THE CHEST OF GOLD
Ross Montgomery turned over the pages rapidly, and the boys could see a
number of accounts in a precise, methodical script.
"The first two or three years were the hardest," the strange boy went
on, "but after that the money came in fast. Father made a number of
investments in lumber and in fishing interests, and everything he
touched seemed to bring him luck. By the time I was six years old, he
had got enough together to pay all his debts and make him independent
for life.
"There was one funny thing about it, though. He had burned his fingers
so badly in that big bank failure that he never would trust a bank
again. Every dollar he got above what he needed to use in business, he
stored away in an oak chest that he kept in a secret place at home. He
had no use for paper money either. He'd take it, of course, when he
couldn't get anything else, but the first chance he got he'd change it
for gold. Of course it was just a whim of his, but somehow it made him
feel safer. Maybe it was a little mental twist left from his siege of
brain fever. At any rate that's the way he felt, and he kept piling up
the gold in that old chest. All sorts of money, too, English, Canadian,
French and American coins. I was small then and didn't know much of the
value of money, but I can remember once how the pieces shone when father
gathered up a handful and let the coins fall in a shower back into the
chest----"
"Gee!" interrupted Teddy, "just think of it. A rain of gold!"
"I'd like to be caught out in such a shower," laughed Fred.
"And I wouldn't want any umbrella to ward it off either," added Bill.
"Cork up, you money grabbers, and let Ross go on with his story," Lester
laughingly advised.
"It brought bad luck to father, though," said Ross soberly. "If it
hadn't been for that gold he might be alive to-day."
It was the first intimation the boys had had that the lad's father was
dead, and they kept a respectful silence during the moment that followed
while Ross seemed struggling with painful memories.
"A little over nine years ago," the boy went on at last, "father
concluded that he had enough on hand to settle with all his creditors,
capital and interest, and still have enough left to make him independent
for life. He planned to leave mother and me--I haven't any brothers or
sisters--at home, while he came down to Boston and settled the claims.
Then he was going to pick out a home here and send for us to come to
him. Although he had made the money in Canada, he had always felt
homesick for his own country.
"Then the question came up," continued Ross, "of how he was to get the
money down here. Of course, the safer way would have been to take it to
some Canadian bank and get a draft on Boston. But I've told you of the
bitter feeling he had toward all banks, and he'd counted so long on
turning over that identical gold to his creditors that he couldn't give
it up.
"We were a long distance from any large city, and the only way to travel
by sea was to take some sailing vessel that stopped once in a while at a
town near by. There was a good deal of smuggling going on just then
between Canada and this country, and as there was a big profit in it,
almost all the coastwise sailing vessels took a hand in it now and then.
Sometimes it would be opium that had been landed on the Pacific coast
and brought over to Quebec. Then, too, there were French laces and silks
and wines.
"Of course it was illegal, but lots of people couldn't see much harm in
it. You know how it is with people that come over from Europe to New
York. A vast number of them try to get things in without paying duty and
they think it's rather smart to get the best of Uncle Sam. Many who are
honorable in every other way seem to lose that feeling when it comes to
smuggling.
"Of course it's wrong, as everything is wrong that breaks the law,
whether we think the law is just or not. But I'm just saying this to
explain why father was willing to trust himself and his gold on board a
smuggler."
The boys bent forward eagerly.
"For that's what he did," continued Ross. "There was a schooner, named
the _Ranger_, that often stopped at the river town near where we
lived. The captain was a man, Ramsay by name, whom father knew and
trusted. His boat did a good deal of legitimate trading, but sandwiched
in with that was quite a lot of smuggling off and on. Still, aside from
that, Captain Ramsay had the reputation of being a strictly honest man,
and he and father had been on friendly terms for years.
"When the time came, father went on board with all his baggage,
including the chest of gold. Of course he did not take any one in the
secret of what the chest contained. He figured on getting to Boston in a
week or ten days.
"But the second day out, a tackle block fell from the foremast and laid
Captain Ramsay dead on the deck. He was buried at sea and the first mate
took command of the schooner. And it was right here that the trouble
began.
"This first mate was a Portuguese, a good sailor, but aside from that I
guess he was as big a villain as ever went unhung. There were five
others in the crew, and they didn't seem to be much better than the
mate. Captain Ramsay had been a rough captain and had been able to hold
the men down, but as soon as he had gone things began to happen."
There was a pause for a moment while the boys held their breath waiting
for the story to go on.
"And," resumed Ross, impressively, "I'd give my right hand to know just
what those things were."
His hearers sat for a moment stunned and bewildered by this sudden
ending.
"What!" gasped Teddy. "Do you mean that you don't know what happened?"
"No," was the reply. "I don't _know_. From what I've been able to
learn I can make a pretty good guess. All I _know_ is that my
father was picked up a week later in an open boat, wounded and starving
and delirious."
A gasp of wonder and pity ran around the little circle.
"From a letter found in his pocket they learned who he was, and after he
had partially recovered they sent him home to us," Ross went on. "But
from then to the day of his death, which took place a year later, he was
insane."
"The scoundrels!" muttered Fred, clenching his fists in indignation.
"We tried to get at the facts by piecing together what he said when he
was quieter than usual," Ross continued. "Again and again, he would
speak of 'the lighthouse' and 'Bartanet Shoals.' Then he would imagine
himself in a fight with the mate. Many times he spoke of 'burying the
box.'
"All these of course were slight things to go on, but by putting them
all together and looking at them from every side, we figured out
something like this:
"The mate probably had his suspicions aroused by the weight of the box
that held the gold. Father must have come upon him when he was trying to
open it, and there was a fight in which the rest of the crew joined.
They were probably somewhere near Bartanet Shoals when this happened,
and they put in at some quiet place along here to think over what they'd
better do. They finally decided to bury the box and leave it there until
the matter should have blown over and been forgotten. The men probably
intended to put father out of the way, and, after the search for him had
been given up, to come back and get the box. Father either tried to
escape in the open boat, or the crew, not quite willing to kill him in
cold blood, set him adrift, knowing that in his wounded condition it
would probably amount to the same thing."
"Didn't the _Ranger_ ever turn up?" asked Fred.
"Not at any of the home towns," answered Ross. "But some months later it
was found tied up to a wharf near Halifax. It was from the log they
found on board that they learned of Captain Ramsay's death. The crew
were traced, and it was found that they had shipped on a brig that was
bound for the Pacific. She went down in a storm off Cape Horn, and every
soul on board was lost."
"Then everybody who was actually concerned in the matter is probably
dead," mused Lester.
"Yes," answered Ross, "we can't look for any help from human witnesses.
There's a bare chance that some letter or document may turn up that will
give us a clue. But that's so unlikely that it's hardly worth
considering."
"Then all you have to go on is the possibility that the box was buried
somewhere on this coast not very far from Bartanet Shoals, and that if
it was, it's never been taken away?" asked Bill.
"That's all," admitted Ross, "except----"
He checked himself hastily.