listened for the sound of oars in the direction from which Dunbar was
expected. Nobody had suggested this. No word of uneasiness had been
uttered, but every member of the company was in fact uneasy about the
missing member of the group. After their return to camp this feeling
was recognized as something in the minds of all. Presently Tom offered
a suggestion:
“What do you think, Larry? Won’t it be just as well to show a light
down that way, in case he should have trouble in finding the landing
during the night?”
“That’s a good idea, Tom, but we’re so nearly out of oil now—indeed,
we haven’t any except what is in the lanterns—that it must be a
torch—”
“Or a camp-fire,” suggested Cal. “There are no sand flies to-night, and
there’s nothing to keep us here. Why not move down to the bluffs and
build a camp-fire there? Then we can sleep by it and keep it going all
night.”
This plan was carried out, but it resulted in nothing. When the boys
returned to their work of rebuilding the shelter the next morning,
Dunbar had not yet made his appearance, nor was anything to be seen of
the dory in such of the waterways as were open to view between the mud
marshes that dotted the great bay or inlet in every direction.
But as the boys busied themselves with their work on the hut, their
minds were occupied and their anxiety as to Dunbar was less than during
the night before.
When another day had passed, however, and still Dunbar did not return,
that anxiety became very keen indeed. They built their fire again on
the bluff, and they tried hard to sleep by it, but with little success.
They would resolve to stop talking and go to sleep, and for a few
minutes all would be quiet. Then one after another would grow restless
and sit up, or walk about, or say something that set the talk going
again.
Presently, when all had given up the attempt to sleep, Larry made a
final end of all efforts in that direction by saying:
“You see, boys, this thing is really very serious. We are all anxious
about Mr. Dunbar’s safety, but we’ve got our own to think about also.”
Every one of the company had thought of that, but until now all of them
had avoided mentioning it.
“You see it isn’t Mr. Dunbar alone that is missing; the dory is gone
too, and if he doesn’t return the dory won’t.”
“No, and in that case,” commented Dick, “our situation will be really
very serious. We are here on what is practically an island that nobody
ever visits; we are without a boat, and there is no possible way of
escape from here without one.”
“Can’t we build some sort of craft that will answer our purpose?” asked
Tom, hopefully.
“What with?” Larry responded. “We have no materials and no tools except
the one little ax. There isn’t so much as a nail anywhere on Quasi
plantation, and if there were kegs full, we haven’t a hammer to hit
them with.”
“We might drive nails with stones,” suggested Dick.
“We might if we had one of your Massachusetts quarries to furnish the
stones. But on all this coast there isn’t a rock or a stone as big as a
filbert. No, we have no tools and no substitutes for tools.”
“Yes,” growled Cal, who alone was lying down with closed eyes in an
endeavor to get to sleep, “and you fellows are doing all you can
to wear out the strength we need for the emergency by profitless
chatter, when we ought to be sleeping and refreshing ourselves to meet
conditions as they arise. Don’t you see the folly of that? Don’t you
realize that you aren’t bettering things, but making them worse?
“The very worst preparation for meeting difficulties is to fall into
a panic about them. Besides, there’s no occasion for panic or for
melancholy brooding; Dunbar may turn up with the dory safe and sound.
If he doesn’t, I grant you we’ll have some problems to wrestle with
and we’ll need the clearest heads we can keep on our shoulders. You’re
doing all you can to muddle them.”
“But, Cal, it is necessary to face this situation and think of ways in
which—”
“That’s precisely what you’re not doing. Not one of you has offered a
single suggestion that is worth while. Besides, this isn’t the time for
that. Troubles always look worse at night than by daylight. The best we
can do now is to make up our minds to two things.”
“What are they, Cal?”
“First, that if we’re in a hole, we’ll find some way of getting out of
it, and, second, that it is high time to go to sleep.”
“Have you thought of any plans, Cal?”
“Not exactly; but I have some ideas that may be worthy of attention on
the part of this distinguished company, if this distinguished company
will individually and collectively stop gabbing and let sleep respond
to the wooing of closed eyelids. Silence in camp!”
XXXV
AGAIN TOM FINDS SOMETHING
WHEN morning came all the boys admitted that Cal had been right in
saying that troubles exaggerate themselves at night and seem far
less hopeless when faced by daylight. The situation was the same
that morning that it had been at midnight, but it did not seem so
bad. Dunbar had not appeared and every hour that passed made it less
probable that he ever would return. But somehow even that prospect did
not altogether appal the boys when they thought of it by daylight.
Nevertheless, their minds were greatly disturbed as they waited
throughout that day for Cal to unbosom himself of the ideas and
suggestions he had promised to offer. They hoped he would do so at
breakfast, but he talked instead of plans for that day’s work in
rebuilding the hut. While they were engaged in building it there was no
opportunity for him to set forth his views; they could not get together
to hear his plans without delaying the work, and they were agreed that
nothing must be permitted to interrupt that. They looked forward to
dinner as the opportunity he would probably seize upon for explaining,
but when during that meal some one threw out a hint that that was as
good a time as any, Cal replied:
“We’ll wait till evening; we must give Mr. Dunbar till then to return.
If he doesn’t put in an appearance by sunset to-day we may as well give
up looking for him. Then will be the time for discussing the situation
and planning ways out of it. Now we’ll all get to work again.”
There was something in Cal’s manner and in his general cheerfulness
which comforted his comrades, though it would have puzzled them to say
how or why. It was evident at any rate that Cal had not lost hope. It
was obvious that he saw nothing in the situation that should suggest
despair, and his manifest confidence was in some degree contagious.
The sun was still an hour high when suddenly Cal called out:
“Suppose we let it go at that, boys. The thing’s good enough as it
stands and we can get on with it for the few weeks that remain of our
stay at Quasi.”
“Then you really see a way out?” asked Larry. “What is it?”
“Come on over to the bluff and we’ll have a last look for Mr. Dunbar.
If he isn’t within sight we’ll give him up and make up our minds that
we shall never see the _Hunkydory_ again. Then we’ll talk the thing
over and see what is to be done.”
They set out for the bluff, restraining their impatience to hear what
Cal might have to say with a good deal of difficulty, and only because
they must. They knew he would say nothing until he should be ready, and
that if they hurried him he would remain silent the longer.
No sign appearing of Dunbar or the dory, Cal sat down with the others
and seemed ready to say what was in his mind.
“This is a situation that we didn’t reckon upon, but it is by no means
hopeless, and we shall enjoy talking about it as the crowning event in
our trip to Quasi when we come to think of it only as a memory.”
“But we’re not out of it yet,” interrupted Larry, “and I for one see no
prospect of getting out.”
“There speaks despair, born of pessimism,” Cal smilingly said. “‘Hope
springs eternal in the human breast,’ you know, and my breast is
altogether human and hopeful. But let us suppose your despair is well
founded, and see what then. At worst we shall not starve to death.
There is plenty of game—”
“Yes, and fish too,” Tom interjected.
“Yes, and fish too. It won’t be easy to get them without a boat, but
we’ll manage in some way.”
“We can easily make a raft to fish from,” suggested Dick.
“I had thought of that,” resumed Cal, “but it’s impracticable.”
“Why so?”
“Because we have no anchor and nothing that will serve as a substitute
for one. Of course the tide would quickly sweep our raft away from any
bar we might try to fish upon. No, what fish we get will have to be
caught with the castnet at low tide, and in the mouths of sloughs where
mullets feed, particularly at night. But there is game, and there are
oysters, and no end of crabs. We shall not starve to death. We have no
bread left, and Tom’s sweet potato patch is about exhausted, but we can
live on the other things for the two or three weeks that we must stay
here.”
“You’ve said something like that several times, Cal,” said Larry, with
a touch of impatience. “What do you mean by it?”
“I mean that this is the beginning of September; that the college
session will begin on the first of October—less than a month hence;
that our honored parents expect us to be in attendance at that time;
and that if we don’t get home in time to pack our trunks they will
send out and search for us; and finally, that as Major Rutledge, of
Charleston, whom I have the honor to call father, knew in advance that
we intended to visit Quasi on this trip, Quasi will be the place at
which he will first look for us. So we’ll have our little frolic out
and it will be great fun to tell the fellows at college about it after
we get acquainted with them.”
The spirits of the boys responded promptly to Cal’s confident prophecy,
which indeed was not so much a prophecy as a statement of simple facts
known to all of them, though in their half panic-stricken mood they had
not thought of them before.
Presently Dick had something to say that added a new impulse to
activity.
“Of course, Cal is right, and we’ll be rescued from Quasi before the
end of the month, but I for one would like us to get away without being
rescued. Think of the alarm and distress our mothers will suffer if we
do not turn up in time, especially as this earthquake has happened.
They will think we’ve come to grief in some way and—I say, boys, we
simply _must_ get away from here before they take the alarm.”
“We certainly ought to if there was any way,” said Cal, “but of course
there isn’t.”
“Yes, there is,” answered Dick, confidently. “You’re the pessimist this
time, Cal.”
“Go ahead and tell us your plan,” responded Cal. “I’m always ready for
the hopeful prospect if I can find it. What do you propose, Dick?”
“To build a sort of catamaran. It can’t be much of a craft because we
have no tools and no fit materials, but these waters are so closely
land-locked that all we need is to make something that will float. We
can paddle it to the village up there, ten miles or so away, and from
there we can walk to the railroad.”
“So far, so good,” said Cal, when Dick ceased to speak. “Go on and tell
us the rest.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why the ‘how’ of it all. What is the plan of your catamaran, and how
are we to make it?”
“Don’t be sceptical, Cal, till you’ve—”
“I’m not sceptical—not a bit. I’m only asking what we are to do
and how, so that we may get to work at it early in the morning, or
to-night, for that matter, if there’s anything that can be done by fire
light. You spoke of our parents awhile ago, and of the alarm they must
feel if we don’t get back on time. I’ve been thinking of my mother
ever since. She’s an invalid, you know, and a shock of that sort might
kill her. So I’m ready to work by night or by day, or both, if it will
help to spare her. Go on and tell us your plan.”
“I will. You know, of course, what a catamaran is, so I need not
explain that. We will cut two logs, about twelve or fourteen feet long,
one of them eight or ten inches thick and the other a mere pole. We’ll
hew their ends sharp—boat-fashion—and lay them parallel to each
other, seven feet or so apart. We’ll fasten them securely in place with
stout poles at the bow and stern and amidships, binding the poles in
place with limber vines. That will complete our framework. Then we’ll
place a light pole longitudinally on the cross braces and about three
feet inside the larger of our two logs. From the log to this pole
we’ll construct a light deck of cane on which to stand as we paddle
and push the craft along. Of course it will be a rude thing, very hard
to manage, but as no part of it will be in the water except the two
logs—one a mere pole—it will offer very little resistance, not half
as much as a raft would.”
“No, not a tenth,” answered Larry.
“Come on,” said Cal. “We’re burning daylight. This job is yours, Dick,
and you are to boss it, but I’ll be foreman of the gang and keep
myself and the rest of you at work. We’ll let supper go till after
dark, and utilize what’s left of the daylight in cutting cane, vines,
poles and whatever else you need. Then we’ll be ready in the morning
to cut the logs and begin the work of construction. Hoop la! We’ll be
afloat again before the week’s up! Dick, you’re a dandy, and I’ll never
accuse you of pessimism again. ‘Look up and not down, forward and not
back, out and not in, and lend a hand.’ Dr. Hale put all there is of
sound philosophy into that one sentence.”
After the darkness made an end of work for that day the boys sat down
gleefully to their supper, and hopefully laid plans for the morrow.
Presently Larry jestingly turned to Tom:
“It’s your turn now, Tom. You are credited in this company with
something like a genius for finding things at the critical moment when
we need them most. Why don’t you bring your abilities to bear on the
present situation and find something—a chest of tools or a keg of
nails, or something else useful?”
“Perhaps I will,” answered Tom. “Anyhow, I’m going out now to see what
I can find in three traps I set yesterday. There have been coon tracks
over that way every morning recently, and the gentleman who made them
may have walked into one of my traps.”
The boys kept a number of torches ready for lighting, now that the lack
of oil rendered the lanterns useless, and taking one of these with
him, Tom set out to inspect his traps. He was gone for so long that
his comrades were wondering what had become of him, when suddenly he
appeared, coming from the direction of the bluff, though he had gone
quite the opposite way.
“Did you get your coon?” asked Larry.
“No,” said Tom; “but I found something.”
“What was it, and where is it?”
“Be patient and I’ll tell you about it. After I had looked at my traps
it occurred to me that I might as well come back by way of the bluffs,
on the chance—”
“Ah, I guess it all,” interrupted Cal. “You found the dory at anchor
there and Mr. Dunbar busy polishing his finger nails preparatory to his
return to camp. Or perhaps you found a—”
“Stop your nonsense, Cal,” commanded Larry. “Don’t you see that Tom
really has something to tell us!”
“Go ahead, Tom; I’m as mum as the Sphinx,” answered Cal, who found it
difficult to keep his jubilant spirits within bounds now that he had
something to do which promised results.
Tom resumed:
“I don’t know whether it means anything or not, but it’s interesting
at any rate and I may as well tell you about it. As I was passing the
uprooted catalpa tree, my foot sank into wet sand, and as the sand
there had always been as dry as powder, I looked about to see what it
meant. To my surprise I saw water trickling out from under the roots
of the tree, and I went close up to inspect. As I was looking at the
new-born spring my eye was caught by something curiously entangled
among the upturned roots of the tree. It was so wound about by the
roots and so buried in sand that I could make out its shape only in
part, and that with difficulty. To make matters worse my torch was
burned out by that time, so that I had only my fingers to explore with.
I felt of the thing carefully, and made out that it is a keg of the
kind that people sell gunpowder in. But I could get at only a small
part of the chine, so I could learn no more about it. We can cut the
roots away and dig it out to-morrow.”
“We’ll cut the roots away and dig it out to-night,” answered Cal,
rising and lighting a torch. “We have work to do to-morrow and can’t
spare time. Besides, this is a mystery and we sha’n’t sleep till we
solve it; grab a cold torch each of you and come on. I’ll carry the
little ax.”
XXXVI
WHAT THE EARTH GAVE UP
TOM’S account of the way in which the powderkeg was entangled in the
roots of the catalpa tree was more than borne out by the fact as the
boys found it. It seemed to them a wonder that Tom had discovered it
at all, so completely was it wrapped up in the knotted mass of root
growths.
After digging away the earth until the whole root entanglement was
exposed to view, the boys set Dick Wentworth at work cutting away the
roots with his jackknife, a thing at which only one person could work
at a time. When Dick’s hand grew tired, another of the boys relieved
him at the task and the work was hurried as much as possible, not
so much because it was growing late as because the little company’s
curiosity was intense.
“Wonder how on earth anybody ever got the thing under the roots of a
tree that way?” ventured Tom, as he toiled with his knife.
“Simple enough,” answered Cal. “He didn’t do it.”
“How did it get there, then?”
“Why, the tree grew there after the keg was buried, of course. Somebody
stuck a catalpa bean in the ground directly over the keg. Probably the
man who buried the thing did that; he wanted to provide a landmark by
which to find the spot again, and probably he knew there wasn’t another
catalpa tree on all Quasi plantation.”
“But that tree has been standing here a long time—twenty or
twenty-five years I should say.”
“That only means that the keg was buried here twenty or twenty-five
years ago at the least, and ’pon my word, it looks it.”
“What I’m wondering about,” interposed Larry, “is what the keg
contains. It must be something important or nobody would have taken the
pains to bury it and plant a tree over it.”
“And yet,” argued Dick, “if it is anything important, why did anybody
bury it away out here and never come back for it?”
“It all depends,” answered Cal, “on just what you mean by ‘important.’
Things are important sometimes and utterly unimportant at others;
important to one person and of no consequence to anybody else. At this
moment I feel that my breakfast in the morning is becoming a thing of
very great importance to me; but I don’t suppose poor Dunbar, wherever
he is, cares a fig about it.”
“By the way, what can have become of the poor fellow? I wonder if he
managed to fall out of the dory and get drowned?”
It was Tom who asked the question. Cal, who had thought a great deal
about the matter, answered it promptly:
“That isn’t likely,” he said. “Indeed, it is scarcely possible. Dunbar
was too good a boatman to fall overboard, and too good a swimmer to
drown if he did. He would have climbed back into the dory with no worse
consequence than a ducking in warm sea water.”
“What’s your theory then, Cal?”
“Why, that he has had one of his peculiar ‘spells.’ You remember that
when he was missing from camp the last time he wrote us a letter, but
when his lost knife was returned to him he seemed to remember nothing
about it. More than that, he seemed to think the day he returned was
the same as the day he went away. In other words, his memory was a
blank as to the time he was away. Then, too, you remember that when we
first found him here he couldn’t remember whether he had come three
weeks or four weeks before. Still again, you remember how badly he was
mixed up about the date just before he went away this time, and that
too in spite of the fact that he had important papers to post before a
given time.”
“Then you think he’s crazy?”
“I don’t know about that, because I’m not a doctor or an alienist, or
anything else of the kind. But I think he has a way of losing himself
now and then, though at ordinary times his head is a remarkably clear
one.”
“I have read of such cases,” said Dick. “They call it ‘double
consciousness,’ I believe. I don’t know whether it is regarded as a
kind of insanity or not. Then you think, Cal—”
“I hardly know what I think. You see I don’t know the facts in this
case. We know absolutely nothing of what Dunbar did or what happened
to him after he passed out of sight behind the marsh island over
there. So we haven’t enough facts to base any thinking at all upon.
But it has occurred to me that after he left us one of his fits of
self-forgetfulness may have come on, and it may have lasted ever since.”
At this point the discussion of Dunbar’s case was brought to an end by
an unexpected happening. As Tom tugged hard at one of the larger roots
in an effort to loosen its hold, the keg suddenly fell to pieces. The
oaken staves and headings seemed still to be fairly sound, but the
iron hoops that had held the keg together had been so eaten with rust
that they fell into fragments under the strain and the staves tumbled
together in a loose pile.
From among them Tom drew forth something, and all the boys held their
torches close while examining it.
“What is it, anyhow?” was the question on every lip.
“It’s very heavy for its size,” said Tom, poising it in his hand.
“Of course it is,” answered Cal. “Lead usually is heavy for its size.
But that’s a box, made of lead. If it were solid it would be a good
deal heavier. Open it, Tom.”
“I can’t. It doesn’t seem to have any opening or any seams of any kind.
Look at it for yourself, Cal.”
As he spoke he handed the thing to his comrade. It was an oblong mass,
seemingly hollow, but showing no sign of an opening anywhere. It was
about ten or eleven inches in length, a little more than four inches
wide, and about two inches thick from top to bottom. The surface was
much corroded, but Larry thought he discovered a partly obliterated
inscription of some kind upon it.
“We must stop handling the thing carelessly,” he said. “Corroded as
the surface is we might rub the inscription off, and in that way rob
ourselves of the means of making out the meaning of the thing. We’ll
carry it carefully to camp, quicken up the fire with plenty of light
wood, and then make a minute examination of the curious find. Tom, you
may have found a fortune for yourself this time, who knows?”
“Or a misfortune,” suggested Dick, who in his childhood had been a
firm believer in all the mysteries and wonder workings recorded in
the Arabian Night’s Entertainments, and still recalled them upon the
smallest suggestion. “Shut up as it is, with no sign of an opening, who
knows but that it bears Solomon’s seal on it? The inscription may be
Solomon’s autograph, put there to hold captive some malicious genie. We
all know what happened to the fisherman who let the smoke out of the
copper vase.”
“Oh, I’ll take my chances on that sort of thing,” laughingly answered
Tom, who, as the discoverer, was recognized by his comrades as the
rightful owner of the box and the person entitled to say what should be
done with it.
“Of course,” said Cal. “Genii don’t play tricks in our time and
country. They’re afraid of the constable.”
The boys had reached the camp now, and a few minutes later a pile of
blazing fat pine made the space around it as light as day. For an hour,
perhaps, the boys minutely examined the queer casket. There was, or
had been, an inscription cut upon its upper surface with the point of
a penknife, but the corroding of the surface had so far obliterated it
that the boys succeeded only in doubtfully guessing at a half-effaced
letter here and there and in making out the figures 865 at the end of
the writing.
“That’s the date,” said Larry—“1865, the figure one obliterated.
Obviously the inscription tells us nothing. What next, Tom?”
Tom was minutely examining the sides of the case, scraping off the rust
with his thumb nail. Presently, instead of answering Larry’s question,
he cried out:
“Eureka! See here, boys! This box was made in two pieces exactly alike,
one top and the other bottom. The two have been fitted together and
then a hot iron has been drawn over the seam, completely obliterating
it. It’s the nicest job of sealing a thing up water tight and air tight
that I ever saw, but I’m going to spoil it.”
With that he opened his jackknife and very carefully drew its point
along the line where the upper and lower halves of the casket had been
joined. After he had traced the line twice with the knife point the two
halves suddenly fell apart, and some neatly folded and endorsed papers
were found within.