CHAPTER III.
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.