THE LURE OF GOLD
The boys lost no time in hunting up the old Eskimo chief. He remembered
them immediately and seemed glad to see them. He made the walrus do
tricks for them and talked freely enough of his life and experiences
with the circus. But when the boys approached the subject of
treasure-hunting he became wary at once, and they could extract little
information from him. They were afraid to persist, lest they arouse his
suspicions. This was the last thing in the world they wanted to happen,
for the idea of sunken treasure had now taken possession of their minds,
and if Takyak really knew where any was located, they were full of hope
to get a share of it.
The prospects did not appear very bright, however, and more than once
Mouser took the opportunity to crow over the other three and remind them
that he had “told them so.”
“Such a thing as sunken gold and pieces of eight and all that sort of
thing would never happen to me,” he said one day. “If it rained soup,
I’d be caught out with nothing but a fork. Besides, what would a
treasure ship be doing up around the North Pole? It doesn’t sound
plausible.”
“I don’t suppose any treasure ship ever came very far north on purpose,”
said Fred, sarcastically. “There’s always a chance that it might have
been blown up in a storm, though. Stranger things than that have
happened.”
“Yes, but not often,” retorted his gloomy friend. “I’d give my share in
the loot to be sitting back on the old porch at home, eating real
honest-to-goodness crullers and enjoying life, instead of staggering
around the north Atlantic in this forsaken apology for a ship.”
“Oh, you’ll feel mighty different when you get your pockets full of
nice, chinking, yellow gold,” grinned Bobby. “You won’t wish then that
you hadn’t been let in for this involuntary ocean voyage. Look at the
bright side of it, and maybe you’ll feel less doleful. You go around
looking as though you’d lost your last friend.”
But Bobby was far from feeling as much confidence as he professed to
have. So far they had little to go on save guesswork and the few chance
words of the old Eskimo, which might have been little more than a
product of his imagination. It might be as Mouser said, that the ship
was only going North on a trading cruise, and the old Eskimo, homesick
for his own country, had taken passage because it happened to be the
first vessel that he could get passage on. But if that were the case,
why should the old Eskimo look so suspicious when they mentioned
treasure to him, and refuse to say a word on the subject? And what had
he and Captain Garish talked about so earnestly that day at the circus?
These and many other questions and surmises sufficed to keep him on the
anxious seat. And in addition to this, was the thought of those at home
who would have not the slightest knowledge of what had happened to their
boys and must have given them up for lost by this time.
They had already learned that the schooner was not equipped with
wireless and that they were sailing out of the beaten track of
ocean-going vessels. Occasionally a sail was sighted, but so far away
that signaling was practically out of the question.
“Guess the captain doesn’t want to signal anyway,” said Fred moodily.
“He is short of hands, you know, and we’ll fit in very nicely.”
“And maybe without pay,” added Mouser.
All these things combined to make the boys unhappy, and in spite of many
amusing and exciting happenings on board ship, they could not be said to
enjoy the cruise much.
The weather was uniformly good, and the boys were on deck most of the
time. They struck up an acquaintance with various members of the crew,
and many were the yarns they listened to in the off watches while the
men sat about on hatch covers and coils of rope, mending or scrubbing
their clothes, or perhaps just idly drawing at blackened old pipes. They
had a good deal of fun, too, with Mose, the black mess boy, who was
always in good spirits and who never grew seasick, no matter how rough
the ocean became.
“Ah’s a salty niggah, white boys, an’ dey ain’t no sea ebber rolled dat
could make me sick,” he used to boast. “De on’y thing whut it does to me
is to give me an appetite. Yessuh, Ah nebber eats quite so heartily as
when de old ship is standin’ on her beam ends an’ doin’ her best to dive
down to Davy Jones’ locker. Mos’ times Ah kin do justice to mah meals,
but it’s den dat Ah really comes out strong an’ packs away de victuals.”
He would come from the galley with a load of dishes on each arm,
balancing himself on the heaving deck with all the skill and precision
of a tightrope walker, and for a long time the boys never saw him meet
with an accident.
But one day there was a heavy cross swell running. The ship rolled and
pitched and apparently did everything except actually roll over. By this
time the boys had gotten their sea legs, however, and they were seated
about the table in the cabin, waiting for breakfast. A steep flight of
steps led down to it from the deck, and in due course of time the boys
saw the negro’s ungainly flat feet start down the ladder. On one arm he
carried a big dish of oatmeal and on the other a pile of plates. This
was no more than his usual load, with which he had made the descent many
times before without mishap. But this morning luck was against him. He
had hardly gotten down three steps, when the ship gave an unusually
heavy roll, which suddenly changed to a pitch as the bows slanted
steeply downward.
Mose struggled manfully to keep his balance, but it was of no use. He
felt himself going, but it was impossible for him to catch hold of
anything without dropping the dishes he was carrying. For a few seconds
he gyrated wildly, while the boys held their breath. Then down he came
flat on the deck, while the big dish of oatmeal went flying through the
air and landed against the bulkhead with a crash.
Soft, clinging oatmeal seemed to fill the air for a few seconds, and
everything in the cabin, including the boys, was liberally sprinkled.
The pile of dishes smashed into a thousand fragments, and the havoc
wrought was terrible to see.
At first the boys were afraid that the negro was seriously injured, but
before they could get to him he was on his feet, looking very sheepish
but apparently none the worse for the accident. When the boys saw that
he was not hurt they broke into roars of laughter.
“Wow!” cried Billy, with tears running down his cheeks. “I thought you
were so salty that nothing could ever knock you off your feet, Mose.
Guess you’d better go easy with that stuff after this.”
“De ole boat sho’ slipped one ober on me dat time. But it cain’t nebber
do it no mo,” declared Mose. “Hopes de captain doan come down befo’ Ah
has a chance to clean up dis mess. If he ketches me, dis niggah’ll sho’
be out o’ luck.”
He set desperately to work, and in an incredibly short time had scraped
the oatmeal off the floor and furniture and had the cabin tidied up.
Then he went to get some more food, and this time met with better
success.
Such incidents as this lightened the monotony of the voyage but still
the days seemed very long to the boys, and more than once they longed
for the time when they could get even with Hen Lemming for playing them
such a sorry trick.
They often helped the sailors, but were not considered as regular hands.
They had a long talk with Captain Garrish and promised to pay him well
if he could only put them on some ship bound for home. But so far no
such vessel had come their way.
“That captain’s a queer stick,” said Fred to Bobby, one morning. “And
he’s got something on his mind, too.”
“Well, maybe we’ll find out what it is some day,” replied Bobby.
And he did find out, and the finding out changed the whole course of
Captain Garrish’s conduct toward the Rockledge chums.