The Rival Campers Afloat: or, The Prize Yacht Viking

As Squire Brackett had arranged them, the words and parts of words now lay before him thus:

lock

ey

must be

sound

mbers

aboard yacht

starboa

still

under

ays

third

The squire’s increase of curiosity had resulted largely from his interpretation of the first two fragments. At a casual glance, he had decided that the first four letters were a part of the word, “locker,” – which would be natural if the writer were referring to a yacht. But he arrived at a different and more exciting conclusion, when it suddenly dawned upon him that the first word was really complete as it stood; that it was the word, “lock.” This, because the next two letters clearly were part of the word, “key.”

“Of course,” he exclaimed. “If I hadn’t been stupid I’d have thought of that before. Aha! I have a whole sentence now, by simply supplying a few of the missing words.” He wrote as follows, picking out these words that the letter, as he had it before him, contained: “key – lock – must be still aboard yacht.”

“That’s plain enough for a boy to read,” said Squire Brackett. “The sentence was, ‘The key to the lock must be still aboard yacht.’”

“Hm!” he exclaimed, rubbing his forehead, reflectively. “That’s interesting; and it’s queer. Somebody knows a thing or two about that boat – and that somebody, whoever he is, has been writing it to Carleton. Still, I don’t see how that helps me. I can’t make much out of it.”

The letter, having yielded up this much of its secret to the squire, became immediately of greater interest to him; but, at the same time, an object of greater annoyance and perplexity. He couldn’t get the thing off his mind. It became a sort of continual nightmare to him. Why, he asked, should any one write to Mr. Carleton about a key to a lock aboard the Viking?

Being somewhat heavy-witted, in spite of a certain natural shrewdness, the squire did not answer his own question readily.

On this particular afternoon, however, he advanced a step farther.

“Perhaps,” he said to himself, “that word, ‘sound,’ does not refer to timbers at all. It might be Long Island Sound, where this yacht has been at some time, probably. Oh, I wish I had the rest of the letter.”

“I tell you what!” exclaimed the squire, “this thing is queer. That’s what it is. Who should know anything about this yacht, and who would be writing to Mr. Carleton about it? It couldn’t be the men that had it before the boys got it. They were a band of thieves. What’s that? Hello! Why not? This man Carleton has cleared out. He didn’t buy that land of me. He never intended to; that’s what.”

“I’ve got it!” he cried, jumping up excitedly and thumping his desk with his fist. “Chambers! Chambers! That’s the man. He’s the man that set fire to the hotel. He’s the man that Jack Harvey captured down in the Thoroughfare. He’s the man that knows about the Viking– and there’s his name in the letter – or a part of his name.

“Those letters, ‘mbers,’ don’t mean ‘timbers’ at all. They were a part of the name ‘Chambers.’ Yes, and those letters at the end of the list, ‘ays,’ don’t mean ‘stays,’ either, as I thought they did. That word is ‘says.’

“‘Chambers says’ something – now what does he say? I have it:

“‘Chambers says key to the lock must be still aboard yacht.’

“Wait a minute,” said the squire to himself. “That word, ‘starboard’ comes in here somewhere. Starboard – starboard – oh, I see; ‘starboard locker.’ That first word is ‘locker,’ just as I thought in the beginning.”

The squire wrote his translation of the letter, as he had thus far evolved it, as follows:

“Chambers says the key to the starboard locker must be still aboard yacht.”

“Now let me see,” reflected Squire Brackett, “that leaves only three more words – ‘sound,’ ‘third,’ and ‘under.’ Well, I don’t know what they have to do with it. They probably referred to something else in the letter. But what on earth can that be in the starboard locker, – that’s what I’d like to know.”

Deeply agitated, he arose from his chair and strode up and down the room. He rubbed his hands together in a self-satisfied way.

“Looks like I’d get even with some of ’em yet,” he exclaimed, softly. “There’s something aboard that yacht that’s valuable – and what’s more, that man Carleton came all the way down here on purpose to get it. I see it – I see it. They had a locker where they hid valuables, and there’s something there yet worth getting. Oh, I wish I had the rest of that letter!”

The squire, forming a sudden resolve, put the precious paper in a drawer, locked it therein, and hurried down to the tent on the point. By good luck, he met Henry Burns coming away from it.

“How d’ye do, my boy?” he said, trying to smile agreeably and to conceal his excitement, at the same time.

“How do you do, Squire Brackett?” replied Henry Burns, reading easily something of more than ordinary significance in the squire’s shrewd face. “Nice day, sir.”

“Yes – yes, so it is,” returned the squire. “See here, I’d like to hire that yacht of yours for a few days – possibly a week. I won’t sail her, of course. I’m no skipper. I’ll get John Hart to run her for me.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, squire,” said Henry Burns, “but we can’t let the Viking. The season is most over, you see, and we want to have some fun with her the rest of the time. We’ve begun cleaning her out and washing her insides, ready for painting. Perhaps the crew will let you have the Surprise, though. I guess Harvey will be willing.”

“Well, now,” said the squire, “supposing I pay you ten dollars for her, just for four days. I’ll take – ”

“No, sorry to refuse,” said Henry Burns, “but I don’t see how we can do it. Besides, we’ve got lots of money, ourselves, you know. We’ve been mackereling.”

The squire continued his urging, but Henry Burns was obdurate. The Viking couldn’t be hired – by Squire Brackett, at least. He went home, fuming inwardly.

“If I only had the rest of that letter,” he kept repeating. “I don’t dare to offer them very much, on a mere chance. It might turn out like that land I bought of Billy Cook.”

The squire, having his mind thus tantalized, began to worry over the mystery and even to dream of it. One night he dreamed that he had hired the yacht, and that he had found a bag filled with twenty dollar gold pieces in it; and, when he woke up, he was so angry to find it was only a dream that he scandalized poor Mrs. Brackett with his exclamations.

Young Harry Brackett was made to feel the effects of his father’s mental disturbance. The squire assailed him with questions about Mr. Carleton, which puzzled the son exceedingly. Finally the squire demanded, point-blank, to know what Mr. Carleton had said to him when he commissioned him to buy the yacht.

“And you needn’t deny that he did get you to try to buy it, either,” he exclaimed, warmly, “because I know all about that.”

Harry Brackett, taken aback, but concluding that Mr. Carleton had told his father about it, admitted the commission, but could not recall anything in particular that Mr. Carleton had said at that time.

“Didn’t he want to know something about the yacht that he was intending to buy?” demanded the squire. “Now just wake those sleepy wits of yours up and try to think.”

Harry Brackett, much confused, endeavoured to obey.

“No, I don’t remember that he did,” said he, finally, “only he wanted to know, of course, if I’d heard anything wrong about the yacht – anything queer about her – or something of that sort – seems to me he asked if there was anything queer about the boat – anything ever discovered about her.”

The squire concealed a thrill of satisfaction by scowling, and exclaimed:

“Well, why didn’t you say so before? I might want to buy that boat, myself, sometime. I want to find out about her.”

A night or two after this, Squire Brackett awoke. He had had another dream: that he and Mr. Carleton had stolen aboard the Viking, in the dead of night, and had broken into the cabin. There, after the strange and impossible fashion of dreams, they had discovered the man, Chambers, at work, tearing up the cabin floor. Then, the dream progressed to a stage wherein Mr. Carleton and Chambers were handing out bags of money to the squire, piling his arms full of them.

By degrees, these bags grew heavier, until the squire sank under their weight. But, to his horror, Carleton and Chambers did not cease heaping the bags of money upon him until he was smothering under them. They covered his face, his nose, the top of his head. He woke up in the midst of a vain endeavour to call for help, in which he could not utter a sound.

Possibly the squire’s dream was explained by the fact that he found himself submerged beneath the bed-clothes, which he had drawn completely over his head, almost stifling himself. His pillow, which he clutched tightly in his arms, rested also on his left ear, like one of the imaginary bags of gold.

“Oh! oh!” he groaned, freeing himself from the weight of clothing, “that was a terrible nightmare. Confound that yacht! I wish it was sunk in the middle of Samoset Bay, and I’d never set eyes on it again.”

But, with this awakening, the old subject of the mystery of the Viking returned to torment him. He lay awake for a half-hour or more, vainly trying to forget it and go to sleep, but finding the paper with the cryptogram forever flitting before his eyes.

Then, of a sudden, he sprang out of bed, with a yell that awakened poor Mrs. Brackett in terror. Her first thought, naturally, was of burglars.

“I have it! I have it!” cried Squire Brackett, dancing about like a certain philosopher of old, “I have it – it’s ‘money!’”

“James Brackett!” exclaimed his wife, sitting up and glaring at him indignantly, “I believe you’re going crazy over money. That’s all you think about, is money – and all you talk about is money; and now here you are dreaming about money. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, jumping out of bed in the middle of the night and screaming ‘money,’ and frightening me almost to death? You come back to bed!”

But the squire did seem to have gone actually crazy, for it was evident he was fully awake. He continued to prance about excitedly, exclaiming, “It’s money! I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” until poor Mrs. Brackett was at her wit’s end.

Ignoring alike her entreaties and her scornful remarks, he descended to his office, drew forth the mystical paper, eyed it triumphantly for a moment, and then wrote as follows:

“Chambers says MONEY must be still aboard yacht.”

“Hooray!” cried the squire. “There it is. Oh, I reckon I’m pretty deep, myself. Yes, and I see the rest of it now.” The squire finished the letter thus:

“Sound under third starboard locker.”

“That’s right,” he said. “That means there’s some sort of a secret chamber in one of the starboard lockers, and that by sounding, or hammering, on the right spot, it will echo hollow, or give some sound different from the other boards. Oh, I’ll get that yacht, no matter what I have to pay – and I’ll get the money, too. I reckon I haven’t cut my eye-teeth for nothing.”

The squire could hardly close his eyes for the rest of the night. By daybreak he was out alongside the Viking.

“Look here,” said Squire Brackett, as he opened the doors of the cabin, and peered in at Henry Burns and Harvey, who were at breakfast, “I want you boys to do me a little favour.”

Harvey’s face betrayed his astonishment.

“Oh, I’ll make it worth your while, too,” continued the squire. “I’m willing to pay handsomely for it. You see, I’ve got a party of friends coming down the bay, and I want to meet them at Mayville and give them a few days’ cruising. I’ll admit there’s a little business in it for me, too. Now I want to do the thing up in good shape, and my boat isn’t fit for putting on style. I want the Viking for just one week, and I’ll pay you twenty dollars for it.”

There was no immediate response. Henry Burns and Harvey looked at each other doubtfully. The offer was almost tempting.

“Well,” cried the squire, seizing the opportunity, “I’ll not stand at five dollars at a time like this. Say twenty-five dollars for a single week, and the money is yours.”

“In advance?” asked Henry Burns.

“Yes, sir,” replied Squire Brackett, “in advance – though I reckon my name on a piece of paper is good for that amount anywhere in this county. Yes, and I’ll do more. I’ll sign an agreement to deliver the yacht back to you in this harbour, one week from the time of hiring it, in as good condition as when I get it, or pay for the difference.”

Henry Burns looked at Harvey, inquiringly. Harvey nodded.

“Well,” said Henry Burns, “on those conditions I think we’ll let you have her – but only for one week. You’ll have to wait two days, though. We’ve got some fresh enamel on part of the woodwork, and some of the mahogany finish has been scraped and newly oiled, and it isn’t quite dry enough for hard usage yet. Let’s see, to-day is Wednesday. You may have her on Saturday morning, if you’ll bring her back the next Saturday, any time before night.”

“Here’s the money,” said Squire Brackett, promptly. “We’ll consider the bargain closed, eh?”

“Yes,” assented the two yachtsmen.

“Now what do you make of that?” exclaimed Harvey, as the squire rowed awkwardly ashore.

“Why, I think he has some land deal on hand,” replied Henry Burns, “and he wishes to make a grand impression on the persons he is going to meet. He calls them his friends, but he’s friendly to any one that he thinks he can make money out of. They probably are from the city, and he wishes to have them enjoy the sights of the bay in a fine boat. There’s money in it in some way for the squire, you can depend on it, or he wouldn’t do it.”

Henry Burns was certainly right, in part.

“Well, we will have the yacht in fairly good shape for him by Saturday,” said Harvey. “We’ll bring down the fine cushions and fixings from the Warren cottage, Friday night.”

The boys worked industriously through this and the two succeeding days, putting the Viking in shape. The outer body of the boat had not received hard usage, even in their fishing, and the decks had been kept carefully scrubbed. So, with the cleaning and painting and oiling of the cabin woodwork, and varnishing, where needed, they had got the yacht in fairly good condition before the squire had applied for her. Now, with the finishing touches, and the rubbing up of brass work, the Viking was beginning to shine and glisten as of old.

“I am almost sorry we agreed to let the squire have her,” said Henry Burns, as he and Harvey lay rolled in their blankets, the former on the starboard, the latter on the port berth, in the midship section of the yacht, on Friday night. They had finished a hard day’s work, had extinguished the cabin lantern, and were having a quiet chat before going off to sleep.

“Oh, well, a week will soon pass,” said Harvey, “and twenty-five dollars will swell our bank-account and put a finishing touch to the season’s balance. We’ll have to go and figure up with Rob Dakin, pretty soon, and see how we stand.”

Rob Dakin, the storekeeper, was the boys’ banker. They had deposited their earnings in his safe, from time to time, keeping an account with him for groceries and rigging, and drawing out what they needed.

“Yes,” responded Henry Burns, “we’ve got a good balance coming to us – and we’ve had a good time, too.”

“I’ve had the best time I ever had here,” said Harvey, enthusiastically.

They were talking in this way, growing drowsy, and speaking in low tones, when Henry Burns suddenly uttered a warning “hush” to Harvey, and half arose, resting on one elbow.

“What’s the matter?” whispered Harvey.

Henry Burns laughed, softly.

“The boat is bewitched,” he said. “You needn’t get nervous, though. It’s just a funny little, squeaky kind of witch-noise. I heard it the other night when I was lying here; but, when I sat up and listened, the sound stopped.”

“What sort of a noise is it?” asked Harvey, not much interested.

“Why, I’ll tell you,” answered Henry Burns, “I suppose the witchcraft is really something loose about this berth, or about one of those shelves, or lockers; and that it works with the swinging of the boat in some way, and makes a squeaking noise.”

“I don’t see anything very mysterious about that,” muttered Harvey.

“I don’t, either,” replied Henry Burns. “Only the queer thing about it seems to be, that when I get up and listen for it, it stops.”

“Well, if any witches fly out of that locker, just wake me up to take a look at them,” laughed Harvey, preparing to roll up in his blanket again for the night.

Henry Burns, also, lay down again, and the cabin was still. In about five minutes more, Henry Burns reached down quietly for one of his shoes and rapped with it on the shelf, above his head.

“What’s that?” demanded Harvey, roused from the early stages of slumber – “some more of your witches? Say, you can’t make me nervous, so you better let me go to sleep.”

“Jack,” said Henry Burns, arising and stepping over beside his companion, “go over and try my berth awhile. Don’t go to sleep, but keep still, and listen – and tell me what you hear.”

Harvey, grumbling a little at his comrade’s oddity, complied, yawning ferociously.

“If I see a witch I’ll eat him up,” he exclaimed. “I’m dead tired.”

“Keep quiet,” was Henry Burns’s admonition. Harvey was silent, and again they lay still for almost ten minutes. Then, of a sudden, Harvey raised himself on an elbow. Henry Burns was all attention. “Did you hear it?” he asked, softly.

“Sh-h-h,” whispered Harvey. He lifted his head close to the door of the locker and listened intently. Then, presently, he burst into laughter.

“You’re right, Henry,” he cried. “They’re witches – four-legged ones – and we’ll have to clear ’em out of this cabin before they do any mischief. There’s a nest of young mice in there somewhere, and it’s them we hear squeaking.”

“Well, to tell the truth, I thought of that, too,” said Henry Burns; “but I didn’t suppose mice ever got into a boat like this in the summer-time, when it’s in use.”

“Well, I don’t know as I ever heard of it,” responded Harvey, “though I don’t see why they shouldn’t. The schooners and fishermen have them in the hold, often. But sure enough they’ve got in here somehow. Let’s have a look.”

The boys got up, lighted two of the cabin lanterns, and proceeded to investigate.

The berth on which Henry Burns had lain, and from which Harvey had just arisen, was in the middle of the boat. It was about six feet long by two feet wide, and sufficiently raised from the cabin floor to admit of two good-sized drawers occupying the space beneath. There was a locker in the side of the cabin, opening by a door close by the head, and one of the same size at the foot, of the berth. Between these was an alcove with some shelves.

The door of the forward locker was so disposed that, if one were lying on the berth with his head forward, the door could not be opened without its coming in contact with his head. Therefore, the sound, if it came from within the locker, would be immediately in the ears of any one occupying the berth.

Holding a lantern in one hand, Henry Burns opened the door of the locker and looked within. There was no sign of anything alive there.

“We gave this cabin a pretty good overhauling before, after that treasure,” said Harvey. “It looks just the same now as it did.”

“Well, it must be underneath, then,” said Henry Burns.

“Yes, and we looked there, too,” said Harvey.

“Well, we’ll do the job more thoroughly, this time,” replied Henry Burns. “Hand me one of those candles, and I’ll look underneath.”

So saying, he set down his lantern, and pulled out one of the drawers directly underneath the berth where he had lain. As he did so, he gave an exclamation of surprise.

“What is it?” asked Harvey, appearing with the candle.

“I think we’re on the right track,” said Henry Burns. “Look, there’s where the witches get through.”

Close to the cabin floor, where a support of the cabin roof came down, a few inches below the lower edge of the drawer, was a small hole, large enough to admit of a mouse.

“That looks like the front door, sure enough,” said Harvey.

They looked within the drawer, but there was no sign of occupancy there.

“We’ll take the drawer completely out,” said Henry Burns. “I don’t believe we did that, before. Perhaps it doesn’t fill the entire space.”

“All right, I’ll take the other one out, too,” responded Harvey. “We’ll look behind both.”

He drew the drawer out and set it down on the cabin floor. Henry Burns pulled out the drawer he had been examining, and set it down on top of the other. Then, as he glanced at them by the light of the candle which he held, he said, abruptly:

“Look there, Jack. We’ve found it. As sure as you live, this drawer is six or seven inches shorter than the other. There’s a chamber behind it. Say, you don’t suppose – ”

Henry Burns did not conclude his sentence. Instead, he got down on hands and knees, held the candle under the berth, and peered within. As he did so, he uttered a cry of triumph.

“Here, Jack, look inside,” he said, hastily, withdrawing his head, and handing the candle to his companion.

Harvey ducked his head, and peered within.

What he saw, in the chamber behind the space taken up by the drawer, was a little boxlike object, fastened in some manner to the under side of the bottom of the locker.

Harvey, in turn, handed the candle over to Henry Burns.

“Here,” he said. “You found it. It’s your right to have the first look at whatever is there.”

Henry Burns, as near the point of actual excitement as he ever got, took the candle, eagerly, and looked again. The boxlike object was clearly a drawer of some sort, for, on closer scrutiny, there was revealed a tiny knob by which it might be drawn out.

“The mice are here, anyway,” said Henry Burns, as he reached in and set the candle down, preparatory to extending his arm at full length to draw out the box. “I see a hole in one corner where they can get in and out.”

Then, as he seized the knob and pulled the little drawer open, there darted out a small object that ran across his hand and disappeared in the darkness beyond the lantern lights.

Henry Burns laughed, the next moment, for he had dodged back, bumping his head and letting go of the knob.

“Run for your life, Jack,” he cried. “Here comes the witch.”

Then, before Harvey’s astonished eyes, Henry Burns drew forth into the light of the cabin lantern a little drawer; and, within it, a nest fashioned of odds and ends of paper and soft stuff; and, within the nest, a family of tiny mice, lying as snug as the proverbial bug in a rug.

The drawer was about a foot in length, six inches deep, and perhaps four inches in height. It contained no apparent treasure – only a litter of paper that mice had torn and gnawed into pieces. There was no gold nor jewels therein.

“Hm!” exclaimed Harvey, with an expression of chagrin overshadowing his face, “Don’t look as though there was anything there to make us rich – or to have warranted Carleton in breaking into our cabin, eh?”

“There isn’t now,” replied Henry Burns, calmly, but with a shade of disappointment in his voice. “There isn’t now, but there was. The mice have got here before us, that’s all.”

He held up to the light a scrap of the torn paper. It was no ordinary paper that the lantern-light revealed to the eyes of the astonished Harvey – far from it. It was the paper that no man may make for himself – the paper of a national bank-note – and there were, on this particular fragment, yet to be seen, a full cipher and the half of another. Harvey fairly gasped.

“That was a hundred-dollar bill!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, or a thousand,” said Henry Burns.

Harvey groaned.

“Better drop those mice overboard, hadn’t we?” said he.

Henry Burns scooped the family up in his hand and passed them over.

“I believe you said if you saw a witch you’d eat her,” he remarked, slyly.

“Ugh!” ejaculated Harvey, as he dropped the mice alongside. “Say, you take it coolly enough, don’t you?”

“Well, why not?” replied Henry Burns. “It isn’t our money that’s gone.”

“It would have been,” said Harvey.

“I don’t know whether it would or not,” responded Henry Burns. “We’d have to turn it over to the authorities, I suppose, to see if any one claimed it – hullo! what’s this?”