“Now, my lad, keep quiet an’ you won’t get hurt.”

SAM STEELE’S
ADVENTURES
On Land
and Sea

By
CAPT. HUGH FITZGERALD

CHICAGO
THE REILLY & BRITTON CO.
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1906,
BY
THE REILLY & BRITTON CO.

LIST OF CHAPTERS

CHAPTER PAGE [I I Hear Bad News] 9 [II I Find a Relative] 24 [III My Fortunes Improve] 40 [IV I Ship Aboard the “Flipper”] 54 [V “Nux” and “Bryonia”] 66 [VI The Land of Mystery] 83 [VII The Major] 91 [VIII The Sands of Gold] 110 [IX The Outlaws] 124 [X The Rocking Stone] 137 [XI The Cavern] 153 [XII We Recover the Gold] 169 [XIII The Catastrophe] 184 [XIV Buried Alive!] 193 [XV The Major Gives Chase] 206 [XVI The Grave Captain Gay] 219 [XVII We Give up the Ship] 235 [XVIII Uncle Naboth’s Revenge] 247 [XIX The Conquest of Mrs. Ranck] 257 [XX Steele, Perkins & Steele] 270

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM ORIGINAL PAINTINGS BY
HOWARD HEATH

[“Now, my lad, Keep Quiet an’ You Won’t get Hurt”] Frontispiece [Captured by the Gold-Hunters] 97 [A Hazardous Climb] 177 [“Leave the Room, Sir!”] 231 [“Here’s the Treasure House, Sir!”] 265

CHAPTER I.
I HEAR BAD NEWS.

“Sam—come here!”

It was Mrs. Ranck’s voice, and sounded more bitter and stringent than usual.

I can easily recall the little room in which I sat, poring over my next day’s lessons. It was in one end of the attic of our modest cottage, and the only room “done off” upstairs. The sloping side walls, that followed the lines of the roof, were bare except for the numerous pictures of yachts and other sailing craft with which I had plastered them from time to time. There was a bed at one side and a small deal table at the other, and over the little window was a shelf whereon I kept my meager collection of books.

“Sam! Are you coming, or not?”

With a sigh I laid down my book, opened the door, and descended the steep uncarpeted stairs to the lower room. This was Mrs. Ranck’s living-room, where she cooked our meals, laid the table, and sat in her high-backed wooden rocker to darn and mend. It was a big, square room, which took up most of the space in the lower part of the house, leaving only a place for a small store-room at one end and the Captain’s room at the other. At one side was the low, broad porch, with a door and two windows opening onto it, and at the other side, which was properly the back of the cottage, a small wing had been built which was occupied by the housekeeper as her sleeping chamber.

As I entered the living-room in response to Mrs. Ranck’s summons I was surprised to find a stranger there, seated stiffly upon the edge of one of the straight chairs and holding his hat in his lap, where he grasped it tightly with two big, red fists, as if afraid that it would get away. He wore an old flannel shirt, open at the neck, and a weather-beaten pea-jacket, and aside from these trade-marks of his profession it was easy enough to determine from his air and manner that he was a sea-faring man.

There was nothing remarkable about that, for every one in our little sea-coast village of Batteraft got a living from old ocean, in one way or another; but what startled me was to find Mrs. Ranck confronting the sailor with a white face and a look of mingled terror and anxiety in her small gray eyes.

“What is it, Aunt?” I asked, a sudden fear striking to my heart as I looked from one to the other in my perplexity.

The woman did not reply, at first, but continued to stare wildly at the bowed head of the sailor—bowed because he was embarrassed and ill at ease. But when he chanced to raise a rather appealing pair of eyes to her face she nodded, and said briefly:

“Tell him.”

“Yes, marm,” answered the man; but he shifted uneasily in his seat, and seemed disinclined to proceed further.

All this began to make me very nervous. Perhaps the man was a messenger—a bearer of news. And if so his tale must have an evil complexion, to judge by his manner and Mrs. Ranck’s stern face. I felt like shrinking back, like running away from some calamity that was about to overtake me. But I did not run. Boy though I was, and very inexperienced in the ways of life, with its troubles and tribulations, I knew that I must stay and hear all; and I braced myself for the ordeal.

“Tell me, please,” I said, and my voice was so husky and low that I could scarce hear it myself. “Tell me; is—is it about—my father?”

The man nodded.

“It’s about the Cap’n,” he said, looking stolidly into Mrs. Ranck’s cold features, as if striving to find in them some assistance. “I was one as sailed with him las’ May aboard the ‘Saracen.’”

“Then why are you here?” I cried, desperately, although even as I spoke there flashed across my mind a first realization of the horror the answer was bound to convey.

“’Cause the ‘Saracen’ foundered off Lucayas,” said the sailor, with blunt deliberation, “an’ went to the bottom, ’th all hands—all but me, that is. I caught a spar an’ floated three days an’ four nights, makin’ at last Andros Isle, where a fisherman pulled me ashore more dead’n alive. That’s nigh three months agone, sir. I’ve had fever sence—brain fever, they called it—so I couldn’t bring the news afore.”

I felt my body swaying slightly, and wondered if it would fall. Then I caught at a ray of hope.

“But my father, Captain Steele? Perhaps he, also, floated ashore!” I gasped.

The sailor shook his head, regretfully.

“None but me was saved alive, sir,” he answered, in a solemn voice. “The tide cast up a many o’ the ‘Saracen’ corpses, while I lay in the fever; an’ the fisher folks give ’em a decent burial. But they saved the trinkets as was found on the dead men, an’ among ’em was Cap’n Steele’s watch an’ ring. I kep’ ’em to bring to you. Here they be,” he continued, simply, as he rose from his chair to place a small chamois bag reverently upon the table.

Mrs. Ranck pounced upon it and with trembling fingers untied the string. Then she drew forth my father’s well-known round silver watch and the carbuncle ring he had worn upon his little finger ever since I could remember.

For a time no one spoke. I stared stupidly at the sailor, noticing that the buttons on his pea-jacket did not match and wondering if he always sewed them on himself. Mrs. Ranck had fallen back into her tall rocking-chair, where she gyrated nervously back and forth, the left rocker creaking as if it needed greasing. Why was it that I could not burst into a flood of tears, or wail, or shriek, or do anything to prove that I realized myself suddenly bereft of the only friend I had in all the world? There was an iron band around my forehead, and another around my chest. My brain was throbbing under one, and my heart trying desperately to beat under the other. Yet outwardly I must have appeared calm enough, and the fact filled me with shame and disgust.

An orphan, now, and alone in the world. This father whom the angry seas had engulfed was the only relative I had known since my sweet little mother wearied of the world and sought refuge in Heaven, years and years ago. And while father sailed away on his stout ship the “Saracen” I was left to the care of the hard working but crabbed and cross old woman whom I had come to call, through courtesy and convenience, “Aunt,” although she was no relation whatever to me. Now I was alone in the world. Father, bluff and rugged, so strong and resourceful that I had seldom entertained a fear for his safety, was lying dead in the far away island of Andros, and his boy must hereafter learn to live without him.

The sailor, obviously uneasy at the effect of his ill tidings, now rose to go; but at his motion Mrs. Ranck seemed suddenly to recover the use of her tongue, and sternly bade him resume his seat. Then she plied him with questions concerning the storm and the catastrophe that followed it, and the man answered to the best of his ability.

Captain Steele was universally acknowledged one of the best and most successful seamen Batteraft had ever known. Through many years of trading in foreign parts he had not only become sole owner of the “Saracen,” but had amassed a fortune which, it was freely stated in the town, was enough to satisfy the desires of any man. But this was merely guess-work on the part of his neighbors, for when ashore the old sailor confided his affairs to no one, unless it might have been to Mrs. Ranck. For the housekeeper was a different person when the Captain was ashore, recounting her own virtues so persistently, and seeming so solicitous for my comfort, that poor father stood somewhat in awe of her exceptional nobility of character. As soon as he had sailed she dropped the mask, and was often unkind; but I never minded this enough to worry him with complaints, so he was unconscious of her true nature.

Indeed, my dear father had been so seldom at home that I dreaded to cause him one moment’s uneasiness. He was a reserved man, too, as is the case with so many sailors, and since the death of his dearly loved wife had passed but little of his time ashore. I am sure he loved me, for he always treated me with a rare tenderness; but he never would listen to my entreaties to sail with him.

“The sea’s no place for a lad that has a comfortable home,” he used to reply, in his slow, thoughtful way. “Keep to your studies, Sam, my boy, and you’ll be a bigger man some day than any seaman of us all.”

The Captain’s brief visits home were the only bright spots in my existence, and because I had no one else to love I lavished upon my one parent all the affection of which I was capable. Therefore my present sudden bereavement was so colossal and far reaching in its effects upon my young life that it is no wonder the news staggered me and curiously dulled my senses.

Almost as if in a dream I heard Mrs. Ranck’s fierce questions and the sailor’s reluctant answers. And when he had told everything that he knew about the matter he got upon his feet and took my hands gently in both his big, calloused ones.

“I’m right sorry, lad, as ye’ve had this blow,” he muttered, feelingly. “The Cap’n were a good man an’ a kind master, an’ many’s a time I’ve heard him tell of his boy Sam. I s’pose he’s left ye provided with plenty o’ this world’s goods, for he were a thrifty man and mostly in luck. But if ye ever run aground, lad, or find ye need a friend to cast a bowline, don’t ye forget that Ned Britton’ll stand by ye through thick an’ thin!”

With this he wrung my hands until I winced under the pressure, and then he nodded briefly to Mrs. Ranck and hurried from the room.

The twilight had faded during the interview, and the housekeeper had lit a tallow candle. As Ned Britton’s footsteps died away the woman bent forward to snuff the wick, and I noted a grim and determined look upon her features that was new to them. But her hands trembled somewhat, in spite of her assumed calmness, and the fact gave me a certain satisfaction. Her loss could not be compared with mine, but the Captain’s death was sure to bring about a change in her fortunes, as well as my own.

She resumed her regular rocking back and forth, riveting her eyes the while upon my face. I did not sit, but leaned against the table, trying hard to think. And thus for a long time we regarded each other in silence.

Finally she cried out, sharply:

“Well, what are you a-goin’ to do now?”

“In what way?” I asked, drearily.

“In every way. How are you goin’ to live, fer one thing?”

“Why, much the same as I am doing now, I suppose,” said I, trying to rouse myself to attend to what she was saying. “Father owned this house, which is now mine; and I’m sure there is considerable property besides, although the ship is lost.”

“Fiddlesticks!” exclaimed Mrs. Ranck, scornfully.

I wondered what she meant by that, and looked my question.

“Your father didn’t own a stick o’ this house,” she cried, in a tone that was almost a scream. “It’s mine, an’ the deed’s in my own name!”

“I know,” I replied, “but father has often explained that you merely held the deed in trust for me, until I became of age. He turned it over to you as a protection to me in case some accident should happen to him. Many times he has told me that this plan insured my having a home, no matter what happened.”

“I guess you didn’t understand him,” she answered, an evil flash in her eye. “The facts is, this house were put into my name because the Cap’n owed me money.”

“What for?” I asked.

“I’ve kep’ ye in food an’ clothes ever sence ye was a baby. Do ye s’pose that don’t cost money?”

I stared at her bewildered.

“Didn’t father furnish the money?”

“Not a cent. He jest let it run on, as he did any wages. An’ it counts up big, that a-way.”

“Then the house isn’t mine, after all?”

“Not an inch of it. Not a stick ner a stone.”

I tried to think what this would mean to me, and what reason the woman could have for claiming a right to my inheritance.

“Once,” said I, musingly, “father told me how he had brought you here to save you from the poor-house, or starvation. He was sorry for you, and gave you a home. That was while mother was living. Afterwards, he said, he trusted to your gratitude to take good care of me, and to stand my friend in place of my dead mother.”

“Fiddlesticks” she snapped, again. It was the word she usually used to express contempt, and it sounded very disagreeable coming from her lips.

“The Cap’n must ’a’ been a-dreamin’ when he told you that stuff an’ nonsense,” she went on. “I’ve treated ye like my own son; there’s no mistake about that. But I did it for wages, accordin’ to agreement atween me an’ the Cap’n. An’ the wages wasn’t never paid. When they got to be a big lump, he put the house in my name, to secure me. An’ it’s mine—ev’ry stick of it!”

My head was aching, and I had to press my hand to it to ease the pain. In the light of the one flickering candle Mrs. Ranck’s hard face assumed the expression of a triumphant demon, and I drew back from it, shocked and repelled.

“If what you say is true,” I said, listlessly, “I would rather you take the old home to wipe out the debt. Yet father surely told me it was mine and it isn’t like him to deceive me, or to owe any one money. However, take it, Aunt, if you like.”

“I’ve got it,” she answered; “an’ I mean to keep it.”

“I shall get along very well,” said I, thinking, indeed, that nothing mattered much, now father was gone.

“How will you live?” she enquired.

“Why, there’s plenty besides the house,” I replied. “In father’s room,” and I nodded my head toward the door that was always kept locked in the Captain’s absence, “there must be a great many valuable things stored. The very last time he was home he said that in case anything ever happened to him I would find a little fortune in his old sea-chest, alone.”

“May be,” rejoined the old woman, uneasily. “I hope that story o’ his’n, at least, is true, for your sake, Sam. I hain’t anything agin you; but right is right. An’ the house don’t cover all that’s comin’ to me, either. The Cap’n owed me four hundred dollars, besides the house, for your keep durin’ all these years; an’ that’ll have to be paid afore you can honestly lay claim to a cent o’ his property.”

“Of course,” I agreed, meekly enough, for all this talk of money wearied me. “But there should be much more than that in the chest, alone, according to what father said.”

“Let’s hope there is,” said she. “You go to bed, now, for you’re clean done up, an’ no wonder. In the mornin’ we’ll both look into the Cap’n’s room, an’ see what’s there. I ain’t a-goin’ to take no mean advantage o’ you, Sam, you can depend on’t. So go to bed. Sleep’s the best cure-all fer troubles like yours.”

This last was said in a more kindly tone, and I was glad to take her at her word and creep away to my little room in the attic.

CHAPTER II.
I FIND A RELATIVE.

It may have been hours that I sat at my little table, overcome by the bitterness of my loss. And for more hours I tossed restlessly upon my hard bed, striving in vain for comfort. But suddenly, as I recalled a little affectionate gesture of my father’s, I burst into a flood of tears, and oh, what a relief it was to be able to cry—to sob away the load that had well-nigh overburdened my young heart!

After that last paroxysm of grief I fell asleep, worn out by my own emotions, and it was long past my usual hour for rising that I finally awoke.

In a moment, as I lay staring at the bright morning sunshine, the sorrow that had been forgotten in sleep swept over me like a flood, and I wept again at the thought of my utter loneliness and the dreadful fate that had overtaken my dear father. But presently, with the elasticity of youth, I was enabled to control myself, and turn my thoughts toward the future. Then I remembered that Mrs. Ranck and I were to enter the Captain’s locked room, and take an inventory of his possessions, and I began hurriedly to dress myself, that this sad duty might be accomplished as soon as possible. The recollection of the woman’s preposterous claims moved me to sullen anger. It seemed like a reflection on father’s honesty to claim that he had been in her debt all these years, and I resolved that she should be paid every penny she demanded, that the Captain’s honor might remain untarnished in death, even as it had ever been during his lifetime.

As soon as I was ready I descended the stairs to the living room, where Mrs. Ranck sat rocking in her chair, just as I had left her the night before. She was always an early riser, and I noticed that she had eaten her own breakfast and left a piece of bacon and corn-bread for me upon the hearth.

She made no reply to my “good morning, Aunt,” so I took the plate from the hearth and ate my breakfast in silence. I was not at all hungry; but I was young, and felt the need of food. Not until I had finished did Mrs. Ranck speak.

“We may as well look into the Cap’n’s room, an’ get it done with,” she said. “It’s only nat’ral as I should want to know if I’m goin’ to get the money back I’ve spent on your keepin’.”

“Very well,” said I.

She went to a drawer of a tall bureau and drew out a small ivory box. Within this I knew were the keys belonging to my father. Never before had Mrs. Ranck dared to meddle with them, for the Captain had always forbidden her and everyone else to enter his room during his absence. Even now, when he was dead, it seemed like disobedience of his wishes for the woman to seize the keys and march over to the door of the sacred room. In a moment she had turned the lock and thrown open the door.

Shy and half startled at our presumption, I approached and peered over her shoulder. Occasionally, indeed, I had had a glimpse of the interior of this little place, half chamber and half office; and, once or twice, when a little child, I had entered it to seek my father. Now, as I glanced within, it seemed to be in perfect order; but it struck me as more bare and unfurnished than I had ever seen it before. Father must have secretly removed many of the boxes that used to line the walls, for they were all gone except his big sea-chest.

The sight of the chest, however, reassured me, for it was in this that he had told me to look for my fortune, in case anything should happen to him.

The old woman at once walked over to the chest, and taking a smaller key from the ivory box, fitted it to the lock and threw back the lid with a bang.

“There’s your fortune!” she said, with a sneer; “see if you can find it.”

I bent over the chest, gazing eagerly into its depths. There was an old Bible in one end, and a broken compass in the other. But that was all.

Standing at one side, the woman looked into my astonished face and laughed mockingly.

“This was another o’ the Cap’n’s lies,” she said. “He lied to you about ownin’ the house; he lied to you about takin’ me out o’ charity; an’ he lied to you about the fortune in this chest. An easy liar was Cap’n Steele, I must say!”

I shrank back, looking into her exultant eyes with horror in my own.

“How dare you say such things about my father?” I cried, in anger.

“How dare I?” she retorted; “why, because they’re true, as you can see for yourself. Your father’s deceived you, an’ he’s deceived me. I’ve paid out over four hundred dollars for your keep, thinkin’ there was enough in this room to pay me back. An’ now I stand to lose every penny of it, jest because I trusted to a lyin’ sea-captain.”

“You won’t lose a dollar!” I cried, indignantly, while I struggled to keep back the tears of disappointment and shame that rushed to my eyes. “I’ll pay you every cent of the money, if I live.”

She looked at me curiously, with a half smile upon her thin lips.

“How?” she asked.

“I’ll work and earn it.”

“Pish! what can a boy like you earn? An’ what’s goin’ to happen while you’re earnin’ it? One thing’s certain, Sam Steele; you can’t stay here an’ live off’n a poor lone woman that’s lost four hundred dollars by you already. You’ll have to find another place.”

“I’ll do that,” I said, promptly.

“You can have three days to git out,” she continued, pushing me out of the room and relocking the door, although there was little reason for that. “And you can take whatever clothes you’ve got along with you. Nobody can say that Jane Ranck ain’t acted like a Christian to ye, even if she’s beat an’ defrauded out’n her just rights. But if ye should happen to earn any money, Sam, I hope you’ll remember what ye owe me.”

“I will,” said I, coldly; and I meant it.

To my surprise Mrs. Ranck gave a strange chuckle, which was doubtless meant for a laugh—the first I had ever known her to indulge in. It fired my indignation to such a point that I cried out: “Shame!” and seizing my cap I rushed from the house.

The cottage was built upon a small hill facing the bay, and was fully a quarter of a mile distant from the edge of the village of Batteraft. From our gate the path led down hill through a little group of trees and then split in twain, one branch running down to the beach, where the shipping lay, and the other crossing the meadows to the village. Among the trees my father had built a board bench, overlooking the bay, and here I have known him to sit for hours, enjoying the beauty of the view, while the leafy trees overhead shaded him from the hot sun.

It was toward this bench, a favorite resort of mine because my father loved it, that I directed my steps on leaving Mrs. Ranck. At the moment I was dazed by the amazing discovery of my impoverished condition, and this, following so suddenly upon the loss of my father, nearly overwhelmed me with despair. But I knew that prompt action on my part was necessary, for the woman had only given me three days grace, and my pride would not suffer me to remain that long in a home where my presence was declared a burden. So I would sit beneath the trees and try to decide where to go and what to do.

But as I approached the place I found, to my astonishment, that a man was already seated upon the bench. He was doubtless a stranger in Batteraft, for I had never seen him before, so that I moderated my pace and approached him slowly, thinking he might discover he was on private grounds and take his leave.

He paid no attention to me, being engaged in whittling a stick with a big jack-knife. In appearance he was short, thick-set, and of middle age. His round face was lined in every direction by deep wrinkles, and the scant hair that showed upon his temples was thin and grey. He wore a blue flannel shirt, with a black kerchief knotted at the throat; but, aside from this, his dress was that of an ordinary civilian; so that at first I was unable to decide whether he was a sailor or a landsman.

The chief attraction in the stranger was the expression of his face, which was remarkably humorous. Although I was close by him, now, he paid no attention to my presence, but as he whittled away industriously he gave vent to several half audible chuckles that seemed to indicate that his thoughts were very amusing.

I was about to pass him and go down to the beach, where I might find a solitary spot for my musings, when the man turned his eyes up to mine and gave a wink that seemed both mysterious and confidential.

“It’s Sam, ain’t it?” he asked, with another silent chuckle.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, resenting his familiarity while I wondered how he should know me.

“Cap’n Steele’s son, I’m guessin’?” he continued.

“The same, sir,” and I made a movement to pass on.

“Sit down, Sam; there’s no hurry,” and he pointed to the bench beside him.

I obeyed, wondering what he could want with me. Half turning toward me, he gave another of those curious winks and then suddenly turned grave and resumed his whittling.

“May I ask who you are, sir?” I enquired.

“No harm in that,” he replied, with a smile that lighted his wrinkled face most comically. “No harm in the world. I’m Naboth Perkins.”

“Oh,” said I, without much interest.

“Never heard that name before, I take it?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you remember your mother?”

“Not very well, sir,” I answered, wondering more and more. “I was little more than a baby when she died, you know.”

“I know,” and he nodded, and gave an odd sort of grunt. “Did you ever hear what her name was, afore she married the Cap’n?”

“Oh, yes!” I cried, suddenly enlightened. “It was Mary Perkins.”

Then, my heart fluttering wildly, I turned an intent and appealing gaze upon the little man beside me.

Naboth Perkins was seized with another of those queer fits of silent merriment, and his shoulders bobbed up and down until a cough caught him, and for a time I feared he would choke to death before he could control the convulsions. But at last he recovered and wiped the tears from his eyes with a brilliant red handkerchief.

“I’m your uncle, lad,” he said, as soon as he could speak.

This was news, indeed, but news that puzzled me exceedingly.

“Why have I never heard of you before?” I asked, soberly.

“Haven’t ye?” he returned, with evident surprise.

“Never.”

He looked the stick over carefully, and cut another notch in it.

“Well, for one thing,” he remarked, “I’ve never been in these parts afore sence the day I was born. Fer another thing, it stands to reason you was too young to remember, even if Mary had talked to ye about her only brother afore she died an’ quit this ’ere sublunatic spear. An’, fer a third an’ last reason, Cap’n Steele were a man that had little to say about most things, so it’s fair to s’pose he had less to say about his relations. Eh?”

“Perhaps it is as you say, sir.”

“Quite likely. Yet it’s mighty funny the Cap’n never let drop a word about me, good or bad.”

“Were you my father’s friend?” I asked, anxiously.

“That’s as may be,” said Mr. Perkins, evasively. “Friends is all kinds, from acquaintances to lovers. But the Cap’n an me wasn’t enemies, by a long shot, an’ I’ve been his partner these ten year back.”

“His partner!” I echoed, astonished.

The little man nodded.

“His partner,” he repeated, with much complacency. “But our dealin’s together was all on a strict business basis. We didn’t hobnob, ner gossip, ner slap each other on the back. So as fer saying we was exactly friends—w’y, I can’t honestly do it, Sam.”

“I understand,” said I, accepting his explanation in good faith.

“I came here at this time,” continued Mr. Perkins, addressing his speech to the jack-knife, which he held upon the palm of his hand, “to see Cap’n Steele on an important business matter. He had agreed to meet me. But I saw Ned Britton at the tavern, las’ night, an’ heerd fer the first time that the ‘Saracen’ had gone to Davy Jones an’ took the Cap’n with her. So I come up here to have a little talk with you, which is his son and my own nevvy.”

“Why didn’t you come up to the house?” I enquired.

Mr. Perkins turned upon me his peculiar wink, and his shoulders began to shake again, till I feared more convulsions. But he suddenly stopped short, and with abrupt gravity nodded his head at me several times.

“The woman!” he said, in a low voice. “I jest can’t abide women. ’Specially when they’s old an’ given to argument, as Ned Britton says this one is.”

I sympathized with him, and said so. Whereat my uncle gave me a look gentle and kindly, and said in a friendly tone:

“Sam, my boy, I want to tell you all about myself, that’s your blood uncle an’ no mistake; but first I want you to tell me all about yourself. You’re an orphan, now, an’ my dead sister’s child, an’ I take it I’m the only real friend you’ve got in the world. So now, fire away!”

There was something about the personality of Naboth Perkins that invited confidence; or perhaps it was my loneliness and need of a friend that led me to accept this astonishing uncle in good faith. Anyway, I did not hesitate to tell him my whole story, including my recent grief at the news of my dear father’s death and the startling discovery I had just made that I was penniless and in debt for my living to Mrs. Ranck.

“Father has often told me,” I concluded, “that the house was mine, and had been put in Mrs. Ranck’s name because he felt she was honest, and would guard my interests in his absence. And he told me there was a store of valuable articles in his room, which he had been accumulating for years, and that the old sea-chest alone contained enough to make me independent. But when we examined the room this morning everything was gone, and the chest was empty. I don’t know what to think about it, I’m sure; for father never lied, in spite of what Mrs. Ranck says.”

Uncle Naboth whistled a sailor’s hornpipe in a slow, jerky, and altogether dismal fashion. When it was quite finished, even to the last quavering bar, he said:

“Sam, who kept the keys to the room, an’ the chest?”

“Mrs. Ranck.”

“M—m. Was the room dark, an’ all covered over with dust, when you went in there this mornin’?”

“I——I don’t think it was,” I answered, trying to recollect. “No! I remember, now. The blind was wide open, and the room looked clean and in good order.”

“Sailors,” remarked Mr. Perkins, impressively, “never is known to keep their rooms in good order. The Cap’n been gone five months an’ more. If all was straight the dust would be thick on everything.”

“To be sure,” said I, very gravely.

“Then, Sam, it stands to reason the ol’ woman went inter the room while you was asleep, an’ took out everything she could lay her hands on. Cap’n Steele didn’t lie to you, my boy. But he made the mistake of thinkin’ the woman honest. She took advantage of the fact that the Cap’n was dead, an’ couldn’t prove nothin’. And so she robbed you.”

The suspicion had crossed my mind before, and I was not greatly surprised to hear my uncle voice it.

“Then, can’t we make her give it up?” I asked. “If she has done such a wicked thing, it seems as though we ought to accuse her of it, and make her give me all that belongs to me.”

Uncle Naboth rose slowly from the bench, settled his felt hat firmly upon his head, pulled down his checkered vest, and assumed a most determined bearing.

“You wait here,” he said, “an’ I’ll beard the she-tiger in her den, an’ see what can be done.”

Then he gave a great sigh, and turning square around, marched stiffly up the path that led to the house.

CHAPTER III.
MY FORTUNES IMPROVE.

I awaited with as much patience as I could muster the result of the venture. I was proud of Uncle Naboth’s bravery, and hoped he would be successful. Surely the brief interview with my newly acquired relative had caused a great change in my future prospects, for it was not likely that my mother’s brother would desert me in my extremity. I had left the house that was now no longer my home without a single friend to whom I could turn, and behold, here was a champion waiting to espouse my cause! Mr. Perkins was somewhat peculiar in his actions, it is true, but he was my uncle and my dead father’s partner, and already I was beginning to have faith in him.

It was a full half hour before I saw him coming back along the path; but now he no longer strutted with proud determination. Instead, his whole stout little body drooped despondently; his hat was thrust back from his forehead, and upon his deeply wrinkled face stood big drops of perspiration.

“Sam,” said he, standing before me with a rather sheepish air, “I were wrong, an’ I beg your pardon. That woman ain’t no she-tiger. I mis-stated the case. She’s a she-devil!”

The words were laden with disgust and indignation. Uncle Naboth drew out his gorgeous handkerchief and wiped his face with it. Then he dropped upon the bench and pushed his big hands deep into his capacious pockets, with the air of a man crushed and defeated.

I sighed.

“Then she refused to give up the property?”

“Give up? She’d die first. Why, Sam, the critter tried to brain me with a gridiron! Almost, my boy, you was an orphan agin. He who fights an’ runs away may n’t get much credit for it, but he’s a durned sight safer ner a dead man. The Perkinses was allus a reckless crew; but sooner ’n face that female agin I’d tackle a mad bull!”

“Won’t the law help us?” I asked.

“The law!” cried Mr. Perkins, in a voice of intense horror. “W’y, Sam, the law’s more to be dreaded than a woman. It’s an invention of the devil to keep poor mortals from becomin’ too happy in this ’ere vale o’ tears. My boy, if ye ever has to choose between the law an’ a woman, my advice is to commit suicide at once. It’s quicker an’ less painful.”

“But the law stands for justice,” I protested.

“That’s the bluff it puts up,” said Uncle Naboth, “but it ain’t so. An’ where’s your proof agin Mrs. Ranck, anyhow? Cap’n Steele foolishly put the house in her name. If she ain’t honest enough to give it up, no one can take it from her. An’ he kep’ secret about the fortune that was left in his room, so we can’t describe the things you’ve been robbed of. Altogether, it’s jest a hopeless case. The she-devil has made up her mind to inherit your fortune, an’ you can’t help yourself.”

As I stared into the little man’s face the tears came into my eyes and blurred my sight. He thrust the red handkerchief into my hand, and I quickly wiped away the traces of unmanly weakness. And when I could see plainly again my uncle was deeply involved in one of his fits of silent merriment, and his shoulders were shaking spasmodically. I waited for him to cough and choke, which he proceeded to do before regaining his gravity. The attack seemed to have done him good, for he smiled at my disturbed expression and laid a kindly hand on my shoulder.

“Run up to the house, my lad, an’ get your bundle of clothes,” he said. “I’ll be here when you get back. Don’t worry over what’s gone. I’ll take care o’ you, hereafter.”

I gave him a grateful glance and clasped his big, horny hands in both my own.

“Thank you, uncle,” said I; “I don’t know what would have become of me if you had not turned up just as you did.”

“Lucky; wasn’t it, Sam? But run along and get your traps.”

I obeyed, walking slowly and thoughtfully back to the house. When I tried to raise the latch I found the door locked.

“Mrs. Ranck!” I called. “Mrs. Ranck, let me in, please. I’ve come for my clothes.”

There was no answer. I rattled the latch, but all in vain. So I sat down upon the steps of the porch, wondering what I should do. It was a strange and unpleasant sensation, to find myself suddenly barred from the home in which I had been born and wherein I had lived all my boyhood days. It was only my indignation against this selfish and hard old woman that prevented me from bursting into another flood of tears, for my nerves were all unstrung by the events of the past few hours. However, anger held all other passion in check for the moment, and I was about to force an entrance through the side window, as I had done on several occasions before, when the sash of the window in my own attic room was pushed up and a bundle was projected from it with such good aim that it would have struck my head, had I not instinctively dodged it.

Mrs. Ranck’s head followed the bundle far enough to cast a cruel and triumphant glance into my upturned face.

“There’s your duds. Take ’em an’ go, you ongrateful wretch!” she yelled. “An’ don’t ye let me see your face again until you come to pay me the money you owes for your keepin’.”

“Please, Mrs. Ranck,” I asked, meekly, “can I have my father’s watch and ring?”

“No, no, no!” she screamed, in a fury. “Do ye want to rob me of everything? Ain’t you satisfied to owe me four hundred dollars a’ready?”

“I——I’d like some keepsake of father’s,” I persisted, well knowing this would be my last chance to procure it. “You may keep the watch, if you’ll give me the ring.”

“I’ll keep’m both,” she retorted. “You’ll get nothin’ more out’n me, now or never!”

Then she slammed down the window, and refused to answer by a word my further pleadings. So finally I picked up the bundle and, feeling miserable and sick at heart, followed the path back to the little grove.

“It didn’t take you very long, but that’s all the better,” said my uncle, shutting his clasp-knife with a click and then standing up to brush the chips from his lap. “We two’ll go to the tavern, an’ talk over our future plans.”

Silently I walked by the side of Naboth Perkins until we came to the village. I knew everyone in the little town, and several of the fishermen and sailors met me with words of honest sympathy for my loss. Captain Steele had been the big man of Batteraft, beloved by all who knew him despite his reserved nature, and these simple villagers, rude and uneducated but kindly hearted, felt that in his death they had lost a good friend and a neighbor of whom they had always been proud. Not one of them would have refused assistance to Captain Steele’s only son; but they were all very poor, and it was lucky for me that Uncle Naboth had arrived so opportunely to befriend me.

Having ordered a substantial dinner of the landlord of “The Rudder,” Mr. Perkins gravely invited me to his private room for a conference, and I climbed the rickety stairs in his wake.

The chamber was very luxurious in my eyes, with its rag carpet and high-posted bed, its wash-stand and rocking-chair. I could not easily withhold my deference to the man who was able to hire it, and removing my cap I sat upon the edge of the bed while Uncle Naboth took possession of the rocking-chair and lighted a big briar pipe.

Having settled himself comfortably by putting his feet upon the sill of the open window, he remarked:

“Now, Sam, my lad, we’ll talk it all over.”

“Very well, sir,” I replied, much impressed.

“In the first place, I’m your father’s partner, as I said afore. Some years ago the Cap’n found he had more money’n he could use in his own business, an’ I’d saved up a bit myself, to match it. So we put both together an’ bought a schooner called the ‘Flipper’, w’ich I’m free to say is the best boat, fer its size an’ kind, that ever sailed the Pacific.”

“The Pacific!”

“Naterally. Cap’n Steele on the Atlantic, an’ Cap’n Perkins on the Pacific. In that way we divided up the world between us.” He stopped to wink, here, and began his silent chuckle; but fortunately he remembered the importance of the occasion and refrained from carrying it to the choking stage. “I s’pose your father never said naught to you about this deal o’ ours, any more’n he did to that she-bandit up at the house. An’ it’s lucky he didn’t, or the critter’d be claimin’ the ‘Flipper’, too, an’ then you an’ I’d be out of a job!”

He winked again; solemnly, this time; and I sat still and stared at him.

“Howsomever, the ‘Flipper’ is still in statute loo, an’ thank heaven fer that! I made sev’ral voyages in her to Australy, that turned out fairly profitably, an’ brought the Cap’n an’ me some good bits o’ money. So last year we thought we’d tackle the Japan trade, that seemed to be lookin’ up. It looked down agin as soon as I struck the pesky shores, an’ a month ago I returned to ’Frisco a sadder an’ a wiser man. Not that the losses was so great, Sam, you understand; but the earnin’s wasn’t enough to buy a shoe-string.

“So I sailed cross-lots to Batteraft to consult with my partner, which is Cap’n Steele, as to our next voyage, an’ the rest o’ the story you know as well as I do. Your father bein’ out o’ the firm, from no fault o’ his’n, his son is his nateral successor. So I take it that hereafter we’ll have to consult together.”

My amazed expression amused him exceedingly, but I found it impossible just then to utter a single word. Uncle Naboth did not seem to expect me to speak, for after lighting his pipe again he continued, with an air of great complacency:

“It mought be said that, as you’re a minor, I stands as your rightful guardeen, an’ have a right to act for you ’til you come of age. On the other hand, you mought claim that, bein’ a partner, your size an’ age don’t count, an’ you’ve a right to be heard. Howsomever, we won’t go to law about it, Sam. The law’s onreliable. Sometimes it’s right, an’ mostly it’s wrong; but it ain’t never to be trusted by an honest man. If you insist on dictatin’ what this partnership’s goin’ to do, you’ll probably run it on a rock in two jerks of a lamb’s tail, for you haven’t got the experience old Cap’n Steele had; but if you’re satisfied to let me take the tiller, an’ steer you into harbor, why, I’ll accept the job an’ do the best I can at it.”

“Uncle Naboth,” I replied, earnestly, “had you not been an honest man I would never have known you were my father’s partner, or that he had any interest in your business. But you’ve been more than honest. You’ve been kind to me; and I am only too glad to trust you in every way.”

“Well spoke, lad!” cried Mr. Perkins, slapping his knee delightedly. “It’s what I had a right to expect in poor Mary’s boy. We’re sure to get along, Sam, and even if I don’t make you rich, you’ll never need a stout friend while your Uncle Nabe is alive an’ kickin’!”

Then we both stood up, and shook hands with great solemnity, to seal the bargain. After which my friend and protector returned to his rocker and once more stretched his feet across the window sill.

“How much property belongs to me, Uncle?” I asked.

“We never drew up any papers. Cap’n Steele knew as he could trust me, an’ so papers wa’n’t necessary. He owned one-third interest in the ‘Flipper’, an’ supplied one half the money to carry on the trade. That made it mighty hard to figure out the profits, so we gen’ly lumped it, to save brain-work. Of course your father’s been paid all his earnin’s after each voyage was over, so accounts is settled up to the Japan trip. Probably the money I gave him was in the sea-chest, an’ that old she-pirate up to the house grabbed it with the other things. The Japan voyage was a failure, as I told you; but there’s about a thousand dollars still comin’ to the Cap’n—which means it’s comin’ to you, Sam—an’ the ship’s worth a good ten thousand besides.”

I tried to think what that meant to me.

“It isn’t a very big sum of money, is it, Uncle?” I asked, diffidently.

“That depends on how you look at it,” he answered. “Big oaks from little acorns grow, you know. If you leave the matter to me, I’ll try to make that thousand sprout considerable, before you come of age.”

“Of course I’ll leave it to you,” said I. “And I am very grateful for your kindness, sir.”

“Don’t you turn your gratitude loose too soon, Sam. I may land your fortunes high an’ dry on the rocks, afore I’ve got through with ’em. But if I do it won’t be on purpose, an’ we’ll sink or swim together. An’ now, that bein’ as good as settled, the next thing to argy is what you’re a-goin’ to do while I’m sailin’ the seas an’ makin’ money for you.”

“What would you suggest?” I asked.

“Well, some folks might think you ought to have more schoolin’. How old are you?”

“Sixteen, sir.”

“Can you read an’ write, an’ do figgers?”

“Oh, yes; I’ve finished the public school course,” I replied, smiling at the simple question.

“Then I guess you’ve had study enough, my lad, and are ready to go to work. I never had much schoolin’ myself, but I’ve managed to hold my own in the world, in spite of the way letters an’ figgers mix up when I look at ’em. Not but what eddication is a good thing; but all eddication don’t lay in schools. Rubbin’ against the world is what polishes up a man, an’ the feller that keeps his eyes open can learn somethin’ new every day. To be open with you, Sam, I need you pretty bad on the ‘Flipper’, to keep the books an’ look after the accounts, an’ do writin’ an’ spellin’ when letters has to be writ. On the last trip I put in four days hard work, writin’ a letter that was only three lines long. An’ I’m blamed if the landsman I sent it to didn’t telegraph me for a translation. So, if you’re willin’ to ship with the firm of Perkins & Steele, I’ll make you purser an’ chief clerk.”

“I should like that!” I answered, eagerly.

“Then the second p’int’s settled. There’s only one more. The ‘Flipper’ is lyin’ in the harbor at ’Frisco. When shall we join her, lad?”

“I’m ready now, sir.”

“Good. I’ve ordered a wagon to carry us over to the railroad station at four o’clock, so ye see I had a pretty good idea beforehand what sort o’ stuff Mary’s boy was made of. Now let’s go to dinner.”

CHAPTER IV.
I SHIP ABOARD THE “FLIPPER.”

When the two-seated spring wagon drew up before the tavern door quite a crowd of idle villagers assembled to see us off, and among them I noticed my father’s old sailor, Ned Britton. Uncle Naboth climbed aboard at once, but I stayed to shake the hands held out to me and to thank the Batteraft people for their hearty wishes for my future prosperity. I think they were sorry to see me go, and I know I felt a sudden pang of regret at parting from the place where I had lived so long and the simple villagers who had been my friends.

When at last I mounted to the rear seat of the wagon and sat beside my uncle, I was astonished to find Ned Britton established beside the driver.

“Are you going with us?” I asked.

The sailor nodded.

“It’s like this,” remarked Mr. Perkins, as we rolled away from the tavern, “this man belonged to my old partner, Cap’n Steele, an’ stuck to his ship ’til she went down. Also he’s put himself out to come here an’ tell us the news, and it ain’t every sailor as’ll take the trouble to do such a job. Therefore, Ned Britton bein’ at present without a ship, I’ve asked him to take a berth aboard the ‘Flipper.’”

“That was kind of you, Uncle,” I said, pleased at this evidence of my relative’s kindly nature.

“An honest sailor ain’t to be sneezed at,” continued Uncle Naboth, with one of his quaint winks. “If Ned Britton were faithful to the ‘Saracen’ he’ll be faithful to the ‘Flipper.’ An’ that’s the sort o’ man we want.”

Britton doubtless overheard every word of this eulogy, but he gazed stolidly ahead and paid no attention to my uncle’s words of praise.

We reached the railway station in ample time for the train, and soon were whirling away on our long journey into the golden West.

No incident worthy of note occurred on our way across the continent, although I might record a bit of diplomacy on the part of Uncle Naboth that illustrates the peculiar shrewdness I have always found coupled with his native simplicity.

Just before our train drew into Chicago, where we were to change cars and spend the best part of a day, my uncle slipped into my hand a long, fat pocket-book, saying:

“Hide that in your pocket, Sam, and button it up tight.”

“What’s your idea, Uncle Nabe?” I asked.

“Why, we’re comin’ to the wickedest city in all the world, accordin’ to the preachers; an’ if it ain’t that, it’s bad enough, in all conscience. There’s robbers an’ hold-up men by the thousands, an’ if one of ’em got hold of me I’d be busted in half a second. But none of ’em would think of holdin’ up a boy like you; so the money’s safe in your pocket, if you don’t go an’ lose it.”

“I’ll try not to do that, sir,” I returned; but all during the day the possession of the big pocket-book made me nervous and uneasy. I constantly felt of my breast to see that the money was still safe, and it is a wonder my actions did not betray to some sly thief the fact that I was concealing the combined wealth of our little party.

No attempt was made to rob us, however, either at Chicago or during the remainder of the journey to the Pacific coast, and we arrived at our destination safely and in good spirits.

Uncle Naboth seemed especially pleased to reach San Francisco again.

“This car travellin’,” he said, “is good enough for landsmen that don’t know of anything better; but I’d rather spend a month at sea than a night in one of them stuffy, dangerous cars, that are likely to run off’n the track any minute.”

Ned Britton and I accompanied Mr. Perkins to a modest but respectable lodging-house near the bay, where we secured rooms and partook of a hearty breakfast. Then we took a long walk, and I got my first sight of the famous “Golden Gate.” I was surprised at the great quantity of shipping in the bay, and as I looked over the hundreds of craft at anchor I wondered curiously which was the “Flipper,” of which I was part owner—the gallant ship whose praises Uncle Naboth had sung so persistently ever since we left Batteraft.

After luncheon we hired a small boat, and Ned Britton undertook to row us aboard the “Flipper,” which had been hidden from our view by a point of land. I own that after my uncle’s glowing descriptions of her I expected to see a most beautiful schooner, with lines even nobler than those of the grand old “Saracen,” which had been my father’s pride for so many years. So my disappointment may be imagined when we drew up to a grimy looking vessel of some six hundred tons, with discolored sails, weather-worn rigging and a glaring need of fresh paint.

Ned Britton, however, rested on his oars, studied the ship carefully, and then slowly nodded his head in approval.

“Well, what d’ye think o’ her?” asked Uncle Naboth, relapsing into one of his silent chuckles at the expression of my face.

“She looks rather dirty, sir,” I answered, honestly.

“The ‘Flipper’ ain’t quite as fresh as a lily in bloom, that’s a fact,” returned my uncle, in no ways discomfited by my remark. “She wasn’t no deebutantee when I bought her, an’ her clothes has got old, and darned and patched, bein’ as we haven’t been near to a Paris dressmaker. But I’ve sailed in her these ten years past, Sam, an’ we’re both as sound as a dollar.”

“She ought to be fast, sir,” remarked Britton, critically.

Mr. Perkins laughed—not aloud, but in his silent, distinctly humorous way.

“She is fast, my lad, w’ich is a virtue in a ship if it ain’t in a woman. And in some other ways, besides, the ‘Flipper’ ain’t to be sneezed at. As for her age, she’s too shy to tell it, but I guess it entitles her to full respect.”

We now drew alongside, and climbed upon the deck, where my uncle was greeted by a tall, lank man who appeared to my curious eyes to be a good example of a living skeleton. His clothes covered his bones like bags, and so thin and drawn was his face that his expression was one of constant pain.

“Morn’n’, Cap’n,” said Uncle Naboth, although it was afternoon.

“Morn’n’, Mr. Perkins,” returned the other, in a sad voice. “Glad to see you back.”

“Here’s my nevvy, Sam Steele, whose father were part owner but got lost in a storm awhile ago.”

“Glad to see you, sir,” said the Captain, giving my hand a melancholy shake.

“An’ here’s Ned Britton, who once sailed with Cap’n Steele,” continued my uncle. “He’ll sign with us, Cap’n Gay, and I guess you’ll find him A No. 1.”

“Glad to see you, Britton,” repeated the Captain, in his dismal voice. If the lanky Captain was as glad to see us all as his words indicated, his expression fully contradicted the fact.

Britton saluted and walked aft, where I noticed several sailors squatting upon the deck in careless attitudes. To my glance these seemed as solemn and joyless as their Captain; but I acknowledge that on this first visit everything about the ship was a disappointment to me, perhaps because I had had little experience with trading vessels and my mind was stored with recollections of the trim “Saracen.”

Below, however, was a comfortable cabin, well fitted up, and Uncle Naboth showed me a berth next to his own private room which was to be my future home. The place was little more than a closet, but I decided it would do very well.

“I thought you were the captain of the ‘Flipper,’ Uncle Naboth,” said I, when we were alone.

“No; I’m jest super-cargo,” he replied, with his usual wink. “You see, I wasn’t eddicated as a sailor, Sam, an’ never cared to learn the trade. Cap’n Gay is one o’ the best seamen that ever laid a course, so I hire him to take the ship wherever I want to go. As fer the cargo, that’s my ’special look-out, an’ it keeps me busy enough, I can tell you. I’m a nat’ral born trader, and except fer that blamed Japan trip, I ain’t much ashamed of my record.”

“Will you go to Australia again?” I asked.

“Not jest now, Sam. My next venture’s goin’ to be a bit irregular—what you might call speculative, an’ extry-hazardous. But we’ll talk that over tonight, after supper.”

After making a cursory examination of the ship Uncle Naboth received the Captain’s report of what had transpired in his absence, and then we rowed back to town again.

We strolled through the city streets for an hour, had supper, and then my uncle took me to his room, carefully closed and locked the door, and announced that he was ready to “talk business.”

“Bein’ partners,” he said, “we’ve got to consult together; but I take it you won’t feel bad, Sam, if I do most of the consultin’. I went down East to Batteraft to talk my plans with your father, but he slipped his cable an’ I’ve got to talk ’em to you. If you see I’m wrong, anywhere, jest chip in an’ stop me; but otherwise the less you say the more good we’ll get out’n this ’ere conference.”

“Very well, sir.”

“To start in with, we’ve got a ship, an’ a crew, an’ plenty o’ loose money. So what’ll we do with ’em? Our business is to trade, an’ to invest our money so we’ll make more with it. What’s the best way to do that?”

He seemed to pause for an answer, so I said: “I don’t know sir.”

“Nobody knows, of course. But we can guess, and then find out afterward if we’ve guessed right. All business is a gamble; and, if it wasn’t, most men would quit an’ go fishin’. After I got back from Japan I met a lot o’ fellows that had been to Alaska huntin’ gold. Seems like Alaska’s full of gold, an’ before long the whole country’ll be flockin’ there like sheep. All ’Frisco’s gettin’ excited about the thing, so they tell me, and if fortunes is goin’ to be made in Alaska, we may as well speak for one ourselves.”

“But we are not miners, Uncle; and it’s bitter cold up there, they say.”

“Well put. We’ll let the crowds mine the gold, and then hand it over to us.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” said I, weakly.

“No call for you to try, Sam. I’m your guardeen, an’ so I’ll do the understandin’ for us both. Folks has to eat, my lad, an’ gold hunters is usually too excited to make proper provisions fer their stomachs. They’re goin’ to be mighty hungry out in Alaska, before long, an’ when a man’s hungry he’ll pay liberal fer a square meal. Let’s give it to him, Sam, an’ take the consequences—which is gold dust an’ nuggets.”

“How will you do it, Uncle Nabe?”

“Load the ‘Flipper’ with grub an’ carry it to Kipnac, or up the Yukon as far as Fort Weare, or wherever the gold fields open up. Then, when the miners get hungry, they’ll come to us and trade their gold for our groceries. We’re sure to make big profits, Sam.”

“It looks like a reasonable proposition, sir,” I said. “But it seems to me rather dangerous. Suppose our ship gets frozen in the ice, and we can’t get away? And suppose about that time we’ve sold out our provisions. We can’t eat gold. And suppose——”

“S’pose the moon falls out’n the sky,” interrupted Uncle Naboth, “wouldn’t it be dark at night, though!”

“Well, sir?”

“If the gold-diggers can live in the ice fields, we can live in a good warm ship. And we’ll keep enough grub for ourselves, you may be sure of that.”

“When do we start?” I asked, feeling sure that no arguments would move my uncle to abandon the trip, once he had made up his mind to undertake it.

“As soon as we can get the cargo aboard. It’s coming on warmer weather, now, and this is the best time to make the voyage. A steamer left today with three hundred prospectors, an’ they’ll be goin’ in bunches every day, now. Already I estimate there’s over a thousand in the fields, so we won’t get there any too soon to do business. What do you say, Sam?”

“I’ve nothing to say, sir. Being my guardian, you’ve decided the matter for both the partners, as is right and proper. As your clerk and assistant, I’ll obey whatever orders you give me.”

“That’s the proper spirit, lad!” he cried, with enthusiasm. “We’ll go to work tomorrow morning; and if all goes well we’ll be afloat in ten days, with a full cargo!”

CHAPTER V.
“NUX” AND “BRYONIA.”

On the seventh day of May, 1897, the “Flipper” weighed anchor and sailed before a light breeze through the Golden Gate and away on her voyage toward Alaska and its gold fields. Stored within her hold was a vast quantity of provisions of the sort that could be kept indefinitely without danger of spoiling. Flour, hams, bacon, sugar and coffee were represented; but canned meats and vegetables, tobacco and cheap cigars comprised by far the greater part of the cargo. Uncle Naboth had been seriously advised to carry a good supply of liquors, but refused positively to traffic in such merchandise.

Indeed, my uncle rose many degrees in my respect after I had watched for a time his preparations for our voyage. Simple, rough and uneducated he might be, but a shrewder man at a bargain I have never met in all my experience. And his reputation for honesty was so well established that his credit was practically unlimited among the wholesale grocers and notion jobbers of San Francisco. Everyone seemed ready and anxious to assist him, and the amount of consideration he met with on every hand was really wonderful.

“We’ve bought the right stuff, Sam,” he said to me, as we stood on the deck and watched the shore gradually recede, “and now we’ve got to sell it right. That’s the secret of good tradin’.”

I was glad enough to find myself at sea, where I could rest from my labors of the past two weeks. I had been upon the docks night and day, it seemed, checking off packages of goods as fast as they were loaded on the lighters, and being unaccustomed to work I tired very easily. But my books were all accurate and “ship-shape,” and I had found opportunity to fit up my little state-room with many comforts. In this I had been aided by Uncle Naboth, who was exceedingly liberal in allowing me money for whatever I required. At one time I said I would like to buy a few books, and the next day, to my surprise, he sent to my room a box containing the complete works of Walter Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson, with a miscellaneous collection of volumes by standard authors.

“I don’t know much about books myself, Sam,” he said; “so I got a feller that does know to pick ’em out for me, an’ I guess you’ll find ’em the right sort.”

I did not tell him that I would have preferred to make my own selection, and afterward I frankly admitted to myself that the collection was an admirable one.

By this time I had come to know all the officers and crew, and found them a pretty good lot, taken altogether. The principle “characters” aboard were the dismal Captain Gay, who was really as contented a man as I ever knew, Acker, the ship’s doctor, and two queer black men called by everybody Nux and Bryonia. Acker was a big, burly Englishman, who, besides being doctor, served as mate. He was jolly and good natured as the day was long, and had a few good stories which he told over and over again, invariably laughing at them more heartily than his auditors did. Singularly enough, Captain Gay and “Doc” Acker were close friends and cronies, and lived together in perfect harmony.

The black men interested me greatly from the moment I first saw them. Bryonia, or “Bry,” as he was more frequently called, was the cook, and gave perfect satisfaction in that capacity. “Nux” was man-of-all-work, serving the cabin mess, assisting the cook, and acting as “able seaman” whenever required. He proved competent in nearly all ways, and was a prime favorite with officers and men.

They were natives of some small island of the Sulu archipelago, and their history was a strange one. In answer to my question as to why the blacks were so queerly named, Uncle Naboth related the following:

“It were six years ago, or thereabout, as we were homeward bound from our third Australy trip, that we sighted a native canoe in the neighborhood of the Caroline Islands. It was early in the mornin’, and at first the lookout thought the canoe was empty; but it happened to lay in our course, and as we overtook it we saw two niggers lyin’ bound in the bottom of the boat. So we lay to, an’ picked ’em up, an’ when they was histed aboard they were considerable more dead ner alive. Bill Acker was our mate then, as he is now, an’ in his early days he studied to be a hoss doctor. So he always carries a box of medicines with him, to fix up the men in case they gets the jaundice or the colic. Mostly they’s pills, an’ sugar coated, for Doc hates to tackle drugs as is very dangerous. An’ on account of a good deal of sickness among the crew that trip, an’ consequently a good deal of experimentin’ by Doc on the medicine chest, the pills an’ such like was nearly used up, though no one seemed much the worse for it.

“Well, after we’d cut the niggers’ bonds, an’ rubbed ’em good to restore the circulation, we come near decidin’ they was dead an’ heavin’ of ’em overboard agin. But Doc wouldn’t give up. He brought out the medicine box, an’ found that all the stuff he had left was two bottles of pills, one of ’em Nux Vomica, an’ the other Bryonia. I was workin’ over one of the niggers, an’ Doc he hands me one o’ the bottles an says: ‘Nux.’ So I emptied the bottle into the dead man’s mouth, an’ by Jinks, Sam, he come around all right, and is alive an’ kickin’ today. Cap’n Gay dosed the other one with the Bryonia, an’ it fetched him in no time. I won’t swear it were the pills, you know; but the fact is the niggers lived.