before.
“Now, Mr. Granger,” said he, “since Mr. Baldwin has called upon you to be the spokesman, will you tell me what all this means?”
“Yes, sir; I will,” said Tom. “Of course, you will have to know everything, after what has passed; but I should have told you of it anyhow, for I put much trust in your honor.”
“You are perfectly right to do so,” said Captain Williamson. “Sit down, if you please.”
Then the two sat down again, and Tom began his story. Captain Williamson did not say a word to interrupt him, but every now and then he looked sharply from Tom to Jack, and from Jack back again to Tom. He sat with his elbows on the arms of his chair, and the tips of his fingers just touching each other; but he did not move a muscle, excepting as he turned his head when he looked first at one, and then at the other.
At last Tom had made an end of the story. Captain Williamson did not move for a second or two, but he sat just as he had been doing all along. Then he drew a deep breath, and arose from his chair. He took a turn or two up and down the cabin; then he stopped suddenly in front of Tom and Jack.
“This is an extraordinary — a most extraordinary tale,” said he. “I never heard the like in all my life. It’s like a tale in a romance, and I can scarcely believe that I have heard aright. That you should find a treasure on this—”
Here he stopped abruptly and looked sharply from one to the other. “Surely, there can be nothing false and underhand in all this,” he said.
“I suppose the story does sound strange to you,” said Tom. “I reckon that it’s because we’re so used to it that it don’t seem as though it ought to be strange. It’s the truth, though, captain. There wouldn’t be any use in our telling you a lie, for you can easily prove the truth of it for yourself.”
“True, true,” said he, and then he began walking up and down the cabin again. “What do you intend to do about the matter now?” said he, stopping for a moment, and turning to the others.
Tom and Jack looked at one another.
“I’ll leave the whole thing to you, Tom,” said Jack. “It was you who found the money — at least, it was you that found out where it was. I suppose it ought all to belong to you, by rights.”
“That’s all nonsense, Jack,” said Tom. “It was you who found it first; but even if you hadn’t, we’re mates, and it’s share and share alike between us.”
“Well, I reckon that’s no more than fair,” said Jack, “but it don’t matter in this case; I’ll leave the whole thing to you.”
Tom sat lost in thought for a few moments. At last he spoke: “I’d make this proposal,” said he; “that we put the whole thing in the hands of Captain Williamson, leaving him to do what he thinks best in the matter, only having him guarantee to share all gains that shall come from it with us. It seems to me that we certainly owe as much as this to him, and that it’s the least that we can do. What do you think, Jack?”
Jack hesitated for a moment. “Well,” said he, “I suppose that it’s no more than what’s right.”
“I think not,” said Tom. “What do you say about it, captain?”
“It’s for you to say,” said Captain Williamson. “Of course, I’ll be glad to go into the matter with you, but I wish you to understand that I don’t want you to feel that any money is due me because I ran a few miles out of my course to pick you up. That was no more than one man could be expected to do for another. If I come into this, it must be on purely business grounds, and not as a gift of gratitude from you.”
“Very well,” said Tom. “What do you think would be fair terms between us?”
“If you have no objections, I would like to talk with my first mate about it,” said Captain Williamson.
Jack and Tom looked at one another again.
“Do you think that there’s any special need of his knowing about it?” said Jack. “It seems to me that we’re taking in a good many. It’s all right that you should share with us, seeing that you’ve treated us in such a handsome manner. I acknowledge that very few captains would have sailed out of their course in times of war for the sake of picking up a couple of poor, shipwrecked devils, with nothing to be gained by it, and, apart from the business part of it, I think likely that we owe that much to you; but I don’t see why the mate should be taken in, too.”
“I don’t know that he will expect to be ‘taken in,’” said Captain Williamson, somewhat coldly, “but I think that you’ll find his advice in the matter will be of help to you. You may rely upon it that the secret will be as safe with him as it will be with me.”
“All right,” said Jack; “if Tom don’t care, I don’t, either.”
So Mr. Winterbury was called into the cabin, and Tom told the story of the finding of the treasure all over again.
“What do you think of it, Mr. Winterbury?” said Captain Williamson, when Tom had ended.
“I think it’s the most extraordinary yarn that ever I heard in all my life.”
“Exactly my thought. And now, if Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Granger will excuse us for a moment or two, I would like to have a few words with you outside.” Then they went out, and Jack and Tom were left alone.
“It seems to me that you did rather too much, Tom,” said Jack.
“I think it was as little as we could do,” said Tom. “They’ve sailed fifty miles out of their course to pick us up, without expecting so much as a red cent for it, so I think it was as little as we could do.”
“Oh, all right; I’m not finding fault,” said Jack. “I don’t mean to find any fault at all; I was only giving you my notion about it. I’m satisfied.”
But it was very plain, from the way in which he spoke, that he was not satisfied.
In a little while Captain Williamson and Mr. Winterbury came into the cabin again. Then the captain asked a number of questions about the wreck — how much of it they had already uncovered, etc., etc.
“We’ve uncovered a little less than one quarter of it, I should judge,” said Tom, looking to Jack for confirmation.
Jack nodded his head.
Then Captain Williamson told them what his idea was about it. That he did not think that the wreck was that of a treasure ship, as they had not found money enough in it for that; that he had no doubt that the vessel had been carrying newly-minted money to some one of the Spanish provinces when she had been cast on the beach — probably in a south-easterly gale. From what they had already found, he thought that there might have been from forty to fifty thousand dollars in her all together, and that there might be from thirty to forty thousand dollars yet left under the sand. He said that he would undertake to find the rest of the money, and that he would send or take out a ship stocked with provisions for that purpose, the expense of which he would bear himself. That all wages and expenses above that should be paid out of the money that they should find, and that the net gain should be shared equally between them, each taking a third. “Or,” said he, in conclusion, “I will buy either or both of your interests out, accepting all the risks myself. I will give you each six thousand dollars for your share in the venture, for which I offer a note payable at ninety days, with safe indorsement.” He then said that he would give them a week to think over the offer he had made, and would be glad to hear anything that they might have to propose.
I will say here, that at the end of a week they had made up their minds to run their chances of what might be found, and that it paid them to do so.
A little later in the morning Captain Williamson and Mr. Winterbury and Jack and Tom went ashore in the captain’s gig. They left the gig and the crew of it a little distance up the beach, while they four walked down to the hut, Tom and Jack carrying a small sea-chest between them, in which to store the money that was hidden unde
r a pile of brush-wood in the cabin. Then they went out on the sand-spit to inspect the wreck, and Captain Williamson renewed the offer that he had made in the cabin of the Baltimore, and said again that they might take a week to think it over.
Then they tore down the breakwater that Tom and Jack had built, so that the sea might make in during the next storm, and so hide the work that they had done. After this they went back to the gig, and Captain Williamson sent four of the men to the hut for the chest of money.
So, at last, their life upon the island came to an end.
They had a safe and quick journey home, entering Sandy Hook on the 20th of the month. They were quarantined for a couple of days through some delay, and landed in New York on the 23d.
During the voyage home, Jack gave Captain Williamson an account of the loss of the Hazlewood. The captain looked very serious over it; he did not say anything, but he shook his head. He evidently thought that it was a very shady piece of business.
The day after they landed in New York, Jack and Tom took stage to Philadelphia, which they reached a little after noon of the 26th.
You all know what followed. The Board of Trade appointed a committee to inquire into the circumstances of the loss of the ship Nancy Hazlewood. Tom did not write a letter home, because he expected that every day would be his last in town; but the investigation dragged along until more than a week had been consumed by the committee.
Both Tom and Jack were blamed, because that they had come off with their lives, while the captain and most of the crew had gone down in the ship. Mr. Blakie, of the firm of Blakie & Howard, said some particularly bitter and cutting things, which might have stung Tom very sharply if he had not felt that, by rights, there was not much blame resting upon him.
