Alger Horatio Jr.
In Search of Treasure
CHAPTER XXXV
THE CRUISE OF THE OSPREY
Guy and his two companions looked at one another, with pale faces and sinking hearts.
“What does it mean?” Guy faltered.
“It means,” said Abner, hoarsely, “that that fiend, Captain Richmond, has served us as he did the poor sailor, John Wolf.”
“But he can’t have gone away for good! He will come back!”
Guy spoke hopefully, but he did not himself believe what he said.
“Just as we had succeeded, too!”
“If we had only made the discovery yesterday; but now it is too late!”
“Boys,” said Abner Titcomb, “let us sit down and discuss our position as calmly as we can. If there is any favorable side to it let us try to find it.”
“But is there any?” sighed Luke Clark.
“Yes; to begin with, we sha’n’t starve. The products of the island will sustain us, as they did John Wolf.”
“But life won’t be worth sustaining if we have to live as he did. We may be driven, like him, to throw ourselves into the sea.”
“He was alone, and there are three of us. Besides, our fate will be known to the whole ship’s crew.”
“I don’t understand why the mate permitted it.”
“No doubt he protested, but what could he do? In a conflict of authority between the captain and the mate the latter must go to the wall.”
“Then what hope is there?”
“As soon as the ship reaches Bombay someone on board will notify Mr. Saunders of what has happened.”
“Frank Low would do that, if there were no one else,” said Guy, beginning to be hopeful.
“Yes; and he would send for us.”
“But weeks must pass before help can arrive.”
“True; and they will seem more like months; but I am sure all will come right in the end.”
“Meanwhile,” said Guy, recovering in a measure from his depression, “we must adapt ourselves to circumstances, and make ourselves as comfortable as we can.”
“Let us begin, then, by taking lunch. We have been so occupied with the treasure that we have forgotten to eat.”
Meanwhile the Osprey was speeding from the island, and was already fifty miles away. Everyone on board, even to the humblest sailor, looked grave. Everyone was thinking of poor Guy and his companions on their island prison.
Guy was a general favorite, partly on account of his good looks, partly on account of his bright, kindly ways, and indignation against the captain on account of his cruel and inhuman course was general and intense.
When the time came for dinner, the captain sat down to it alone. Mr. Forbush, the mate, excused himself on the plea that he had no appetite.
Captain Richmond was angry, for he penetrated the mate’s objection to sitting down with him.
“Just as you please, Mr. Forbush,” he said, in a tone of irritation, “but you are acting very foolishly.”
“You may regard it in that light, if you choose, Captain Richmond,” returned the mate, coldly.
“Have you anything to say to me?” asked the captain, defiantly.
“I have already expressed my opinion of your course,” said Forbush, frigidly.
“I know what I am about,” blustered the captain.
“You have said that before. I can only repeat that I am glad of it.”
“Perhaps you mean to dispute my authority,” said the captain, in a quarrelsome tone.
“Wait till I do, sir.”
Captain Richmond swore softly to himself, and eyed the mate with a glance far from friendly.
So the day passed, and another dawned.
Captain Richmond was unusually irritable. He saw that all on board looked at him askance. The sailors obeyed him, so that he had no excuse for complaint, but there was an utter absence of cordiality, and he was in the position of a social outcast who is “sent to Coventry.”
This is not a pleasant position for anyone, least of all for an arrogant and ill-tempered man like Captain Richmond. While it cannot be said that he regretted his inhuman conduct, he was angry at the unpopularity he had acquired through it.
Besides, he could not doubt that it would be reported at Bombay, and the matter perhaps brought to the attention of the American consul. Whenever he thought of this he felt vaguely uncomfortable, but he was too self-willed to retrace his course and thus admit himself to be in the wrong.
“Where is all this going to end, Mr. Forbush?” asked the boatswain one day. “Are those poor fellows to be left to their fate?”
“No,” answered the mate, firmly. “I shall report the matter when we reach Bombay, and I will agree to head an expedition for their relief.”
“But how will they get along meanwhile? Won’t they starve?”
“No. Titcomb told me that the island produced enough to sustain life.”
“Will not Captain Richmond be punished?”
“I earnestly hope so. If my representations will effect it, he will lose his command.”
“The man must be a fiend.”
“He is getting worse and worse. He does not treat me with ordinary civility, and he is beginning to abuse the men. He has not a pleasant word for anyone.”
It was indeed true that Captain Richmond was becoming more despotic and tyrannical than ever. On the least provocation he would fell a seaman to the deck or launch a volley of curses at him.
As a consequence, there were more angry looks than ever directed toward him as he paced the deck with hasty strides, shaking his head, and muttering words that could not be understood.
One day he treated with unusual brutality the Italian sailor already referred to, Guido Leporelli.
Guido was a short man, not much over five feet in height, and the captain probably regarded him with contempt, as one whom it would be safe to bully. In personal strength, Leporelli was as a mere child compared to the robust captain, but he had his share of the fiery and revengeful spirit that characterizes a large number of his countrymen.
On this day the mate caught the glance with which he regarded the captain. It made him shudder.
“I should not like to make an enemy of Leporelli,” he said to himself. “I think he means mischief.”
It was in his mind to warn Captain Richmond of his danger, but he reflected that, should he do so, it would bring upon the Italian worse treatment than ever, and he was not willing to run this risk.
“The captain must take his chances,” he decided.
It was on the morning of the ninth day after leaving the island that Captain Richmond, in pacing the deck, came upon Leporelli. The Italian was moving at a slow pace, for he had a rheumatic affection in his left leg.
“Move faster, you lazy hound!” said the captain, roughly, and he dealt the little Italian a cruel blow in the face.
The eyes of Guido Leporelli blazed with wrath. With a smothered ejaculation in his native tongue he pulled out a murderous-looking knife, which he had been carrying for several days, and in a flash it was buried in the breast of the burly captain.
Captain Richmond fell forward, dying almost instantly, for the knife had penetrated his heart.
A smile of supreme satisfaction overspread the Italian’s face as he saw his brutal tormentor dead at his feet.
“I am avenged!” he cried. “Now I am ready to die!”
With the blood-stained knife still in his hand he ran to the edge of the vessel and sprang into the sea.
No one tried to prevent him, and no one tried to rescue him. His life was forfeited by his act, and the mate, who was now bending over the captain, felt that his self-punishment was the speediest settlement of a troublesome complication.
The captain was raised and carried to his cabin. Restoratives were applied, but in vain. It soon became evident that the Italian’s thrust was fatal. Death had been instantaneous.
There was a frown on the captain’s face that made it repellent, yet natural, for his countenance in life had been seldom without it.
Mr. Forbush assumed command, as his position required. The captain’s body was sewed up in sailcloth and committed to the deep, the ex-mate reading the burial service.
Then the crew were summoned to meet the new captain.
“Men,” said Captain Forbush, “the captain’s death has made me your commander.”
There was an attempt at applause, but with a wave of his hand Mr. Forbush stopped it.
“I shall try to deserve your confidence and good will,” he continued. “Of the dead let us think and speak only in pity. He had his faults, but he has been terribly punished. It is proper for me to state, as I take command, that I shall immediately reverse the ship’s course and return to the island for Guy Fenwick and his two companions.”
Then there was a burst of approving cheers which Captain Forbush did not check.
CHAPTER XXXVI
RESCUED
Meanwhile, the three prisoners on the island were passing their time dismally enough. There was actually nothing for them to do except to seek enough of the produce of the island to sustain life.
This they were able to do, but they soon tired of their monotonous bill of fare.
“I would give something for a good New England breakfast,” said Abner Titcomb, one morning.
“Baked beans and brown bread?” suggested Guy, with a smile.
“Yes; or fishcakes, rolls, and coffee—anything substantial, instead of these sweet, cloying fruits.”
“I think I agree with you, Abner,” said Guy.
“I am sure I do,” added Luke Clark.
It may seem strange that they had never made a second visit to the place where the treasure was concealed; but it had lost its attractions for them.
They did not even speculate as to its value. It was absolutely worthless to them in their present condition.
They spent most of their time on the summit of the hill, looking out to sea in search of a ship. They felt that the Osprey would be sent back for them, but it was long to wait. If they could get off sooner, so much the better.
Abner Titcomb had a marine glass with him, and this helped them.
Once with his glass he espied a ship, a mere speck in the distance, and there was hope that it would come nearer the island.
They tried to signal it, but it was too far away, and no heed was paid to the white sailcloth that they hoisted above the hill on a branch of a tree. This was a severe disappointment.
“John Wolf was here four years without signaling a sail,” said Luke Clark, in a tone of discouragement. “There seems to be little hope for us.”
So day followed day, and each one seemed longer than the last.
They liked to sit and talk of their New England homes, and all that made them attractive. They tried to fancy how those who were dear to them were occupied.
“My father is writing his sermon for Sunday,” Guy would say on a Saturday morning. “What would he think if he could know where I am?”
“It is well he doesn’t know, since he could do you no good,” rejoined Titcomb.
“Yes; it would only make the dear old man unhappy. I don’t want him to know it till he also knows that I am safe.”
“How long is it since we were left here?” asked Luke Clark. “Have you kept the record?”
“Yes, this is the seventeenth day.”
“And we are still alive! Well that’s a comfort, any way.”
Abner Titcomb had been using his glass.
“Boys!” he said, suddenly, in a tone of excitement, “I see a sail!”
“Where?” exclaimed Guy and Luke Clark together.
Titcomb pointed in a direction east by south.
“Look again! Notice if it seems to be approaching the island.”
There was silence for five minutes.
“Yes,” he said, “it seems to be coming toward us. Here, Guy, your eyes are better than mine; take the glass, and see whether I am right.”
Guy took the glass and turned it in the direction of the ship.
“Abner! Luke!” he said, in a tremulous voice. “I think it looks like the Osprey.”
“Give me the glass—quick!” said Luke.
He took a long look seaward.
“Well, well! What do you make out?” asked Abner.
“I think Guy is right. It does look like the Osprey.”
“But it can’t be! There has not been time for her to go to Bombay and return.”
This was evident, and they felt that they could not be correct.
But half an hour later it was clear that the ship was steering for the island. An hour later all were sure that it was the Osprey.
“Let us raise our signal and then go down to the beach,” said Guy.
His suggestion was followed. Leaving the signal on the summit of the hill, they made their way downward, through the belt of woods, to the shore.
Still one or another looked through the glass until doubt became certainty, and the familiar form of the Osprey was clearly to be seen.
“Thank God!” said Titcomb, fervently.
No sooner was the Osprey near enough than a boat was lowered. Among those it bore were Forbush and Frank Low.
As they landed, the three prisoners rushed joyfully to greet them.
“Then Captain Richmond relented?” said Guy. “He repented of his inhuman course?”
“Captain Richmond is dead,” said Frank Low, gravely. “Mr. Forbush is now captain.”
“But how did he die? Was he stricken with disease?”
“He fell a victim to his brutality. He was stabbed to the heart by Leporelli, whom he had abused.”
It was Captain Forbush who said this.
“As soon as I took command I ordered the ship’s course to be reversed, and I came here in search of you. I will give you a reasonable time to find the treasure.”
“Captain Forbush, the treasure is found!” said Guy. “To-morrow I will ask you to lend me the assistance of two of your sailors to carry it on board the Osprey.”
“You shall have it,” said the captain, promptly. “I congratulate you, Guy, on your success.”
CHAPTER XXXVII
DIVIDING THE TREASURE
John Saunders sat in his office in Bombay. Before him lay a letter from his New York correspondent, Gilbert Frazer.
It ran thus:
I have had a call from a boy of sixteen, Guy Fenwick, who showed credentials from you, and appears to have been intrusted with an extraordinary commission. I complied with your instructions and supplied him with the money he called for, as per account inclosed. I hope I have done right. It seemed singular to me that you should have employed as your confidential agent a boy so young. I hope you will excuse the liberty I take in referring to this.
There was more of the same tenor.
Mr. Saunders read the note with a complacent smile.
“I have no doubt Frazer was very much surprised,” he said to himself. “Indeed, I should myself have been surprised had anyone told me a year since that I would have so far trusted so young an agent. But Guy Fenwick is an extraordinary boy, and I still feel that I have made no mistake.
“To be sure,” he added, after a pause, “this expedition in search of the pirates’ treasure may be foolish, but even on that I reserve my decision. I shall be interested to hear how Guy makes out.”
He was interrupted by the opening of the office door and the sudden entrance of the boy who had been occupying his thoughts.
“Guy Fenwick!” he exclaimed, in a tone of evident pleasure.
“Yes, Mr. Saunders,” said Guy, with a smile. “Didn’t you expect to see me again?”
“Not so soon. What have you to report? Did you find the island?”
“Yes, sir; and that was not all.”
“You don’t mean to say that you have found the treasure?”
“Yes, I do. It is at the door, in charge of three men, and with your permission I will have it brought in.”
Without waiting for an answer Guy gave a signal, and three strong men carried in the sailor’s chest which had been unearthed at the island. Guy dismissed the men, and then, unlocking the chest, threw it open, disclosing the treasure.
The merchant was dazzled.
“This is wonderful!” he ejaculated.
“Now, Mr. Saunders,” said Guy, “I have fulfilled my part of the contract. I will leave the treasure with you.”
“I will have it appraised and render an account to you, Guy. You will dine with me?”
“Thank you, sir; but in the meantime, as I have been confined so long on shipboard, I will go out and take a walk.”
It was three days before the examination and appraisal were completed. Then Mr. Saunders announced to his young agent that the value of the treasure was fifty thousand pounds, or two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
“Of this,” he said, “your share is one-half, or one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“But, sir, you advanced me a thousand pounds!”
“I shall make no account of that. You deserve a full half as a reward for your energy and enterprise.”
“And I am really worth over a hundred thousand dollars?” said Guy, hardly able to realize his good fortune.
“Yes; and if you choose to stay with me I will employ you at a liberal salary.”
“Thank you, Mr. Saunders; but I would like a year’s vacation. I want to go home and gladden my father with the good news.”
“Certainly. That is only reasonable.”
The Osprey, on its return voyage, carried Guy and his two assistants as passengers.
He divided ten thousand dollars between Abner Titcomb, Luke Clark, and Captain Forbush, feeling that he was under special obligations to all three, and that he would still be left as rich as he could reasonably desire.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
BACK IN BAYPORT
In Bayport, things were moving on as usual. From week to week the Rev. Mr. Fenwick appeared in the pulpit of the village church, and officiated to the satisfaction of all but a small minority of the parish.
For there were a few malcontents, headed by Deacon Crane, who had not yet lost the hope of seeing the pulpit filled by his cousin, who, not being popular, had been unemployed more than half the time during the past year.
The deacon went about and dropped disparaging remarks about Mr. Fenwick, but they did not bear fruit. To his chagrin, he found that very few cared for a change.
He was perplexed, but none the less determined to bring about his desires.
To facilitate his purpose, he informed the treasurer of the parish that he should reduce by one-half his subscription to the parish expenses.
“Why is this, Deacon Crane?” asked the treasurer. “Are you getting poor?”
“No, Brother Jones; but I ain’t exactly satisfied with our pastor.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t seem to get much spiritooal refreshment from his sermons.”
“The rest of the congregation do, and they are to be considered.”
The deacon had nothing to say in reply, but he stayed at home the next Sunday.
One reason for his dissatisfaction came from a letter he had received from his clerical relative, asking for the loan of one hundred dollars.
“I can’t lend you the money,” he replied; “but if I can get the parish to dismiss Mr. Fenwick, I will try to get you in his place.”
It was while the deacon was exercised in this way that his son Noah ran into the store one afternoon and exclaimed: “Who do you think has just gone past the store?”
“You had better tell me, Noah. I can’t waste my time in guessing.”
“It was the minister’s son, Guy.”
Deacon Crane pricked up his ears.
“How did he look?”
“Pretty fair.”
“He’s probably lost his place, and come home to live on his father.”
“Shouldn’t be a bit surprised, dad.”
“Noah,” said the deacon, much shocked, “never call me dad again! It isn’t respectful!”
“All right, father. You’d better call at the minister’s and find out what brings Guy home this time.”
“I think I may have occasion to call this evening,” replied the deacon.
Meanwhile we will follow Guy home.
His father was overjoyed to see his son back again, for he was deeply attached to his only child.
After the first greetings were over, Guy said: “You don’t ask me whether I am still at work for Mr. Saunders.”
“I thought you would tell me in due time, Guy. Now I can only think with joy of your return.”
“Well, father, I mean to stay at home, or at least near home, for a year. Mr. Saunders has given me a vacation of twelve months.”
“Doubtless, my son, you can find some employment here, since he will not need you for a year.”
Guy smiled.
“There is no reason to worry about that, father,” he said. “How are you getting on with Deacon Crane?”
“I think, Guy, he would prefer to have a younger man in my place. It makes me feel that I am growing old.”
“Pooh, father! You are only fifty-two. But, tell me, did you not at one time think of writing a commentary on the Gospels?”
“Yes, Guy; but my sermon writing takes all my time.”
“Then why not apply to the parish to give you a young man as a colleague?”
“The parish cannot afford to pay two salaries.”
“Then you might offer to serve as senior pastor without salary.”
“But, Guy, how am I to live?”
“What salary does the parish pay you now?”
“A thousand dollars.”
“Very well, father, ask for an assistant, and I will pay you twelve hundred dollars a year.”
“I suppose you are joking, Guy.”
“Not at all. I am in earnest.”
“But where are you to get the money?” asked Mr. Fenwick, looking at his son in bewilderment.
“I must tell you, father, that I am worth over a hundred thousand dollars.”
“If you had not always been truthful, Guy, I should think that you were trying to deceive me.”
Then Guy explained. The explanation was, to his father, a marvelous one, and he had many questions to ask.
“Now, father,” Guy concluded, “I will alter the terms of my proposal. I will make over to you outright the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars, and you can invest it so as to produce a good income.”
Finally, Mr. Fenwick accepted his son’s proposal, and agreed to communicate with the parish.
That same evening Deacon Crane tapped at the door and was admitted. Guy was at home, and sat demurely in his father’s study.
“So you’ve got home, have you, Guy?” was his greeting, preceded by a cough. “Noah told me he saw you go by the store.”
“Yes; Noah is a great friend of mine,” returned Guy, with a smile. “I hope he is well.”
“Yes; I am thankful to say he is. He’s a good stiddy boy, Noah is; he don’t go gadding about all over the world.”
“Like me?” suggested Guy, with a smile.
The deacon coughed, but did not disclaim the amendment.
“Have you lost your place?” he asked.
“Mr. Saunders has given me a year’s vacation,” answered Guy.
“Humph!” said the deacon. “That’s rather hard on you. You may find it difficult to get a place round here.”
“I shall not try for one. I am going to stay at home with father part of the time.”
“You’re pretty young to retire from business,” sneered the deacon.
“I shall be glad to have Noah call on me.”
“I don’t approve of Noah bein’ idle. He’s helpin’ me in the store, out of school.”
“By the way, Deacon Crane,” said the minister, who was enjoying in his quiet way the deacon’s misunderstanding, “I am glad you called in. I want to consult you about church matters. Guy wants me to ask for a younger man to share with me the responsibilities of parish work, as a colleague.”
“Mr. Fenwick,” said the deacon, greatly surprised, “you must be aware that the parish cannot afford to pay two ministers. As it is, we are cramped by our agreement to pay you a thousand dollars.”
“For that reason I propose to relinquish my own salary. There will be but one salary to pay.”
“But,” said the deacon, inexpressibly surprised, “how are you going to live?”
“Perhaps I ought to mention that a relative has given me twenty-five thousand dollars. I can live on the income arising from that.”
Deacon Crane looked at the minister with greatly increased respect, for he set high value on worldly prosperity.
“Why, that makes you a rich man, Mr. Fenwick,” he said.
“Indeed, I feel so.”
“But I didn’t know you had any rich relatives.”
“Nor I, till to-day.”
“Do you mind telling me who has given you this handsome fortune?”
“Guy,” answered the minister, briefly.
“I didn’t come here to be made a fool of!” said the deacon, angrily, half rising in his chair.
“No one has tried to make a fool of you,” returned Guy, quickly. “I have been very fortunate, and can well afford to give my father twenty-five thousand dollars. He is anxious to get time to write a commentary on the Gospels, and so I have induced him to ask for a colleague.”
“Is this really true, Guy?”
“You can rely upon it, Deacon Crane. Father may have occasion to consult you about the investment of his money.”
“I’ll be very glad to oblige him,” said the deacon, generously. “When will he come into possession of the amount?”
“Next week.”
“I congratulate you heartily, Guy,” said the deacon, very cordially. “I always thought you were a smart boy.”
“I am sorry you don’t want Noah to come to see me. I have brought him a gold watch from New York.”
“I’ll send him right over,” said the deacon, briskly. “He thinks a sight of you.”
“I am glad to hear that. I shall always be glad to do him a good turn.”
“I guess I must be goin’,” said the deacon, who was anxious to spread the wonderful news.
“Well, father, did you see Guy?” asked Noah, when his father entered the store.
“Yes, I did.”
“Is he out of work?”
“He needn’t work any more as long as he lives,” said the deacon, solemnly. “Guy’s come home with a fortune. He’s just given his father twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Noah listened with eyes and mouth wide open.
“Do tell, pa!” he said.
“Yes. Guy’s an awfully smart boy. He’s brought home a gold watch for you, Noah, and he’ll give it to you when you go over.”
“I’ll go right over, pa.”
“And I am willin’ you should be with him as much as he wishes. Take my advice, Noah, and make him your intimate friend.”
“You bet I will, pa!”
“Don’t use that expression, Noah! Remember you are a deacon’s son.”
In a few weeks the changes already hinted at were effected. Mr. Fenwick was provided with a colleague, but not the deacon’s relative, and had begun work on his commentary.
At the end of a year Guy entered the office of the New York correspondent of John Saunders, whom he will eventually succeed. He makes a good business man, and Mr. Saunders has never had occasion to regret the interest he has taken in the young American.
