The Boy Scouts for Uncle Sam Part 4

But Merritt had stumbled upon another discovery. This was nothing more than a large book, bound in leather. But to the ensign it seemed to be apparently a highly important find.

"It's the s.h.i.+p's log-book," he exclaimed, pointing to the embossed words on the cover. "Now perhaps we may light on a partial solution of this mystery."

He opened the book at the first page, and learned from the crabbed writing with which it was covered, that the _Good Hope_, Ezekial T.

Daniels, master, had set sail from New Bedford for the South Pacific whaling ground in April, 1879.

"Gracious, that was about thirty-three years ago," stammered Merritt.

"I have heard of derelicts that drifted longer than that," said the naval officer calmly.

He began turning over the leaves of the log book. It was an epic of the sea. Every incident that had befallen the _Good Hope_ on her long voyage was faithfully set down. He skimmed through the records, reading the most interesting bits of information out aloud for the benefit of his youthful companions.

From the log book it was learned that the _Good Hope_ had met with indifferent luck on her long three years' cruise, but had suddenly run into a most extraordinary bit of good fortune.

"Listen to this, boys," exclaimed the ensign with what, for one of his self-contained nature, was strong excitement, "it reads like a bit of wild romance."

Without further preface he began reading:

"'May, 1883--This day encountered the strangest thing in all my experience. As set down, we have drifted into the Antarctic ice pack.

This day sighted a berg within which was a dark, shadowy object. On going in the s.h.i.+p boats to investigate we saw to our amazement that the said object was a s.h.i.+p. The ice surrounding it was thin, mostly having melted.

"'From what I knew of such craft I decided, incredible as the idea might seem, that the craft within the berg was a long frozen up Viking s.h.i.+p. Not knowing just what her recovery might mean, I undertook to blast her free of her prison. We had plenty of dynamite on board for the very purpose of ice-blasting. By three of this p. m. we had the s.h.i.+p blasted open. I and my officers at once entered the hole the explosive had made in the craft's side. We expected to find strange things, but none of us was prepared for what followed. The hold of the imprisoned s.h.i.+p was full of ivory.

"'My first officer, William Clydesdale, an Englishman, and a college man before strong drink ruined him, p.r.o.nounced the ivory to be that of the tusks of the extinct mammoths which scientists say formerly inhabited these regions.'"

"Phew! This is romance with a vengeance!" exclaimed Rob.

"Did they get the ivory?" asked the practical Paul Perkins.

"Yes," rejoined the officer, rapidly skimming over the further pages of the log, "and they estimated the stuff roughly at about five hundred thousand dollars' worth of exceptional quality."

"How did the s.h.i.+p get frozen in the ice?" asked Hiram. "The Viking s.h.i.+p, I mean."

"Who can tell," returned the ensign. "I have heard of such things at the North Pole. Several explorers have even brought back fragments of the Norseman's lost craft; but I never heard of such an occurrence transpiring in the Antarctic regions. But let's read on."

The log continued to tell of hards.h.i.+ps encountered in beating back around the Horn with the valuable cargo; of discontent of the crew; of their constant demand to have the h.o.a.rd divided equally among the officers and men, and of the captain's refusal to accede to their requests. Finally the entries began to grow short and disconnected, as if whoever was writing up the log was on constant watch and had little time to spare. Indeed, one entry read:

"Mutiny threatens constantly. The men mean to seize the ivory and take to the boats."

Following that no entries were made for several days. Then came a startling announcement, both in its brevity and suggestiveness of tragedy.

CHAPTER V.

A MESSAGE FROM THE PAST

"'What I dreaded has come to pa.s.s,'" read out the ensign; "'the men mutinied, but thanks be to Providence, we are safe. But a fearful catastrophe overtook the misguided fellows. Short handed as we were, having lost ten hands by scurvy and drowning in the South Seas, the crew mustered but eight men. Thus, with my two officers, we were three against them. The attack came at midnight on July 27th, 1883. Luckily we were on the watch, and as the men came aft we met them with firearms.

Four went down at the first volley. Three died shortly, the other the next day.

"'The remainder fled, but before I could stop them my officers had shot down three, leaving only the cook alive. I saved his life. But as we were examining the injured, one of them whipped out a knife and killed my first officer. The next day we buried the dead and worked the s.h.i.+p as best we could with three hands. Luckily the breeze was light, for in a brisk blow we could not have handled the s.h.i.+p.

"'Finding ourselves off the coast of the Carolinas, and despairing of navigating the s.h.i.+p to port, we ran in and anch.o.r.ed off a small desolate island. On it grew a few scrub trees, but not much else. After a consultation we decided to abandon the s.h.i.+p; but first we agreed, while the weather was fair, to bury the ivory on one of the islands. It was a long, tedious task, but at last it was done, and the spot where it had been secreted, marked.

"'This done, we rowed back to the s.h.i.+p to obtain my chronometers, papers, and so forth. I should have explained that we had but one boat, heavy seas off the Horn having smashed four of them, and a fifth was broken in a fight with a whale. I was some time below, getting papers, when suddenly I heard a splash of oars. By some inspiration, I guessed what had happened. Rus.h.i.+ng on deck I was in time to behold my rascally second mate and the cook rowing from the s.h.i.+p with might and main.

"'I shouted, entreated, and raged. But it was all in vain. All the rascals did was to laugh at me. I might have guessed their terrible purpose to maroon me on my own s.h.i.+p, but I had paid no heed to some whispering I had observed between them while on the island working at the burial of the ivory. All this has been written since they abandoned me in so cowardly a fas.h.i.+on for the sake of the ivory. Their intent, I readily guessed. They would reach the sh.o.r.e ahead of me. Find some capital, get a s.h.i.+p and seize the whole cache. I count myself lucky that they did not kill me outright.'"

By this time the boys were leaning forward, all else forgotten in the thrilling interest of the extraordinary narrative.

The ensign read on.

"I find no more entries till several days later," he said, "then comes this one:

"'Since last I wrote I have encountered a fearful experience. The night succeeding the occasion on which the two villains left the s.h.i.+p, a terrific gale came up off sh.o.r.e. Unable to reef sail single-handed, I was compelled to cut the cable and head out for sea. For three days we scudded before the gale. The canvas was torn to ribbons, and one after another my masts went. I managed to cut the wreckage free with an axe.

"'Some days later. What is happening to the s.h.i.+p? She is being drawn by some strong but invisible current. There is no wind, but she is moving fairly fast. What can be going to happen to me? One thing is sure, I am out of the track of ocean vessels. Heaven help me, for I fear I am beyond human aid!'"

"The poor fellow's mind evidently gave way soon after this," said the ensign; "the entries grow disjointed and wild. He declares the cabin is haunted. That the ghosts of the dead mutineers haunt the s.h.i.+p. At last they cease abruptly with the words, 'G.o.d be merciful to me, I am going mad.'"

A silence fell over the party in the dead mariner's cabin. The mystery, the spell of the horror of it all, was strong upon them. In each lad's mind was a vivid picture of the unfortunate captain held in the grip of a strange current, being driven day by day further from the track of s.h.i.+ps, while his fevered mind pictured ghostly forms all about him.

"How do you suppose his death came?" asked Rob, after the silence had endured some moments.

"I have an ugly suspicion which I shall soon verify," said the ensign; "you boys wait here for a time."

Alone he reentered the deck-house, where sat the dead seaman. When he returned his face was very grave.

"Boys, my suspicions were correct," he said; "by the man's side I found a pistol. Undoubtedly, crazed by despair, he ended his life."

"After writing this strange paper?" asked Rob.

"Evidently. To judge from the jumble of figures, it was the product of his poor, demented brain."

"If you don't mind, I'll keep it, though," said Rob. "I've an idea about it."

"In what way?"

"Why, that it may not be what you think, after all. It bears the earmarks of an orderly cipher and is not scrawled at all as are the final entries in the log book."

"That's right," agreed the ensign admiringly, "you Boy Scouts have mighty keen minds. Well, my boy, keep it and study it at your leisure, although I am free to confess that I cannot think of it otherwise than in the way mentioned."

"Perhaps you are right," said Rob, "but I'll have a try at puzzling it out, when I get time."