Buried Treasure
“That’s the ticket!” Bee snapped his fingers gleefully. “That’s the
very place I’m looking for. Nobody’s Island, eh? There must be buried
treasure on an island with a name like that. Where is it?”
“About three miles up the shore,” replied Jack, smiling. “It isn’t
much of an island any more, though. Some years ago the sea ran in back
of it and then, I suppose, it was a real island. Nowadays it isn’t an
island at all, except once or twice a year when there’s an uncommonly
high tide. Come on into the sitting-room and I’ll show it to you on the
chart.”
“Father always said there was money buried somewhere there,” said Faith
as she followed the boys into the front room.
“I don’t doubt but that there is,” responded Jack as he spread a chart
across the center table, “but I don’t believe anyone’s going to find
it. I’ll bet a hundred people have dug on Nobody’s Island since I can
remember. Years ago, when a man didn’t have anything particular to do,
Mansfield, he took a shovel and went over to Nobody’s Island and dug
for gold. Here it is; see? The chart doesn’t call it an island, though;
it just says, ‘Salvage Head,’ and lets it go at that. These two little
rocks out here, just off the beach, are The Tombstones. Boats used to
pile up there every little while trying to get around the Head. But in
those days Clam River――this is it here――had two mouths, one on each
side of the island. You could go in here to the north of Salvage Head
and sail clean around and come out here on the east. Then a storm or
something filled up the northern inlet and now it’s just sand there and
you can walk right across. Father always said that some day that inlet
would open up again, but it hasn’t yet.”
“Do you mean that there used to be real wreckers there?” asked Bee
eagerly.
“Real as anything! There was a sort of family of them named――what was
the name, Auntie?”
“Well, folks used to call them Verny,” replied Aunt Mercy, who had
settled herself with her crochet, “but I believe the real name was
Verginaud.”
“That was the name, Verny,” said Jack. “There were three of them, old
man Verny and two sons. They used to carry a lantern along the shore
of the island and the sailors would think it was a boat’s light and go
plump into The Tombstones or on the beach. Then the Vernys would flock
down and get the pickings. Sometimes they’d go over here on Toller’s
Beach――Toller’s Sands it was called then――and decoy ships onto Toller’s
Rock or The Clinker. That’s The Clinker, that little rock just off the
point. So, you see, they got them coming and going.”
“Gee, that sounds like the real thing!” exclaimed Hal. “What did they
do with the stuff they got from the ships?”
“I don’t know; sold it, maybe; kept it, more likely. I guess they
didn’t get very big hauls for the ships were mostly coasting schooners
or fishermen. They didn’t have to do any work, anyhow, although father
said they planted corn and potatoes over here at the back of the
island.”
“What became of them?” asked Bee.
“Well, about forty years ago things got so bad that the sheriff took
a posse over there and cleaned them out; arrested old Verny and one
son; shot him when he tried to get away so that he died afterwards; and
burned their cabin down. That was the last of them around here.”
“And what about the buried treasure?” asked Bee eagerly.
Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Well, there’s always been a belief that
Big Verny, as he was called, when he saw the posse coming buried a
chest of money and other valuables. I don’t know how much truth there
is in it. Father used to say it was so, though.”
“Besides,” said Hal, “folks have picked up money in the sand over
there, Jack.”
“I guess that only happened once, Hal. If you really want to hunt for
treasure, Mansfield, I guess Nobody’s Island is the most promising
place we can offer you.”
“You bet I’m going to hunt! How soon will that chug-chug of yours be
ready again, Hal?”
“Oh, maybe in a couple of days. Can you wait that long? I don’t believe
anyone will get ahead of you and find the treasure.”
“You can’t tell,” replied Bee with a grin. “Someone might. We’d better
not lose much time. Perhaps we’d better hire a boat, eh? How much will
you rent yours for, Herrick?”
“I’ll rent her cheap,” replied Jack grimly, “and then make more than
I’m making now. Only thing, though, it would take all day to get there
in the _Crystal Spring_; she’s about as fast as a crab.”
Bee was studying the chart again. “Say, can I buy one of these things
around here?” he asked suddenly.
“Plenty of them,” laughed Hal.
“You may borrow that if you like,” said Jack. “I don’t use it. Only
take care of it, please, because it was my father’s.”
“Sure you don’t mind? I’ll take care of it. Thanks. I want to study
this thing right. There’s nothing like knowing the lay of the land when
you go after buried treasure. You see,” he went on as he folded the
chart up and tucked it safely in his pocket, “I’m a bit of an authority
on hunting for buried treasure. I’ve read all the best books on the
subject, from Stevenson down to the five-cent variety, and there isn’t
much I don’t know. What about getting home, Hal?”
“I guess we’d better start along. It must be――gee! it’s after eight!
I didn’t think it was so late. Let’s get back into our rags, Bee, and
hike.”
“Jack, if it’s after eight,” said Faith, “they can’t go on the ferry.
You know it stops at seven-thirty.”
“That’s so; and I’m sorry, fellows. I tell you what, though. You get
your clothes changed and I’ll row you across. All we’ll have to do is
walk over to Johnson’s and I’ll borrow one of his dories.”
“But isn’t it raining?” objected Hal.
“Not a bit. Hasn’t been for an hour or more. In fact――” Jack pushed a
shade aside and peered out――“the stars are out bright.”
“But isn’t it a longish way across to town?” asked Bee.
“About a mile, but that isn’t far. Want to come along, Faith?”
“May I, Auntie?”
“Why, yes, I suppose it won’t do you any harm. But you see that the
seats are dry, Jack.”
And so ten minutes later the quartette set out very merrily across the
Neck, which was quite narrow between Herrick’s Cove and the harbor.
They climbed the hill back of the cottage, past the spring from which
Jack piped his water to the sloop, across the winding road, through
somebody’s back yard and so came to the harbor side, where in front of
them numberless lights pricked out the dark water and the town beyond.
Westward the red gleam of the breakwater beacon shone dully. Jack led
the way down the lane toward the float. As they passed the house a door
opened and a man’s voice asked: “What’s up?”
“It’s I, Mr. Johnson――Jack Herrick. I want to borrow one of your
dories,” explained Jack.
“Help yourself,” was the hearty response. “And get a good pair o’ oars.
There’s some of ’em sort o’ mean, Jack.”
Soon they were seated in a dory, Hal in the bow, Jack at the oars and
Faith and Bee together facing him. A few strokes sent them into deep
water and Jack settled down to the long pull ahead.
“If you see anything, Faith, just sing out,” he instructed. “I’ll make
for the town landing, Hal. It’s easier to find than some of the other
wharves. Will that be all right?”
“Dandy,” replied Hal from the bow. “If you don’t hear from me again,
wake me up when we get there, Jack.”
“This,” remarked Bee, stretching himself comfortably and colliding with
Jack’s feet, “is what I call fine. A sailor’s life for me every time!
‘Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum!’ O, you Hal!”
“What?” asked Hal sleepily from the other end of the boat.
“Wake up, you lazy beggar, and hear the birdies sing! This is no time
for slumber. Look at all the pretty little stars, and the pretty little
lights! Smell the――the――what-do-you-call it――the ozone!”
“That’s the fish wharves you smell,” laughed Jack.
“Can’t help it; I like it; and I prefer to call it ozone. Get the ozone
effect, Hal?”
“Shut up, you,” mumbled Hal.
“Sleep then,” said Bee disgustedly. “But when we collide with a――a
lighthouse or a sunken wreck or――or something you’ll wish you’d kept
awake, old Hal. You won’t have a ghost of a show at being rescued.
You’ll be trampled under foot in the mad rush; and serve you right for
sleeping on――er――on occasion like this. I think――mind you, I say I
_think_――that we are e’en now about to collision with something.”
“Yes, Jack, there’s a boat straight ahead. Pull on your right oar.”
“Well,” said Bee admiringly, “you must be able to see in the dark, Miss
Faith. I couldn’t have told whether that was a boat or a trolley car.”
“Oh, it isn’t really dark tonight,” said Faith. “The stars give a lot
of light. Jack and I rowed across one night when――well, it was pretty
dark, wasn’t it, Jack?”
“Black as your pocket. It was late in the Fall and there weren’t many
lights showing. I thought the light on the pier on Gull Island was the
light on Curtis’s coal wharf and ran plump into a bunch of spiles. We
had quite a lot of fun getting across that time. The old dory leaked
like a sieve and when she bumped she sprung a few new leaks and the
first thing we knew our feet were in water up to our ankles. Sis had to
bail all the way across.”
“Fun!” ejaculated Bee. “Is that your idea of a real good time? I
suppose, then, if we ran into a rock and the boat sunk you and Miss
Faith would laugh yourselves to death!”
“There’s the place we bumped,” said Jack, nodding toward the dark bulk
of Gull Island. “We’re more than half-way over now.”
“Aren’t you tired?” asked Bee curiously. “How far can you row?”
“Oh, four or five miles,” replied Jack carelessly. “More than that,
I suppose, if I had to. But after three miles your arms begin to get
pretty stiff.”
“I guess mine would!” laughed Bee. “I’m going to try that short stroke
of yours some day. Will you show it to me? I’ve never seen anyone row
just like that before.”
“Doryman’s stroke,” replied Jack. “It doesn’t tire you like a long
stroke. Many schooners ahead, Faith?”
“No, Jack, none, if you keep the way you’re headed. I can see the
lantern on the landing now.”
On one of the fishing boats a sailor was playing on a concertina and
singing. Jack stopped rowing a minute and they listened.
“That fellow can sing, can’t he?” said Bee.
“It’s Desco Benton, sis,” said Jack. “I’d know his voice if I heard it
in a fog at sea.” He plied his oars again and soon the dory was in
the shadows of the wharves and shipping. Cautiously Jack sent the boat
toward the landing, worming in and out of the launches and sail-boats
moored in the basin. Then they awoke Hal――he declared he hadn’t
been asleep, but Bee told him he had snored all the way across――and
presently the dory sidled up to the float, under the glow of the big
lantern, and they said good-night.
It was arranged that Jack was to look over the launch in the morning
and if possible fix it up so it could be brought back to town. If the
task was beyond him he was to tow it over behind the _Crystal Spring_.
“Anyhow,” he said, “I’ll be here at nine o’clock with her, Hal. You’d
better be around then. Good-night!”
“Good-night, and thank you very much for everything, Jack.”
“Not forgetting the supper,” added Bee. “Nor the chart. Will you go
with me, Herrick, and look for buried treasure?”
“I will if I can find the time,” laughed Jack. “Good-night!”
Faith added her farewell to his and the dory backed out, leaving the
two boys on the landing.
“Port your helm!” bawled Bee.
“Port it is, sir,” called Jack.
“Steady as you are!”
“Steady it is, sir!”
“Good-night!”
“Good-night!”