Books: The Voyage of the Hoppergrass

E >> Edmund Lester Pearson >> The Voyage of the Hoppergrass

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"Black Pedro noticed that the men seemed unusually quiet that
night. He did not hear the customary yells and cries. Suddenly he
was surprised to see old Aaron Halyard, the bo's'n, come over the
top of the hill, leaning on his cane. Behind him walked the entire
crew of the 'Angel,' two by two. They were heading toward their
Captain's cottage. This was not only astonishing, but it was
strictly against the rules, as all interviews with the Captain,
while on shore, were limited to the hours from 4 to 6 P. M. It was
now 7.30. Black Pedro leaped to his feet in surprise. The men
formed a line in front of the cottage--thirty-four of them--while
old Aaron tottered forward.

"'Cap'n,' he said, 'we'd like to have a word with you.'

"'Well,' replied Black Pedro, 'what do you want?'

"'Cap'n, it's this way. You know ME. I've been your bo's'n an' yer
father's an' yer grand-father's afore HIM, ever since the 'Angel'
was built, an' afore that, too. Why, some on us can remember way
back to the days of the 'Panther,' when you wa'n't knee-high to a
cutlash. Me, an' Mike the Shark, here, an' Sandy Buggins, an'
Roarin' Pete, an' some on us has stuck to the 'Angel' since the
day she was built. There aint any on us but has seen more'n twenty
years sarvice with you or yer father. Now some on us got talkin'
over things today, and talkin' 'bout the big haul o' treasure we
made last v'y'ge from that there 'Santa Maria.' An', o' course,
big haul as it was, it aint nothin' at all to what's buried right
here on this island. Why, all the loot that we've taken for sixty-
five year is in the ground within half a mile of where we stand--
all on it, way back to what we took outer that there 'Spirito
Santo."

"And old Halyard paused, and blushed a little, as he remembered
the embarrassing incident of that day.

"'Well,' said the Captain, 'go on.'" '"Well, sir, all on a suddent
like, it come over us: what good is that there plunder a-doin'
of?'

"'What good?' asked Black Pedro.

"'Yessir, what good? There's all that there gold an' silver, an'
all them jooels an' preshis stones an' all them fine clo'es an'
what not, an' what good is it all a-doin' of, a-buried in the
ground? The book-keeper here, Mike the Shark, was a-reckonin' up
this morning, an' a-addin' this last lot o' gold, an' he tells us
that 'cordin' to the 'greement the share of ev'ry man jack on us
reckons up to a powerful big figger.'

"The book-keeper stepped forward. 'For each man,' said he, 'the
precise sum to date is nine hundred and sixty-six thousand, seven
hundred and forty-three dollars, and twenty-two cents.'

"'An' all hard-earned money, too,' said old Aaron; 'we've been a-
sailin,' an' a-fightin', an' a-shootin' folks, an a-stabbin' on
'em, an' a-slittin' of their wind-pipes, an' a-walkin' 'em on The
Plank, for sixty-five year come the sixteenth o' next August.'

"'Well, what do you want?' asked Black Pedro again. His voice was
low, but terrible.

"'Why,' said the bo's'n, 'we'd like some of our share of the
money, if it's all the same to you.'

"'And when you get it,' continued the pirate chief, 'what do you
propose to do with it?'

"'Why, spend some on it, an' buy some o' the good things o' life.
Look at us. Like a lot of scare-crows, we be. In rags, ev'ry one
on us, 'cept you,--an' your black velvet suit is lookin' a leetle
mite rusty, if you'll 'scuse an ol' sailor-man, for speakin' right
out. An' we'd like somethin' good to eat, an' somethin' good to
drink. Look at me: risin' eighty-six year, I be, an' aint never
tasted nothin' all my life 'cept salt-hoss, an' ship-bread, an'
rum; never slep' nowheres 'cept in a hammock, an' had to turn out
on deck an' stand watch in all kinds of weather. An' wuth today
nine hundred an' sixty-six thousand, seven hundred an' forty-three
dollars, an' thirty-two cents.'

"'Twenty-two cents,' corrected the bookkeeper.'

"'Twenty-two cents,' said Aaron. 'An' what good does it do me?
Nothin' 't all. What can I buy with it, here on this here island?
Nothin'. Here I am--an' here we all be--scorched an' burnt by the
sun, and bit by these here scorpions, an' other varmints, an'
dressed in rags an' tatters, an' all the while, all that loot of
our'n lyin' there idle in the ground.'

"At this moment Black Pedro leaped four feet into the air, and
gave a bellow like an infuriated tiger.

"'What?' he yelled, 'what? you dogs! you scoundrels! you
miserable, low-down ruffians you! Oh, that I should have lived to
see this day! Thankful am I that my father and grand-father are
safe in their graves! This would have broken their hearts. Why,
you horrible villains,--do you mean to tell me that you have been
doing all this pirating for money?'

"Aaron Halyard scraped his feet in the sand, and shuffled about
uneasily.

"'Beggin' yer pardin', Cap'n, but what in Sancho HAVE we been
doin' of it for, else?'

"Black Pedro gave a moan, and then another bellow of rage.

"'Out of my sight, you miserable, sordid scoundrels,--out of my
sight! What? You defy me, do you? This is mutiny! Take that! And
that!'

"He snatched two pistols from his sash and commenced firing, right
and left. The first shot hit Mike the Shark and doubled up the
book-keeper like a jack-knife, and the second one did the same for
Sandy Buggins.

"'Hold hard, Cap'n!' cried the old bo's'n, 'p'r'aps you'll tell us
what all this pirating WAS for, if it wa'n't for money.'

"'It was for the joy of pirating, you old rascal, as you ought to
know. It was for the pure love of the thing. And to think that all
these years I have been leading a base gang of money-getters!'

"And he grabbed another couple of pistols out of his boots, and
began firing once more. At this, the pirates lost their patience.
They gave a deep roar, like a herd of angry buffalo, and closed in
on their Captain. He jumped back, and continued to fire. They
swarmed around him, and in a few minutes that group of pirates,
who had always lived together like brothers, had changed into a
blood-thirsty mob. Knives flashed and pistols cracked. Some of
them hit each other in their excitement, and that made them so
angry that they turned and fought amongst themselves. In the
meantime, the Captain was firing his pistols and slashing with his
cutlasses, and making terrible havoc amongst his followers. In ten
minutes all was over. Of that proud band of pirates, once the
terror of the Spanish Main, only two men were left alive. These
were Black Pedro himself, slightly wounded in the leg, but still
able to walk, and old Aaron Halyard, the bo's'n. Aaron was running
at top speed toward the beach, trying to get to a small boat. A
little way behind him came the Captain.

"'Don't you tech me! don't you tech me!' screamed old Halyard.

"Black Pedro stopped and took careful aim, with the last of his
fourteen pistols. He pulled the trigger, but there was no report.
Something had gone wrong with the priming. The bo's'n reached the
boat, shoved off, and started to row for the ship. There was no
other boat, and Pedro could only watch him. The old man rowed to
'The Angel of Death,' climbed aboard, and commenced, with the help
of the boy, who had been left there, to get up the foresail. Then
they hoisted the anchor, and the 'Angel' moved slowly out of the
harbor. Black Pedro sat down on the beach, and watched it fade
from sight. When night fell 'The Angel of Death' was only a speck
on the horizon. Then the pirate chief returned to his cottage.

"On the following day a dreadful storm arose. Black Pedro knew
that no ship, manned only by an aged bo's'n and a cabin-boy,
could live through such a tempest. A few days later his worst
fears were realized, for by the wreckage that was washed ashore,
he knew that 'The Angel of Death' had gone to pieces in the storm.
When The Plank itself, worn smooth on its upper side by the
hundreds of feet that had passed over it, was tossed upon the
shores of Rum Island, the pirate sat down on the sand and sobbed
aloud. He knew that old Halyard and the cabin-boy must have
perished, and the noblest crew of buccaneers on whom the sun had
ever shone, were forever disbanded, and that he, their chief, was
now the last of the pirates, alone and deserted on an undiscovered
and unknown island.

"And there he lives to this day."

CHAPTER IV

WELL BURIED TREASURE

When Mr. Daddles finished his story there was a moment's silence.
Then Ed Mason asked:

"Is that all?"

"Isn't that enough?" inquired Mr. Daddles, "isn't that sad enough,
just as it is?"

"It's sad enough," said Captain Bannister, "it's sad enough, all
right. Once or twice I thought I'd bust right out cryin'."

And the Captain chuckled a little, choked, and wheezed.

"What beats me," he went on, "is where you picked up a yarn like
that,--for you haint follered the sea very much, I take it?"

"Not very much," said Mr. Daddles.

"Not that yer troubles with that there canoe proves anything,"
returned the skipper, "for foolisher things was never invented. I
wouldn't git into one of 'em not if you was to give me a thousand
dollars. No, sir."

"Oh, my experience of a sailor's life has been limited," said the
new passenger. "To tell the truth, I've never been as far East as
this but once before. I was here for a few days, summer before
last. My uncle lives at Bailey's Harbor, on Little Duck Island."

"Does he?" asked Jimmy Toppan,--"What's his name?"

"Alfred Peabody."

"Is HE your uncle?" exclaimed the Captain. "I know his house,--up
there on the hill, aint it?"

"Yes, but he isn't there now. My aunt was there for a while, but
she went away, about two weeks ago. The house is closed, I
suppose."

Jimmy, who had been looking toward the shore, turned to the
Captain.

"This is Pingree's, isn't it, Captain?"

"Yessir; this is Pingree's Beach. Two of yer better go ashore an'
see old man Haskell. That's his shanty,--the one with the red
door. Ask him to let yer have a basket of clams. Tell him I sent
yer."

Pingree's Beach was a short strip of sand, bordered with eel-
grass. There were two small cottages, set above high-water mark,
three dories drawn up on the shore, and a heap of lobster-pots and
nets. Mr. Haskell could be seen moving in and out of his shanty.

Jimmy Toppan and Mr. Daddles went for the clams, after the latter
had changed his bathing-suit for a shirt, and a pair of duck
trousers. Captain Bannister sailed the "Hoppergrass" quarter of a
mile below the beach, put about, and came back in time to pick
them up when they returned in the tender. Mr. Daddles was
interested in the idea of a clam-chowder. He had already noticed
the funny little noise which the clams made, as their shells
opened and shut.

"It seems rather hard-hearted to make them into a soup," he
observed, "when they sing all the time like that."

The Captain was not troubled by the song of the clams, however.

"Here, Jimmy," he said, "you take the wheel while I shuck them
clams."

"Do what to 'em?" asked Mr. Daddles.

"Shuck 'em," the Captain replied.

Mr. Daddles still looked puzzled.

"Take 'em out of the shells," explained Jimmy.

While the Captain worked over the clams, he had an oil-stove
lighted down in the cabin, and he tried out some pork. Ed Mason
hunted up a pail of fresh milk and some crackers, while I washed
and peeled the potatoes. In about half an hour the dinner was
ready. The Captain brought up the steaming kettle of chowder, and
from it we filled our bowls. We also had coffee and bread and
butter, and some of the mince turnovers which Ed Mason had
brought. Then we remembered the water-melon.

"Don't think 'twill give yer the stomach-ache, do yer?" asked the
Captain, as he prepared to cut the melon. "You remember how it
killed one of them Black Pedros, don't yer?"

We all voted that it could not possibly give us the stomach-ache.
And it didn't. Then we drew lots to see who would have the
unpleasant job of washing the dishes. Ed Mason and I lost, and
retired below to do the work. We could hear them talking on deck.
Jimmy was still at the wheel; the Captain and Mr. Daddles lighted
their pipes.

"I thought, when yer begun to talk 'bout pirates," said Captain
Bannister, "that yer meant something 'bout the diggin' for
treasure on Fishback Island."

"No; I never heard of it."

"Why, they've been diggin' an' blastin' there for years. Some
folks was doin' it when my father was a boy. He had a try at it,
an' so did I, one summer 'bout nine or ten year ago."

"Who put the treasure there?"

"Cap'n Kidd, they said. They lay everything on him. Why, folks has
come from all round. One crowd formed a jint-stock company, an'
sold shares, an' skun a whole pile of money outer people. Another
man come in his yacht, an' he fetched a feller with him who could
find treasure with his eyes shut, so he said. He was one of these
wizards, an' he had a divinin' rod. His divinin' rod led him right
up to a hummock in the middle of the island, an' they dug there,
an' fetched up against the skeleton of an old dead hoss. That got
'em all excited, an' they pitched in an' dug like Sancho. But they
never found nothin' 'cept the old hoss, an' so the wizard went
back to town, an' took his divinin' rod with him. Then there was a
lot of college fellers come an' camped out there all summer, once.
I see 'em at it, two or three times. They was playin' base-ball,
mostly. One of 'em had a map that he'd got outer some old book,
an' he let me look at it. Accordin' to the bearin's of the island
it might have been most anywhere between Fundy an' Key West, but
it was good enough for this feller. He was sure it meant
Fishback."

"Where did you dig?"

"Oh, round anywhere. I just did it for fun, between two fishin'
trips. You can go over an' see the island this afternoon, if yer
want to. Just go over to the mainland, an' take the hoss-car to
Squid Cove. There'll be someone that will let yer take a boat
across to Fishback."

An hour later we sailed into Bailey's Harbor. This was the only
village of any size on Little Duck Island. A number of huts and
houses, with one or two shops, stood about the head of the inlet.
Behind them a road led up a hill, and then branched,--one road
going off to the north-east, for the island was three or four
miles long. The other road joined the causeway which had been
built across the marsh in the rear of the island. Only this marsh
separated the island from the mainland,--it was only an island in
name, now.

We came to anchor, and the Captain started us off on our trip to
the place where the treasure was supposed to lie. He rowed us in
to the wharf.

"You ought to be back here by six o'clock. I'll leave yer canoe
with Pike, all right,--I know where he hangs out, I guess. Take a
good look round the island, an' if yer find any of the loot, don't
forget me!"

And then as we started up the wharf he called out:

"Got any money with yer? There'll be hoss-car fares to pay, yer
know."

I felt in my pockets.

"Mine's on the boat," I said.

"So's mine," said Jimmy.

"And so's mine," said Ed Mason.

"That's all right," said Mr. Daddles, "I've brought some,--all the
change we'll need."

We went through the village and crossed the causeway. It was only
a short walk to the end of the car line. Here was standing an old
horse-car. The car was old, the horse was old, and the man who
drove the horse was older still. He was sitting by the side of the
road, and he eyed us suspiciously as we came up.

"Didn't see no one else coming across the causeway, didger?" he
inquired.

"Not a soul." I

"Guess I might's well start, then."

He pulled a watch out of his pocket.

"What do you make it?"

Not one of us had a watch, so we couldn't make it anything at all.
We thought it was about two o'clock.

"'Taint," said the car-driver decidedly, with the air of a man
nipping a fraud in the bud. "It's one fifty four. Didn't know but
what Ike Flanders would be coming over, an' trying to bum his way
with me as usual. Well, climb aboard, an' we'll get under way."

All the way to Squid Cove he entertained us with an account of Ike
Flanders' many attempts to get a ride for nothing. He had never
succeeded, owing to the watchfulness of the driver. His whole
life--the driver's--seemed to have consisted of a warfare against
rascals and swindlers. People were always coming around with some
scheme to cheat him, but he had defeated them all. When he found
that we were going to row across to Fishback Island, he said he
guessed he could let us take a boat,--for fifteen cents. It came
out that he not only drove the horse-car, but sold fish and
lobsters, ran a boarding-house, and had one or two boats to let.
He left the horse-car standing in front of his house, and came
down to the water to show us the boat.

"Better row round to the west'ard a little, when you get to
Fishback," said he, "it's kinder choppy on this side sometimes,
an' if my boat got all stove to pieces on the rocks 'fore you got
ashore, why, where'd I be?"

"You would be right here," said Mr. Daddles; "where do you think
we'd be?"

"You? Oh, huh! Yes, that's so. Well, p'r'aps you might as well
give me the fifteen cents now, if it's all the same to you."

"It's exactly the same to me," replied our friend. And he handed
over the money. The man looked at it carefully, and then went back
to his home.

"What do you suppose he's going to do with that money?" I
wondered.

"I know," said Jimmy Toppan, "he's going to hurry off and put it
in the bank, before Ike Flanders tries to get it away from him."

"No," said Mr. Daddles, "he's going to bury it in his garden."
"First," remarked Ed Mason, "he'll take it into the house and test
it with acid, to see if it's genuine."

"He thinks we're a gang of bunco men," Mr. Daddles reflected. "I
wonder why he trusts us with his boat."

"He knows that no one would be foolish enough to steal it," said
Jimmy; "look at it!"

It was a shabby and ill-kept dory, dirty, and with half an inch of
dirty water washing about in it. But we didn't care. Almost any
boat is good enough when you are looking for buried treasure. We
set out, with Mr. Daddles and Jimmy rowing. A breeze had sprung up
and the bay was a little choppy, so we splashed and bumped along
at no great speed. Mr. Daddles did not pay much attention to the
management of his long oar, but got into a discussion with Jimmy
about what they would buy with their share of the treasure. Jimmy
said his first choice would be a sailing yacht. Next, after that,
he thought he should buy a steam-yacht. Mr. Daddles said he should
buy a piano.

"A piano! That's funny. What would you buy next?"

"A stick of dynamite."

"Dynamite! What for?"

"To blow up the piano."

"Why do you want to do that?"

"Well, you see the piano I'm going to buy belongs to a girl who
lives next door to me at home. She practises on it all day long.
Sometimes I get so I almost wish that she didn't have a piano at
all."

Ed Mason voted for a horse, and I for a bicycle.

"I don't see how we can dig up much treasure, anyway," was Ed
Mason's comment, "not even if we find where it's buried."

"Why not?"

"What have we got to dig with?"

That was true,--we had forgotten to bring shovels.

"Never mind, this is only prospecting," Mr. Daddles reminded us.
"We'll look around, and if we see any place that looks treasury,
we'll come back another time."

We rowed around to the westerly side of Fishback Island, as the
car-driver had suggested, and landed in a little pebbly cove.

Mr. Daddles was delighted with the appearance of the island. "I
don't wonder they came here for treasure," said he. "It's the most
likely looking place for a pirate's lair I ever saw in my life.
Look at that tree on the hill,--a regular landmark. And look at
the smuggler's cave!"

He pointed to a rocky cave on the shore, just above our landing-
place. We walked over to examine it, but we couldn't find anything
there except some egg-shells and paper boxes, where someone had
eaten luncheon. Then we started on an exploring trip around the
island. It was almost bare of trees, rocky in many places, and
partly covered with scrubby grass. We found half a dozen pits and
shafts where the treasure-seekers had been at work. We climbed the
little hill where the tree stood,--it was gnarled and broken, "a
blasted tree" declared Mr. Daddles in rapture.

"Here's where the treasure chest ought to be buried," he remarked,
"with the skeleton of a pirate or two on top of it."

"This is where the old dead horse was buried," Ed Mason observed,
digging into some loose earth with his foot.

"That must have meant something," I said. "Why should they bring a
horse way up here to bury him?"

"Perhaps they didn't," Ed replied, "perhaps the horse lived up
here."

"I'm afraid you were never made for a treasure-seeker," said Mr.
Daddles.

Jimmy Toppan pointed to the beach on the other side of the hill.
There was a smooth, sandy shore.

"Why not go in swimming down there?" he suggested.

The idea was a good one; we were not making much progress toward
finding any treasure, and the beach certainly looked like a good
place for a swim. The three of us ran down the hill, pulling off
our clothes as we ran. Mr. Daddles lingered for a while, but
presently joined us, and we all had a swim.

After we had dressed we walked around the island, keeping near the
water. Everywhere there were signs of digging, but no signs of
treasure. We were in no hurry, so we strolled along, on the watch
for anything we might discover. The shore of the cove where we
landed was covered with flat stones, and we spent some time
skipping them on the water, and a still longer time throwing
stones at an empty bottle which we found and set afloat. After a
while Jimmy Toppan thought we ought to be going.

"There's a fog-bank out there," said he, "and it will be awful
thick if it comes in."

We all looked out to sea, where a gray mass hung over the water.

"Let's have one more look on the hill," said Mr. Daddles,
"remember how sorry we'd be if someone else came here after us,
and found a chest of golden guineas."

So up to the hill we went again, and prowled around, kicking at
loose rocks, and stamping wherever the earth sounded hollow.

"Under the tree is a more likely place," Mr. Daddles reminded us,
"they always bury it under a tree."

"We ought to start," said Jimmy, "the wind has come out east, and
that fog will be here before long."

"Just a minute--look around here, boys,--we'll find it, if you'll
only look around."

And he scrabbled around at a great rate.

"Leave no stone unturned," said he, turning over two of them.

But we found nothing at all. Nothing, that is, except dirt, grass,
mullein-stalks, and beetles or crickets under the stones. Mr.
Daddles hunted energetically, pulling up grass by the roots,
digging in the soil with his fingers, and kicking at stones with
the toes of his tennis-shoes, until he shouted "Ouch!" and jumped
about holding his foot in his hand. Then he set to again, so
excitedly that we looked at him in astonishment.

"P'r'aps we'd better start," said Jimmy again.

"In a minute, in a minute," exclaimed Mr. Daddles, poking about.
"Hunt, boys, hunt,--I feel sure we'll find something if we only
hunt."

We hunted, scraped over the earth and sand around that tree, and
moved every stone and pebble.

"I tell you we must find some treasure here,--we MUST!"

"How can we?" asked Ed, "if there isn't any to find."

"But there is. I know there is!"

We stared at him.

"I know there is, because I buried it myself."

"You did? When? How? Where? What for?"

"When you all went down to swim. I thought you would feel
disappointed not to find any treasure, so I buried all I had,--a
dollar and a quarter,--two halves, two dimes, and a nickel. And
now we've got to find it, or we can't get back on that horse-car.
We'll have to walk,--or else be as bad as Ike Flanders."

Then we began to hunt in dead earnest. We pulled up every blade of
grass, felt in all the crevices of the rocks, and dug a toad out
of his hole. He looked highly surprised and indignant, but he gave
us no help about the money.

"Well, I'm sorry,--sorry to get you into all this mess," said Mr.
Daddles. "We'd better leave it, I suppose, and go back to Squid
Cove. We can walk--and if that really is fog--"

"It's fog, all right," said Jimmy.

There was a sea-turn. The wind smelt salty and damp, and the fog
was creeping in. It was not more than a mile distant. We all knew
enough about fogs not to want to be out in the bay in one, without
a compass, and when it was nearly sunset. So we hurried down to
the boat, and pushed off.

"If anyone ever asks me if there is treasure on Fishback Island,"
reflected Mr. Daddles, "I'll know what to tell 'em."

The fog shut down thick before we got to the Cove, but we were
already so near that it didn't make much difference. We left the
boat at the slip where we had first seen it. The horse-car was
standing at the house, but we did not look for the driver.
Instead, we set out on our tramp back to Little Duck Island.

That was a dismal and tiresome walk. It was almost dark when we
started, and quite dark in half an hour,--a thick, foggy night.
Not one of us had looked at the road much on the way over; we had
been listening to the car-driver's battles with crime. It would
not have done us much good if we had looked, for everything
changes on a foggy night. After a while we came to a fork in the
road.

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