IX--THE CHEST IN THE ROCKS
John Tuckerman was leaning on his arm and looking out at the sparkling,gleaming blue-green water when Ben Sully woke next day. Ben kept stilland watched him, as he had watched him on several other mornings.Tuckerman looked so absorbed, so intent. He seemed to be sniffing theair. And Ben, to whom a summer morning on the New England coastpresented no novelty, appreciated that to this man everything about himseemed like a part of wonderland.
The only sounds were the lapping of waves and the calling of birds inthe woods back of the camp. A great gray-white gull was soaring far outover the water, slanting first this way, then that, as though he weretrying his wings before he made a real flight. Nearer shore two whiteterns circled round and round, and then dropped straight in the bay,their sharp beaks darting at fish. The shore of the mainland rose in agreen swell, on which pearl-colored fleecy clouds seemed to be floating,and the shore of the island itself, above the beach, was a tangle of bayand juniper and wild roses, all shades of greens and pinks in the earlysun.
Ben saw this through Tuckerman's eyes, and felt the spell ofenchantment. Then David rolled over, stretched his arms, grunted; andthe spell was broken. A pine-cone, tossed by Ben, landed on David'snose. "Hi there, you mosquito!" exclaimed the nose's owner. He threw thepine-cone at Tom. "Time to be up, lazybones. Breakfast in half-an-hour,and those who aren't down when the bell rings won't get any!"
"The tub's mine first!" shouted John Tuckerman, and pulling off hispajamas he took a few leaps across the grass and raced over the sand tothe water, where he ducked under a wave and bobbed up again, splashingand yelling.
Ben, then David, then Tom, followed, making more noise between them thanall the wildfowl on the island put together. The water was cold, butfine for a morning swim, and when, after fifteen minutes, the four cameout on the beach again, they seized the Turkish towels that hungconveniently on a juniper, and rubbed themselves to a brilliantlobster-like glow.
"That particular swimming-pool," said John Tuckerman,--"I refer to theone commonly called the damp spot, or the ocean,--beats all theporcelain-lined tubs it has ever been my privilege to bathe in. It'strue there's only cold water; but come out into this sun for a fewminutes and you'll be hot enough. Now it seems to me"--but at thatparticular moment he began to pull his flannel shirt over his head, andwhen his words again became audible he was saying "shake well, and takea teaspoonful in a glass of water every morning before breakfast."
Breakfast! Magic word after a swim in the ocean! The boys jumped intotheir clothes and set to work. For the next half-hour the thoughts ofall the campers were centred on food.
But as soon as his plate was cleared Ben began to consider anothermatter. He quoted lines to himself, "I took the box to the northcliff.... I hid it in the pocket in the rocks. There are two veins thatmake a mark like a cross." Very good; that was plain. And as soon as theafter-breakfast chores were done he said, rather self-consciously, "Iknow where there's a pool full of cunners," and picking up hisfishing-rod and tackle, he hurried into the woods.
He looked back over his shoulder once or twice, but no one was followinghim. Through the thickets, dappled with sunshine, he went at a brisktrot. This brought him out on the north shore, where the high rockstowered above the beach like a line of battlements. He swung himselfover a cliff and dropped lightly on to the sand. Leaving his fishing-rodin a convenient place where he could pick it up quickly if anyone cameby, he began his search.
There were crevices in the rocks, and each of these had to be explored.Bushes and trailing vines, growing from little footholds, covered theseaward surface of many of the cliffs. But Ben, thrilled with the senseof exploration, and persevering by nature, stuck to his task, and wasrewarded at last by finding what he sought, two veins of a light yellowcolor that made the distinct mark of a cross.
"That's it!" he muttered, excited. "And, by Jove, there's the pocket!"
Down on his knees he went, and thrust his head into an opening. Hepushed himself forward by digging his toes in the sand. And soon hisoutstretched hand touched a large chest, he felt metal bands about it,he pushed it, but it was wedged in tight.
Presently he pulled himself out, stood up, and considered the situation.He had found the box that James Sampson had hid in the rocks. His firstthought was what a tremendously strong man Sampson must have been tocarry such a chest all the way from Cotterell Hall to this north shore.However, Sampson might not have carried it; he might have brought it ina cart or by some other means. And his next thought was, how couldBenjamin Sully get that chest out of the pocket.
That took a good deal of thinking, and he sat down and considered itfrom various angles.
Into his brown study two voices from somewhere back of him madeinterruption abruptly.
"He's fishing for cunners on the dry sand! First time I ever saw thatdone. He just coaxes 'em out of the water."
"Keep quiet! He's counting the grains of sand. He's got up into themillions."
"He's thinking up a way to hypnotize the fish. Stare at them hardenough, and they'll swim right up on the beach."
"He's copying King Canute. Telling the waves to go back."
"He's working out a time-table for the tides."
Ben turned his head. "As a matter of fact, the thing I'm thinking aboutis a thousand times more interesting than anything you've guessed."
The two voices were those of David and Tom.
"I've always said," observed David, "that you can't catch our Benjienapping. He seems to be sitting there like a bump on a log, but he'sreally thinking of the most remarkable things."
"I shouldn't wonder," nodded Tom, "if it was something utterlyprodigious--like why the water's wet or fish have scales."
"No," said Ben pleasantly, "I was wondering how I could get PeterCotterell's treasure chest out of the place where his servant JamesSampson hid it. It's rather too heavy for me to handle by myself."
The other two stared. "Benjie oughtn't to have come out here without acork helmet," said David. "I suppose he's got a sunstroke."
"Sampson put the chest there," he concluded.]
"What are you driving at?" asked Tom. "Have you really found thetreasure, Ben?"
Ben pointed negligently toward the cleft in the rock. "There," heanswered. "See that yellow cross? That marks where he hid the chest."
"You're dreaming!" David snorted.
"How do you know?" questioned Tom.
Ben took from his pocket the piece of paper that bore James Sampson'smessage. He read it aloud, slowly, giving each word full weight."Sampson put the chest there," he concluded. "And there it is now. Icrawled in and found it."
Even David was impressed by that. He got down on his knees and pokedinto the cavern, and when he stood up he nodded solemnly.
"There is something in there," he said. "I shouldn't wonder if Ben mightbe right."
"Well," said Tom, "there's a rope in the sailboat. We left her aroundthe point." He hurried away.
In a few minutes he was back, with a coil of good-sized rope.
Taking an end of this, Ben again crawled into the opening and made therope tight about the chest. Then the three boys took hold of the otherend of the rope and began to pull. The sand was not very secure footingand the chest was heavy, but gradually they pulled it out. Theydiscovered it was a box made of hard wood, with iron fastenings.
"Well," declared Tom, "if James Sampson carried that all the way here byhimself, all I've got to say is that he deserves his name."
"These mahogany men," added David, "supposing that the fellow whocarried this chest was a mahogany man--must belong to a race of giants.I wonder if it was a mahogany man who made those footprints on the edgeof the creek?"
Ben had picked up a flat stone, shaped something like a large Indianarrowhead, and another round stone; and inserting the first stone underthe lid of the chest, he struck it several blows with the other.
Tom watched him a moment. "You can't pry it open that way," he asserte
d.Looking along the beach, he selected a big, egg-shaped stone and broughtit back to the chest. Lifting it in both hands, he dropped it on theiron band just above the lock. The iron snapped apart. The stone bouncedoff on the sand.
David and Ben seized the lid. With a creaking of hinges it was lifted.There before them was a light blue coat, gold-braided, a three-corneredhat of felt, a sword in a tarnished scabbard.
"My eye!" exclaimed Tom. "Just clothes! Why in the world did he want tohide such things?"
Ben was flinging them aside. Underneath were other garments, severalsuits of the style worn by gentlemen in Revolutionary days, and then theoddest collection of bric-a-brac, candlesticks, pewter pitchers, asilver snuff-box, a couple of lacquered platters, and even some chinaplates.
David started to laugh. "Well, if that's the Cotterell treasure, I can'tgive it much! I don't see why the Barmouth people wanted to lay hands onit, or why Sir Peter and his precious James Sampson were so eager to getaway with it. Why, it's regular junk-shop stuff. I don't suppose thewhole collection, if they'd sold it at auction, would have fetchedenough to feed a soldier a week."
Ben looked very much crestfallen. He fingered the suits, the snuff-box,the platters. "No," he said, "it does seem mighty queer. And to thinkthat Sampson brought these things over here, intending to take them awayin a boat! I don't understand it at all."
"Never mind, Benjie." Tom slapped his friend on the shoulder. "You foundthe chest anyway."
"That's right. You did," said David. "You worked out the puzzle. Itisn't your fault if the treasure was just old junk."
Ben was scratching his head. "But surely Sir Peter did have somevaluable plate," he argued. "The people of Barmouth knew that. Then whatdid he do with it?"
"Maybe he melted it down himself," said David. "Anyhow it isn't in thatchest."
"That's so." Ben picked up the snuff-box and stuck it in his pocket."Where's the Professor?"
"He went up to the house. Said he was going to write a letter," Tomanswered. "I'll tell you what we'll do, old sport. I'll take you out inthe _Argo_ and let you have some fishing."
The chest was shut again and pushed back into the pocket. Ben regainedhis fishing-rod and tackle, and the three embarked in the sailboat. Andpresently the satisfaction of pulling flounders on board made Ben forgeteverything else.
When they returned to camp, with a fine catch of fish, they found JohnTuckerman busy preparing dinner. Ben told his story, while Tuckermanlistened with the greatest interest. "It does seem odd," he said, whenBen had finished. "Most peculiar, in fact." He mused a moment, his eyesregarding the water. "But then my good old ancestor Sir Peter was an oddkind of fish. I wonder now--do you suppose he could possibly have beenplanning to have a joke at the expense of his Barmouth neighbors?"
"You mean," said Tom, "that he might have hid those things expecting theneighbors to find them?"
Tuckerman nodded. "It might have been so. Perhaps he, or James Sampson,even expected the men in the boat that was waiting off shore to findwhere Sampson hid the chest."
"But why all this puzzle then about the pieces of parchment Ben found inthe house?" asked David.
"Well, I'll admit," said Tuckerman with a smile, "that it's not as clearas a pikestaff. Only Sir Peter does seem to have liked his joke.However, the bacon's sizzling." Brandishing a fork in his hand, he bentover the frying pan.
That afternoon Tuckerman said that he had an important letter to mail,and the campers sailed to Barmouth. Tuckerman went to the post-office,and each of the boys dropped in on his family. Ben had a chat with hismother, then told her he must do an errand. This took him into a sidestreet, where there were a number of small, unpretentious shops.
He stopped before a window that was filled with old furniture, andirons,odds and ends of china. He opened the door, and a little bell tinkledsomewhere back in the house, and after a moment a small, wizened-facedman, wearing a big blue checked apron, came into the room.
"Afternoon, Mr. Haskins," said Ben.
"It's Ben Sully, ain't it?" said the proprietor. "Well, are you goin' toget married, an' want a nice set of furniture to go to housekeepin'with?"
"Not to-day, Mr. Haskins." Ben acknowledged the joke with a grin. "No,sir, I'm more interested just as present in what you call antiques."
"Antiques, eh? Well, what was you thinkin' of wantin'? I've some nicethree-legged kettles, a soup tureen that came over in the _Mayflower_,an ivory back-scratcher that hails from India. Just look about, an' tellme what you want."
"I want you to tell me something about this." Ben put his hand in hispocket and drew out the snuffbox he had taken from the Cotterell chest.
"This?" Mr. Haskins took the snuff-box, pulled his spectacles down fromhis forehead on to his nose, walked nearer the window, and peered at thesmall silver box.
"What do you want me to tell you?" he asked after a moment.
"Is it a real old one?"
"Certainly it is. See that monogram? That's the finest embossed work."Mr. Haskins gave a chuckle. "I ought to know about that box, I ought."
"Why ought you?" asked Ben.
"Well, you see, this here particular snuff-box has been in my shop sometime. I sold it to a customer just about a week ago."
"I thought perhaps you had," said Ben, trying hard not to show hisexcitement.
Peter Cotterell's Treasure Page 9