THE SECRET OF THE GOLDEN BALL.
It seemed to Breeze as though daylight never would come, as he lay there
holding the open locket in his hand and wondering about it. How had it
come open? and what did it contain? He was adrift in a fog, far out at
sea, in a frail open boat. He was wet, cold, and hungry. His situation
was about as uncomfortable as can well be imagined; but all this was
lost sight of and forgotten in the thoughts aroused by that golden ball,
which during his sleep he must have taken from his neck, and which had
so unaccountably been opened. It was the visible evidence of the great
mystery of his life, that he so longed to solve, and in his curiosity he
wished for the daylight only that he might see what it contained. He
hoped Wolfe would wake up, that he might talk of all this with him; but
he would not disturb him, and after a while he, too, fell asleep again.
When Breeze next awoke it was early morning, and daylight was sifting
faintly through the fog. Wolfe had been aroused some time before by the
pain of his leg. He had just finished attending to the wound as well as
he was able, and was replacing the bandage.
The moment he noticed that Breeze had opened his eyes, he exclaimed,
“Good-morning, dorymate! We seem to be in luck, as usual.”
“How?” asked Breeze, wonderingly.
“How! Why, don’t you notice that the wind has gone down and the sea is
getting smooth? We have had a pretty comfortable night, and I shouldn’t
wonder if the sun drove away this beastly fog before long, and shone out
warm and pleasant. Then we must surely sight something, out of all the
vessels that are cruising on the Banks.”
“That’s so!” said Breeze, quite cheered by this hopeful view of the
situation. Then, bethinking himself of the wonderful event of the
preceding night, and anxious to add his bit of pleasant intelligence, he
continued, “And best of all, Wolfe, the ball is open.”
“The what?” asked Wolfe, greatly puzzled for the moment to know what his
companion meant.
“The ball! The golden ball that I wear around my neck, and that we were
looking at yesterday.”
“You don’t mean it!” exclaimed the other, now greatly interested. “How
did you get it open? What’s in it? Where is it?”
“I don’t know how I got it open, and I don’t know what is in it because
it was too dark to see; but here it is.”
With this Breeze withdrew the locket from the bosom of his flannel
shirt, into which he had instinctively thrust it for safe-keeping when
he found himself dropping off to sleep, and they both bent over it
eagerly.
One half had swung back from the other on a pivot, by which the two
sections were still held together. After a single glance at it, Wolfe
gave a shout.
“A compass, by all that’s wonderful!” he cried. “The very thing we’ve
been wanting, above all others! Well, old man, any one who says we are
not in luck now doesn’t know what he’s talking about, that’s all!”
One side did indeed hold a small but perfect compass, the daintiest that
was ever seen. Its freely moving card was a thin plate of gold upon
which were enamelled the four cardinal points and a coat of arms. The
latter consisted of a blue shield with a diamond, cut in the form of a
star, upon which the card was pivoted, in its centre. On the shield,
above the star, and in the lower corners were three devices, which
Breeze thought might be pyramids, and which Wolfe called volcanoes.
Above the shield was a closed helmet, and beneath it, in letters of
gold, the motto, “Point True.”
As Wolfe repeated this over to himself, his face wore a puzzled look.
“‘Point True,’” he said aloud; “I have certainly heard that before, and
I wonder where?” Finally he satisfied himself that he must have read it
in some book, and gave the matter no further thought.
In the other half of the ball was a second golden plate on which was
enamelled the same coat of arms, with the only difference that the
central star in this case was formed of a pearl. A spring, which they
did not discover for some time, slipped this plate aside, and in the
cavity beneath it the boys saw three tiny locks of hair, of which one
had evidently been cut from the head of an infant. On the under side of
the plate was engraved “Merab to Tristram,” and Ruth’s answer to Naomi,
“Whither thou goest, I will go.”
Breeze could not help feeling somewhat disappointed when he found that
this was all. Although the ball had yielded up its secret, it had in
reality told him nothing. It had merely given a new direction to his
curiosity. Who were Merab and Tristram? To whom had the locks of hair
belonged? The only satisfactory features of its revelation were the coat
of arms and the compass. The former might at some future time be
located, while the latter could be immediately used.
This thought had also come to Wolfe, who had rejoiced at the very first
sight of the little vibrating card, and who now said,
“Let’s have breakfast right off, Breeze, and then start for Nova Scotia.
I’ve been thinking the situation over, and though I believe we are
somewhat farther away from Nova Scotia than we are from Newfoundland,
we’ll stand a better chance of falling in with some sort of a vessel by
steering west than if we headed to the north. So what do you say to
laying a course due west, and sticking to it, taking turns at the oars
all day?”
“I don’t care much which way we go,” answered Breeze; “but I think it
will be much better for us to row than to lie still, because it will at
any rate occupy our time and keep us warm.”
“All right, then, west it is; and I wish the cook would hurry up
breakfast so that we could make a start. I’m not only awfully hungry,
but I’m in a great hurry to get to Nova Scotia.”
The cheerfulness and flow of spirits by which this Irish lad managed to
sustain both his own and his dorymate’s courage were wonderful. They
never flagged, and from the first to the last of that memorable voyage
his constant effort was to make the best of everything, and turn every
trifling circumstance to account for the purpose of provoking a smile or
inspiring fresh hope.
The two biscuit which, washed down with a swallow of water from the
little keg, formed their breakfast, were quickly eaten. Then the drag to
which they had been lying was taken aboard, and seizing a pair of oars,
Wolfe, who had insisted upon keeping first watch, as he called it, began
pulling vigorously in the direction indicated by Breeze. The latter made
himself as comfortable as possible in the stern of the dory, with his
gaze fixed upon the small compass that he held in his hand.
In addition to his own inclination to look upon the bright side of
things, Breeze was happily influenced by his companion’s cheerful view
of their situation, and now he said, “So long as we have lost the Vixen
and found a compass, what a comfort the fog is!”
“Is it!” asked Wolfe, in surprise. “Well, I must confess I had not quite
taken that view of it. How do you make it out?”
“Because it keeps us all the time hoping for something to turn up. It
would be awfully discouraging to be able to see for miles, with nothing
but water to look at. Now we may come upon some vessel at any minute.”
“That’s so. The skipper was telling the other night of some fellows who
were out four days in a fog without food or water, and who had just
given up in despair, when their dory was nearly capsized by drifting
afoul of the cable of an anchored schooner.”
“I remember a story my father used to tell,” said Breeze, “about two men
who were lost in a fog on this very Bank. They had been out only about
an hour when the fog lifted, and they saw the flare their mates were
burning for them. They rowed for it as hard as they could pull, but the
schooner was under way, and kept just about the same distance ahead of
them all night. The next day they could still see her, with her flag at
half-mast for them; but they couldn’t get near enough for those on board
to see them. After they lost sight of her they were out two days longer,
both of them bright and clear. During that time they sighted and chased
five more vessels. Then the fog shut down again, and an hour afterwards
they were nearly run down by the schooner that picked them up. Now, if
they’d been in the fog all the time they would have taken things a great
deal more easy, and probably got picked up just as quick.”
“Yes,” admitted Wolfe, “that all may be very true; but I’m afraid
there’s another side to it. Hark! didn’t you hear a whistle?” he
exclaimed, resting on his oars to listen.
The next moment it came to them plainly, the hoarse warning whistle of
some great steamer. At first they could not locate the sound; but as
they heard it again, and this time much nearer, they fixed it as coming
from the direction in which they were heading, and knew that it
proceeded from some transatlantic liner, bound eastward. Then they
became filled with a fever of apprehension, of mingled hopes and fears.
What if she should run them down? What if she should pick them up? What
if she should pass without seeing or hearing them? These were the
questions they asked each other over and over again during the few
minutes that elapsed before the vast, formless object rushed by them
still concealed by the fog, but so near that they could hear voices from
her decks. They had not been seen, nor were their frantic shouts heeded,
if they had been heard.
In deep, dejected silence they sat motionless, listening to the sound of
the whistle until it was lost in the distance. Then Wolfe said, “That’s
the other side to it.”
“Yes,” replied Breeze, “and it’s a pretty dark side to have to look at
too. If the fog had only lifted, ever so little, even for one minute, we
might be on board that steamer safe and comfortable now, on our way
to--I don’t knew where and I shouldn’t have cared. At any rate, we
wouldn’t be here, lost, starved, and drifting through a fog-bank.” The
boy’s tone was very bitter, and it showed the heaviness of his heart.
“Take a biscuit, old man,” said Wolfe, sympathetically, “it’ll cheer you
up.”
For a moment Breeze tried to look angry, at what he considered an
ill-timed levity on the part of his companion; but the expression of the
other’s face changed his mood, and he laughed in spite of his
unhappiness.
“That’s right!” exclaimed Wolfe. “Laughing’s a sight more becoming to
you than crying, and whenever you ‘Point True’ to yourself, it’s plenty
of the first and little of the last you’ll be indulging in.”
“But it is hard to bear such a disappointment. Just think how near she
came to us!”
“Faith! It might have gone harder with us if she’d come nearer. For my
part I’m just thankful she didn’t run us down entirely. Those same
steamers are the terrors of the Banks. I mind well the last trip I was
here in the old _Walpus_. We were lying to an anchor in a fog every bit
as thick as this, and minding our own business, when one of them came
rushing down on us. They paid no attention to our shouting, or to our
horn, and turned neither to port nor starboard; but just came on tooting
their old whistle for all other folks to get out of their way. Well,
sir, we were all in the act of piling over the stern into the dories
when she drove past within a handshake of the end of our jib-boom, and
we could see the scared faces of the people on her deck looking down at
us. She was that close that the patent log towing behind her caught on
our cable and parted its line. We hauled it in the next day when we hove
up our anchor. No, sir! none of your steamers for me! They’re too
careless and overbearing-like, and I say we’ve just had a mighty lucky
escape, and should be thankful for it. Come, now, stand your watch like
a good fellow, and pull for Nova Scotia, or for some decent, easy-going
sailing-vessel that’ll pick us up.”
So Breeze took a spell at the oars, and thus rowing by turn, and telling
each other yarns of their own experience, or repeating what they had
learned from others to divert their thoughts, they passed the second day
in the dory.
The fog had not lifted for a single moment since morning, and when
darkness again shut down upon them it still infolded them in its clammy
embrace. Although the night was calm, they tossed their drag overboard
lest a wind should rise while they slept. Then, after eating their
scanty supper of a single biscuit each, they lay down, hugging each
other closely for warmth, and prepared to pass the night in such comfort
as their circumstances would permit.
Before they dropped asleep Breeze heard Wolfe say, as though talking to
himself, “We must have made something over fifty miles to-day, and at
the same rate we’ll soon reach the Nova Scotia coast now.”
Breeze smiled at this too evident attempt to cheer him; for he knew, as
well as Wolfe, that they had not made more than twenty or twenty-five
miles at the most, and that the coast towards which they were heading
was still several hundred miles from them. Three more days would finish
their biscuit at the rate they had been eating them, and even now he was
so hungry that he felt they might as well starve at once as to try and
economize them any longer. Their fresh water was already half gone, and
altogether their prospect was a very gloomy one.
The night passed uneventfully, but before daylight Wolfe was awakened by
an exclamation of dismay from his companion. “What is the trouble?” he
inquired, sitting up stiffly.
“The ball is closed,” answered Breeze.
“Closed?”
“Yes; it must have got pushed together somehow while I was asleep, and I
can’t get it open again.”
“And a good job, too,” said Wolfe. “Now we’ll have no excuse for rowing
this day, and I’m glad; for my back’s broke thinking of it.”
“But don’t you want to get to Nova Scotia?”
“Indeed, I do not! An out-of-the-way place like that? I’d prefer to be
picked up where we are by some craft that’ll take us into New York, or
Boston, or maybe Gloucester itself.”
An hour later the sun rose, and under its cheerful influence the last
trace of fog disappeared, and a perfect spring morning broke over the
sparkling waters of the Grand Bank. It was just such a morning as would
cause the New England birds to break forth in an ecstasy of song, and
Breeze almost expected to hear them as he sat up in the dory and looked
around.
His ears were not greeted by the songs of birds, but his eyes were
gladdened by a sight so welcome that his first joyful exclamation was
choked by his emotion.
Wolfe sprang up in alarm at the sound, only to see his friend pointing
with trembling finger to the southward. There, not more than half a mile
from them, he saw a square-rigged, deeply laden vessel, rising and
falling gracefully on the long swells.
The next moment Breeze had cut the line that held them to their drag
with a blow from his sheath-knife, and, under the impulse of two pairs
of oars, dory No. 6 was surging over the calm waters as it had never
before been driven in all its storm-tossed career.
The dorymates spoke no word to each other, nor looked around, until they
paused, breathless and panting, close beside the vessel. Although there
was not a breath of wind, they had feared that somehow she might sail
away and leave them. Now that there was no danger of that, they sat in
their boat and gazed at her curiously. Her bottom was covered with
sea-grass and barnacles, and she was weather-beaten to the last degree,
though her spars were all in place and she still looked stanch and
seaworthy. Not a human being was to be seen on board of her, nor did
their hail receive any answer.
The strangest feature of the brigantine, for such she was, lay in her
sails and rigging. Instead of showing a cloud of light canvas, as would
naturally be expected in such weather, she was under a double-reefed
main-sail, single-reefed fore-topsail, and fore-staysail only. Her
fore-course was clewed up but not stowed, and the royal was furled; but
the topgallant-sail seemed to have been blown away, judging from the few
streamers of tattered canvas that still hung from the yard. Her running
rigging was either hanging at loose ends, or tangled in the greatest
confusion. To crown all, a ragged American ensign drooped at half-mast,
and union down, from her main-peak.
[Illustration: NOT A HUMAN BEING WAS TO BE SEEN ON BOARD OF HER, NOR DID
THEIR HAIL RECEIVE ANY ANSWER.]
The boys pulled entirely around the vessel several times, wondering at
her condition, but still unable by their shouts to attract the attention
of her crew. On her stern they read her name, _Esmeralda_, of Baltimore.
Finally Breeze spied a rope hanging over her side near the fore-chains,
and proposed that they board her by it. Having tested it and found it
strong enough for their purpose, they went up hand over hand. Breeze was
the first to clamber over the bulwarks and gain her deck. It was
absolutely deserted, and he walked aft while Wolfe was making the dory
fast.
There was something mysterious and awful about this apparently deserted
brig that caused Breeze to shiver and gaze about him apprehensively. He
walked as far aft as the quarter-deck, and as he gained it a gaunt,
pale-faced man came slowly up the companion-way leading down into the
cabin, and stood looking at him. Breeze, too, stared for a moment, and
then sprang towards the trembling figure.