LIFTING THE CURTAIN
The second mate told the truth when he said Paul Shepley was a coward
and under the thumb of the former supercargo. That very evening Shepley
begged to see Captain Marshall alone, and, when given the opportunity,
actually fell on his knees before the master of the _Stormy Petrel_.
"I am willing to do anything, captain!" he groaned. "Only don't--don't
swing me from the--the yardarm!" He had it firmly fixed in his mind that
he was to be executed.
"You deserve to be hanged!" answered the captain. "I don't see why I
should spare you."
"It was all Van Blott's fault--he fixed the whole thing from beginning
to end. He got the stolen cases on board and made me promise to help in
getting rid of them. And he got up the plan to run away with the ship."
After that Paul Shepley told his story in detail, and the captain became
convinced that the first mate was more of a sneak than a villain.
"I will let you off, upon two conditions," said Captain Marshall, at
last. "The first is, that you serve as a common sailor for the rest of
this trip. Will you do it?"
"Yes, but it's pretty hard on me," whined Shepley.
"The second condition is, that you promise to appear against Van Blott,
whenever called upon to do so."
"Yes, I'll do that."
"Then go forward and take Billy Dill's place in the forecastle."
"Where is Dill to go?"
"I have made him second mate and Sanders first mate."
"Oh!" murmured Paul Shepley, and said no more. It cut him deeply to take
up quarters in the forecastle, where the men treated him any way but
kindly, yet he was glad to get off so cheaply.
The next day was an anxious one for Dave, who was on the constant
lookout for land. Toward nightfall a speck was seen in the distance, and
in the morning, when he came on deck, the country youth saw before him
Sobago in all of its tropical beauty, with its cozy harbor, its long
stretch of white sand, and its waving palms. In the harbor were ships of
several nationalities, and also numerous native canoes, and the scene
was an animated one.
The boys had no difficulty in getting ashore, but once on the streets of
Nanpi, they scarcely knew how to turn. They walked along slowly until
they came to a shipping office, in the window of which was a sign:
_English Spoken Here._
"I am going in here to ask a few questions," said Dave, and entered,
followed by Phil and Roger. They found in the office a very stout and
very bald old gentleman, wearing big spectacles.
"You speak English, I believe," said Dave, politely.
"I speak English, and a dozen other languages, too," said the
bald-headed gentleman, peering at them curiously. "Why--er--how's this?"
he added, to Dave. "Is this some joke? Why did you shave so clean?"
"Shave?" repeated Dave. His heart gave a sudden bound. "Why do you ask
that question?"
"Why, I--er--this is most extraordinary!" ejaculated the man, still
staring at the country youth. "I don't understand it."
"Don't understand what?"
"You look so much like a man I know--a Mr. Dunston Porter. Maybe he is
some relative of yours?"
"The very man I am looking for!" cried Dave. "Can you tell me where I
can find him?" His heart was almost in his throat as he asked the
question. Supposing Mr. Dunston Porter had left Sobago Island for parts
unknown?
"Find him? I think so. He was here yesterday and said he was going out
to the ruins of the old temple on the Pokali Road. He expected to be
gone all day on the trip. He'll be back to town by night."
"Then you'll have to wait, Dave," came from Phil.
"Oh, I can't wait!" burst out Dave. "How far is that old temple from
here?"
"About three miles."
"Can I hire somebody to take me there? I want to see Mr. Porter as soon
as possible."
"Certainly; you can get a boy for a few pennies," answered the
bald-headed man. "There is a boy now who wants a job." And he beckoned
to an urchin who sat on an empty box, eating a banana.
When the lad came up the man explained in the native tongue, and soon
the party set off, Dave first thanking the bald-headed man for his
kindness.
To Phil and Roger the walk on the tropical road was long, hot, and
dusty. But Dave was so busy with his thoughts that he did not notice he
was walking at all. How much the next hour or two might reveal!
Presently they came in sight of a ruined pile, which the native boy
pointed out as the old temple. Dave forged ahead and hurried into the
ruins, and then around to the back. Here, from under some palms, could
be had a fine view of the surrounding country.
A hasty glance around revealed to Dave the form of a man, lying on the
grass half asleep. The country youth hurried forward, gave a good look,
and uttered a little cry, at which the man sat up suddenly.
"Who are you?" asked the man, and then he began to stare at Dave very
hard.
"Is this Mr. Dunston Porter?" asked Dave, in a voice he tried in vain to
steady.
"Yes, that's my name. But you----" The man paused expectantly.
"I am Dave Porter. I have come about seven thousand miles to see you."
[Illustration: "I have come about seven thousand miles to see
you."--_Page 274._]
"Dave Porter! Seven thousand miles to see me! I must be dreaming!" The
man leaped to his feet and came up to Dave. "How is this? Won't you
explain?"
"I will try, Mr. Porter."
"They do look exactly alike!" said Phil to Roger, in a whisper. "What an
extraordinary likeness!"
"No wonder Billy Dill was startled when he first met Dave," added the
senator's son.
Dunston Porter heard the talk and looked at the others. At this Phil
took a step forward.
"We are Dave Porter's school chums," he explained. "My name is Phil
Lawrence, and this is Roger Morr."
"Glad to know you. Did you travel seven thousand miles to see me, too?"
went on the man.
"Hardly that, but we took the trip with Dave," answered Roger.
"He wanted to find the man who looked like him," continued Phil, for he
saw Dave could hardly speak for his emotion. "And he has found him. You
two look exactly alike--that is, you would, if your mustache was shaved
off."
"Yes?" Dunston Porter paused. "Is that all?"
"No! no!" cried Dave, struggling to keep calm. "I came to--to find out
something about myself, if I could. It's a long story, and I'll have to
start at the beginning. When I was a youngster about three years old, I
was picked up alongside a railroad track by some farming people. They
supposed I had been put off a train by somebody who wanted to get rid of
me. They asked me my name, and I said something that sounded to them
like Davy and Dun-Dun and Porter, and so they called me Dave Porter."
"Ah!" cried Dunston Porter, and he was all attention. "Go on."
"I was taken to the poorhouse, and then went to live with some other
folks who were very kind to me, and one rich gentleman sent me to a
boarding school. While there I helped an old sailor named Billy
Dill----"
"Billy Dill! Well, I never! Go on, please."
"He was struck when he saw me--said I was somebody else with my mustache
shaved off, and a lot more. He finally told me about you, and said you
had told him about a crazy nurse and a lost child, and so I made up my
mind to find you, if I could, and see if you knew anything about my
past." Dave's lips began to quiver again. "Can you tell me anything?"
"I--I--perhaps so." Dunston Porter's voice was also quivering. "Can you
prove this story about being found near a railroad?"
"Yes."
"About thirteen years ago?"
"Yes."
"In the eastern part of the United States?"
"Yes, near a village called Crumville. They say I said something about a
bad man who wouldn't buy some candy for me. It may be that that man put
me off the train."
"He did!" almost shouted Dunston Porter. "It was Sandy Margot, the
worthless husband of the crazy nurse, Polly Margot, you just mentioned.
She took the child and turned the boy over to her husband. Margot wanted
to make money out of the abduction, but, during his travels with the
little one, he learned that detectives were after him, and, when the
train stopped one day, he put the child off and promised it some candy
to keep it from crying. He got away, and we never heard of him for about
six years. Then he was rounded up in a burglary and badly wounded. He
confessed at the hospital, but he could not tell the name of the place
where the child had been dropped. We made a search, but could discover
nothing. Margot died, and so did his crazy wife; and there the whole
matter has been resting."
"But who am I?" cried Dave, unable to restrain the question any longer.
"Oh, you don't know that? I thought Billy Dill knew. If what you have
told me is true, you are the son of my twin brother, David Breslow
Porter."