A STORY OF THE PAST.
Nick Collins was never so dismayed and startled in his life as when he
found himself rudely seized by the arm outside of the cabin of Captain
Eccles, detected in the act of mischief which had for its result the
annoyance of its strange inmate.
When his captor had pushed him through the open door, locked it, and
regained a grasp of his arm, he led him into a lighted room.
A strange room it was, almost as strange as the grizzly, weather-beaten
captain himself. It resembled the cabin of a ship, and its walls were
covered with models of various kinds of sea craft, curiosities from the
ocean, and nautical instruments of antique design.
Captain Eccles thrust Nick into a chair, eyed him with apparent
fierceness, and then in a gruff and terrible voice ejaculated:
“So you’re the bold privateer who comes annoying a quiet sea dog in
winter quarters, eh?”
Nick did not know what to say, but he managed to stammer the truth:
“I--I--it was only a bit of harmless fun, sir.”
“Fun, eh? Disturbing the old craft that’s laid up for repair after
thirty years of service. Who are you, anyway?”
“A boy from the village.”
“Are they all like you?”
“Well, perhaps I’m as bad as any of ’em.”
To Nick’s immense relief, the captain laughed outright at this
candid confession, and the boy began to think that the gruff old
mariner rather enjoyed his capture as a relief to the monotony of his
hermitlike existence.
“What’s your name?”
“Nick Collins.”
Captain Eccles started, stared hard at the lad, and seemed deeply
interested.
“Say that again,” he said.
“Nick Collins.”
“Son of Captain David Collins, mariner, of the good ship _Star of
Hope_, lost with all on board off the coast of South America ten years
agone?”
It was Nick’s turn to look amazed as the captain reeled off the
sentence like a man thoroughly conversant with the subject under
discussion.
“Did you know my father, sir?”
“Did I know him, lad? I knew him as the bravest, truest friend I ever
had. Did you never hear of me?”
“Only from what my grandfather told me. He’s dead, you know, sir.”
“Dead? Well, well! I scarcely know that the sun rises and sets, shut up
in this dreary hold here. Go on, lad--tell me all about yourself.”
It was a strange situation strangely arrived at. Nick found himself
suddenly the entertainer of an interested host. In simple language,
he related the details of the uneventful life he had led at Parkdale.
There was a long pause when he had concluded his recital. The captain
seemed to be lost in mournful reflection, and he uttered a deep sigh as
at last he aroused himself and gazed earnestly at Nick.
“It makes me sad to have old times revived,” he said. “So you are
the son of Captain Dave. I knew you lived here, and I went to see
your grandfather once for acquaintance sake, but he was gruff and
unsociable. Did he never talk about your father?”
“Very rarely, sir.”
“Never spoke of the strange voyage he took and the treasure and the
shipwreck?”
Nick looked startled.
“I always supposed that my father died in a general wreck at sea,” he
murmured.
“Humph! Not much of a teaching for a brave captain’s boy. No, Nick,
there was a strange story about the _Star of Hope_. It was a ship owned
by Admiral Semmes. Never heard of him, either, I suppose?”
Nick nodded negatively, and a contemptuous look came over the captain’s
face.
“Never told you of it, and you a captain’s son! Never been on the sea,
I suppose?”
“I never saw it, even.”
“And I was afore the mast at twelve!” remarked Eccles proudly. “Well,
I’m going to tell you about your father.”
“I wish you would, sir.”
“Ten years ago there lived in Boston an old naval officer called
Admiral Semmes. He was a great sailor and had circumnavigated the globe
a dozen times, and had known many strange adventures. Your father and
he were great friends, and I knew him quite well, for I was mate in
the merchant service when David Collins was captain. Now this Admiral
Semmes was not a rich man, but one day he and your father managed to
raise a sum amounting to eight thousand dollars. Do you know what for?”
“No, sir.”
“To buy a ship.”
“The _Star of Hope_?”
“Exactly.”
“That was the ship that my father was lost in?”
“That was the ship of which he owned half and Admiral Semmes the other
half,” replied Captain Eccles. “They could not pay for all of it, so
they mortgaged it to secure eight thousand dollars to pay the balance.
That money they obtained from James Vail, a broker, of New York City.”
“Did the ship go on a regular cruise?”
“No. That was the strangest part of it. The voyage was purely one of
speculation. Your father, it seems, had secured from a dying sailor the
secret of the hiding place of a vast amount of sunken treasure near an
island in the Pacific. It was the wreck of a Spanish galleon containing
nearly a quarter of a million dollars in bullion and coin, and sunk by
pirates. So convinced was your father that the story was true and that
he could find the treasure, that he brought Admiral Semmes to the same
belief. To search for that treasure the _Star of Hope_ was equipped
and provisioned. I tried to get a release from the merchant service to
go with him, but could not. I bade your father good-by at the dock at
Boston. I never saw him again.”
There was a pause, during which Captain Eccles betrayed deep and silent
emotion. Then he continued:
“Four months later a China steamer brought news to San Francisco of
the finding at sea of a raft containing a dying man--a sailor of the
_Star of Hope_. He lived long enough to tell that a terrible storm had
overtaken the _Star of Hope_ in mid-ocean. The longboats and raft were
put out. The captain alone refused to desert the wrecked ship, which
floated away and was never seen again. He, the sailor, was the one
survivor, apparently, for from that day to this not one word of the
_Star of Hope_ has ever been received.”
“And the secret of the treasure died with my father?”
“No. Strangest of all romances, when the ship on its fatal voyage
touched at Valparaiso he wrote two letters.”
“Two?”
“Yes. One to me and one to Admiral Semmes. He wrote that he was
tortured with a vague premonition that disaster would follow his
venture; that should the ship be lost a valuable secret would die with
him. He wrote out the location of the treasure on a sheet of paper and
cut it in two.”
“What was that for?”
“To interest me in the affair if he died, for in that contingency he
left me his share of the treasure to be divided with his father and
yourself. These parts of one letter he mailed at Valparaiso, destined
one for me and the other for Admiral Semmes.”
“And you received them?”
“I received my half. The letter to Admiral Semmes miscarried, or
was never sent, for it never came. The half sent me was utterly
unintelligible without the remainder. Many and many an hour did the
admiral and myself try to decipher the mutilated fragment. It conveyed
no coherent meaning. Then the admiral began to advertise for news of
the ship, for the letter. It was of no avail.
“I gave it up as a hopeless task long ago, and came here to live,
telling the admiral that if ever a clue should be discovered, I would
lead the expedition for the treasure. But the years have gone on, and
I never heard from the admiral until a few weeks ago, when he wrote
me that he believed he had secured a trace of the missing half of the
letter your father wrote.”
“And since then, sir.”
“He has not written me. I long since abandoned all hopes of the ship or
the treasure. That is the story. A strange one, is it not, Nick?”
“It is indeed, sir.”
Its recital had made Nick sad and serious, and he forgot place and
circumstances as he gave way to reflection.
“If you go to the city to seek your fortune,” said Captain Eccles after
a pause, “find Admiral Semmes and tell him who you are. For the sake of
your father he will befriend you, although I imagine that his wealth
and influence have sadly deteriorated in his almost fanatic search for
the lost ship and the treasure paper.”
“I will remember, sir,” said Nick.
“And if you remain here come and see me again, and come often, but
don’t rouse me with your tricks,” laughed the captain.
He named the address of Admiral Semmes in New York City as they parted
at the door of the cabin.
Nick Collins fairly gasped as he found himself alone and looked around
him.
All that had transpired within the last hour seemed like some vague
dream.
A mystic hand appeared to have drawn him beyond the threshold of the
past, and then after a fleeting glimpse of its dark secrets to have
thrust him beyond its portals again.
He was confused, bewildered. He wandered on a few paces and sat down on
a rock to recover himself.
Why did the story of Captain Eccles so impress him? Why did it seem
that fate had sent its revelation upon this eventful night? What caused
the dim thought that his father might still be alive; that in some way
the treasure-trove of the Pacific was to be mingled with his own young
life?
Quick, animated conversation aroused Nick Collins from his reverie.
Some men were passing leisurely by from the direction of the common,
and paused to glance back at a fading glare in the northern sky.
“The fire’s pretty nigh out,” remarked one of them.
“Yes,” said the other. “No fear of it spreading now.”
“It’s quite a heavy loss.”
“Towns can stand it. The widow Alden brought him two other farms.”
Nick Collins started and listened intently. A fire, and at Ahab Towns’!
What did it mean?
“He was lucky to escape with his life,” resumed the last speaker. “His
sister and her family were in the house, and the barn had caught the
house before they were awakened. They say Towns was wild over his loss,
and ran back to save some papers, and if his sister hadn’t thrown a
cloth over his head and dragged him out he would have been overcome by
the smoke and have perished.”
“He’s hot after those who fired the place.”
“Yes? Rather ungrateful children.”
“They ain’t his children, you know, and he wasn’t much of a stepfather
to them. It will go hard with Frank and Will if they are caught.”
Nick Collins’ heart seemed to stand still. Frank and Will charged with
setting fire to Ahab Towns’ home! It could not be possible!
“There were three of them in it,” he says.
“Yes, that Collins boy probably put them up to it. Anyway, the three
names were signed to the paper that Towns found pinned to his front
door. That Nick Collins always was a roving, restless boy. Now they’ve
all three cut out, probably for the city.”
The men passed on. Nick Collins stood like one stunned. He knew that
there must be some mistake, but what did the reference to the signed
paper mean?
It would be folly to venture in the vicinity of the Towns homestead
and attempt to vindicate himself. In his heart, at that moment, Nick
believed Towns himself had fired the place, and for some crafty,
mysterious reason cast the blame upon his stepchildren and himself.
Nick lingered where he was for over an hour. Many people were returning
from the fire, and talk about the incendiary plot seemed to be upon
every tongue.
A word here and there imparted much information to Nick. He knew that
suspicion of crime rested against the Alden boys and himself, and that
Frank and Will had disappeared. He was mystified as to the motive for
the fire. What could Ahab Towns hope to gain by convicting them of the
crime? The more Nick thought about it the deeper seemed the mystery
that underlay the affair.
The glow had all gone from the sky now. People returning to the village
passed the common now and then. At length two boys came along. One of
them Nick instantly recognized. It was Jack Benson. His companion was a
tough-looking lad whom Nick did not know, but who was apparently one of
his associates at the low, river settlement beyond the village.
Jack’s face looked triumphant, excited, and full of malice. Nick told
himself that there must be some reason for this. His wits, naturally
sharp, had been set on keenest edge by the events of the last few
hours. Something in the appearance of Jack Benson aroused a vague
concern and suspicion in his mind.
He decided that one of those boys, at least, would bear watching, and
that boy was Jack Benson. As they passed on Nick skirted the grove,
came as close to them as he could without being seen, and tried to
catch what they were saying.
“Quite a blaze down there, wasn’t it?” remarked Jack’s companion.
“Yes. It serves old Towns right.”
“How’s that?” asked the other.
“Oh, he’s a mean old snoozer. I hope they’ll get Collins and the
others.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d like to see them sent away for a long term.”
“You must have it in for them, Jack.”
“Surest thing you know.”
That was all Nick heard. But it was quite enough to set him thinking in
a new line, and Jack Benson became a decided object of suspicion.
“Frank and Will have certainly left the village,” mused Nick. “I wish I
could find them.” He set out in search of his friends.
Realizing that the utmost caution was necessary, that they would seek
to arrest him for the fire in the Towns house, he avoided the public
streets as much as possible, and made his way toward the outer edge
of the village. Once he had a narrow escape from walking right into
the arms of the constable. This happened as both were turning the
corner going in opposite directions. But the man, who was smoking and
thinking probably about the fire, and the work it would give him to do
in finding the incendiary, passed on without so much as a look at Nick
Collins’ face.
“It is dangerous for me to stay here,” he told himself. “Why should I?
If I am arrested, Towns will be sure to make out a bad case against me.
Frank and I often talked of going to the city, and how we would walk
there on the railroad track. This looks like a good time to go. Maybe
Frank and Will have started already.”
Thus it came about that Nick, almost unconsciously, became a fugitive.
A minute or two after deciding to go to the city he had started down
the rickety little railroad line that ran from Parkdale to the county
seat. He kept on and on, his determination to quit Parkdale growing
stronger as he proceeded.
Whether he met Frank and Will or not, he would continue as far as the
city. No more of humdrum, sleepy Parkdale for him. He had passed many
a bitter day there, chafing under the injustice inflicted upon him by
Jerry Steele, and he had no regret at leaving it. As he walked along he
fell to reflecting on Captain Eccles’ strange story, and thought of the
things he had read about life in the great city. It was nearly midnight
when Nick stopped at a small station and sat down on a bench outside to
rest.
No one was in the station, and the village near by was wrapped in
silence and darkness. He fell asleep. The sun was shining in his face
when, with a start, he awoke. Some one was shaking him vigorously. Nick
sprang to his feet at the sound of a familiar voice shouting in his ear:
“Wake up, Nick Collins. Wake up!”
The man shaking him was the town marshal of Parkdale. Nick guessed
instantly that he was there to arrest him for his supposed share in the
fire at Ahab Towns’ home.