Transcriber’s Notes:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_), and text
enclosed by equal signs is in bold (=bold=).
Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.
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GOLDEN LIBRARY Of choice reading for Boys and Girls. Price 10 cts
Copyrighted at Washington, D. C., by ALBERT SIBLEY & CO. Entered at the
post-office at New York as second-class mail-matter.
VOL. I.--NO. 3. NEW YORK. NOV. 1, 1886.
Under the Polar Star; --OR,-- THE YOUNG EXPLORERS.
By DWIGHT WELDON.
NEW YORK:
ALBERT SIBLEY & CO.,
18 Rose Street.
1886.
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[Illustration]
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CHAPTER I. THE GOLDEN MOOSE.
Chip! chip!
All day long that same monotonous sound, chip, chip--chip, chip, had
echoed through Solomon Bertram’s work room.
He called himself a ship carpenter, and he was one, for no member of
that craft ever did finer work than that he was now engaged on. Before
him, upon the bench, fast assuming artistic proportions, was what had
been a rough block of wood, what was now very nearly a carved animal’s
head.
The old man’s eyes filled with tears and his thin hand trembled more
than once as he viewed the few tools at his command, and ever and anon
glanced past the half open door which led into the living rooms of the
humble cottage he called home.
For at the present moment grim poverty and want hovered over that
threshold, and his brave heart that had never faltered before, became
sad and oppressed.
From the window he could see the quaint Maine town and the shipping in
the harbor. Here in Watertown he had lived, man and boy, for nearly
half a century, had brought up a happy family, had accumulated almost a
fortune.
Within two years that family had been sadly bereaved, the fortune cut
down to a pittance, and one trouble succeeding another rapidly, had
made Solomon Bertram a prematurely old man.
Chip, chip!
The mallet and chisel moved less deftly now, for the hand that wielded
them was fast growing weary, and the task was almost completed.
There was a sudden interruption that made the work cease entirely.
Followed by the smart, quick tramp of hurrying footsteps on the walk
outside, a boisterous form dashed through the house and the work-room
door, and a bright, boyish face intruded itself upon the carpenter’s
solitude.
“Is the ship’s head done, father?” its possessor asked eagerly, with a
glance at the work bench.
“Almost, Will. Where have you been, and what does that mean?”
The boy’s eyes danced with delight and his face flushed excitedly as he
laid several small silver coins on the bench.
“It means money, father,” he cried; “it means that I heard you tell
mother this morning that there was not enough in the house to buy a
pound of flour, and I made up my mind to earn some. Look, father,
nearly four shillings!”
The old man’s eyes were suffused with tears as the boy rattled on
volubly, and something choked in his voice as he sought to murmur, “My
brave boy!”
“You know I’m old enough to begin work, father, and I know it too.
There is not much chance for employment in the town, though, unless
it’s among the shipping, and you won’t hear of my going to sea.”
“No, no!”
“Not even when the old tars say I’m a natural sailor and nimble as a
monkey among the rigging?”
“Not even then, Will. The sea cost me one brave son. I can’t spare the
other.”
“Well, I remembered that, and went among the shops. No work anywhere.
Finally I came to the new building they are putting up on the public
square, and there I met my luck, as the boys say.”
“How, Will?” inquired the interested Mr. Bertram.
“They were just putting on the spire to the tower, and, ready to
arrange the tackle and climb the ropes, was the steeple Jack.”
“What’s a steeple Jack?” inquired the mystified old man.
“He’s a professional climber who makes a business of going up to high
places like steeples and towers. They had sent to Portland for him. He
wanted one of the workmen to help him by going to the top of the tower,
but they said it was too risky, and they were more used to platforms
than ropes. Well, to make a long story short, I offered my services.”
[Illustration]
“Oh, Will, always venturesome and running into danger!” spoke a
reproachful voice.
Will turned and surveyed his mother, who had come unobserved to the
door, with a quizzical smile.
“Now, don’t scold, mother,” he said. “I’m at home among the ropes, as
the man soon found. I was on the tower before he was half way up, and
when he had set the vane on the tower, two hours later, he told me he
wished he had me for an apprentice. Anyway, I earned a little money,
and there it is. To-morrow I’ll start in for more, and then you’ll
receive pay for the ship’s head, father, and we’ll get along famously.”
Old Solomon Bertram shook his head sadly.
“I shall get no pay for that work, Will,” he said.
“No pay, when you’ve put a week’s time on it! Why, what do you mean,
father?”
Mr. Bertram looked anxiously at his wife as if silently questioning
her. She nodded intelligently and withdrew.
“Sit down near me, Will,” said Mr. Bertram, seriously. “I promised
to have the figure head done to-day, so I will have to work while I
talk. You’re a good boy, Will; a dutiful son and a help and comfort to
your old parents, and I don’t feel like clouding your life with our
troubles.”
“Don’t worry about that, father,” cried Will, eagerly. “If there are
any clouds we’ll drive them away.”
Mr. Bertram smiled at Will’s boyish enthusiasm and said:
“Well, up to two years ago, when your brother Alan sailed away for the
far north on a whaling voyage, we were happy and comfortable. I owned
the house and lot here and another piece of property, besides having
two thousand dollars in bank. This I put together and purchased a share
in the Albatross. That was the ship poor Alan was captain of.”
“Yes, I remember,” assented Will murmuringly.
“If the whaling voyage proved a success I should have made enough to
buy Alan a ship of his own. Alas, my son, the staunch old Albatross and
its brave captain never came back to Watertown again!”
Mr. Bertram stopped his work to wipe away a tear that trickled down his
furrowed cheek.
“But one year afterwards,” he finally resumed, “the mate of the doomed
ship returned--Stephen Morris. He told a thrilling tale of adventure.
The Albatross, he said, had gone far north beyond the icebergs, but had
met its fate among the glaciers, and all on board had been crushed in
an ice floe but himself.”
“Do you believe him, father?” asked Will, a look of dislike in his face
at the mention of Morris’ name.
“He surely would have no object in spreading a wholesale falsehood.
No, no, his story seemed true. He said that he saw ship and men ground
under a mighty wall of ice, and that he miraculously escaped by being
on the ice floe away from the ship when the catastrophe occurred. For
months he froze and starved amid a horrible solitude, and one day was
discovered and rescued by a whaler. He landed at Boston, but came here
at once and told the story of his adventures.”
“And he has been here since, hasn’t he, father?”
“Yes, Will, and that is the strange part of it. Stephen Morris went
away a poor man. He came back a comparatively rich one. He claimed that
a relative had died leaving him heir to a large fortune. Be that as it
may, from mate he rose to captain and ship owner. He has an interest in
several coasters, and is sole proprietor of the ocean ship the Golden
Moose. It’s for that ship I’m making this figure head,” and Mr. Bertram
resumed work on the same, while Will sat for some moments deeply
absorbed in thought.
He had never liked the coarse, rough man his father had named, and
despite himself he seemed to trace some dark mystery in his solitary
rescue and the possession of sudden wealth.
“Is that all, father?” he asked after a pause.
“No, for in addition to Stephen Morris’ other possessions, he seems to
have also purchased a mortgage on this house and lot, representing some
of the money I borrowed to buy the Albatross. He has been very hard
with me about it, for I have had to scrape and save to pay the interest
regularly, and this figure head just makes out the amount to pay him
this six months’ interest.”
“And I’ll be ready to pay the next,” cried Will, staunchly. “Father,
I’m glad you told me just how we stand. I’m going to be a man and help
you, and I’m going to find out just where Stephen Morris got all his
money, for I have a suspicion that he is hiding the entire truth. You
know how people dislike him. Suppose my brother Alan and the crew never
perished at all?”
“No, no, Will,” cried his father, suspensefully, “don’t awaken my hopes
only to be plunged in despair again. No man would be so cruel as to
deceive a parent like that. Stephen Morris is hard-hearted and rough in
his ways, but he would not dare to return with a false story about the
Albatross. You are to take this figure head to Captain Morris. It is to
take the place of the moose head that was broken in the last storm.”
“All right, father,” said Will, cheerily, but he kept thinking of the
strange story he had heard.
“Tell Captain Morris to have it gilded at Portland when he goes there.
It can’t be done, you know, in Watertown. There, it’s done at last!”
The old man drew back and surveyed his handiwork with some little pride
as he gave it a last finishing touch with a chisel.
Then he smoothed off the rough edges and lifted it into Will’s arms.
It was quite a bulky object, but Will professed to be able without
difficulty to convey it to its destination.
He carried it carefully by the doorway so as not to injure the
broad-spreading antlers and walked down the street in the direction of
the harbor.
His young mind was busy forming plans of how he should best secure work
and rescue his parents from the poverty that threatened them.
“I will put school days and play days aside,” he said, resolutely, “and
begin life in earnest.”
Mark him well, reader, this boy with honest face and manly bearing and
noble determination to win his way in the world, for ere this story
ends he is destined to meet with many strange and varied adventures.