They found a few scraps of what they believed to have once been Nalig-Nad, and that night the remains were consumed with fire, accompanied by many impressive ceremonies. Other funeral pyres burned also, both in the enclosure and on the plain beyond; for the most malignant of the green chiefs had followed the king to assist him in destroying the automobile and had therefore shared his fate.
Bright and early next morning Ned Britton appeared at the edge of the forest leading his band of seamen to our rescue. We advanced eagerly to meet him and told him the news of the king’s destruction and of our altered standing with the new ruler of the San Blas. Ned had heard and felt the explosion even on the wreck, but thought that it must have been an earthquake.
The newcomers were not regarded with much favor by the Indians, yet I thought that we all assisted greatly to lend dignity to the day’s ceremonies, which included the formal acknowledgment of Ilalah as ruler and lawgiver of the nation and her subsequent marriage — a most primitive rite — to the inventor, Duncan Moit. Ilalah’s husband was next adopted as a Techla, and then the excitement seemed to subside and the population settled down to business again.
However, there was no denying the fact that the natives resented our presence among them and were ill at ease while we remained in the village. So I told “King Duncan,” as Uncle Naboth insisted upon jocosely calling him, that we would make haste to return to our ship.
He offered no objection to our going, but stated simply that it would be our wisest course. Then he hesitated a moment, as if embarrassed, and added:
“You must never come back, you know. The Techlas will live their own lives in their own way, and hereafter I am to be one of them and shall forget everything that exists outside our borders. We permit you to go freely now, as a return for your kindness to our queen; but should you be daring enough to return at any time I warn you that you will be received as enemies, and opposed to the death.”
“Will you become another Nalig-Nad, then?” I asked, indignant at the traitorous words.
“In the future, as in the past, the demoralizing influences of the whites and their false civilization will be excluded from the dominions of the San Blas,” he answered, coolly. “My wife will rule as her fathers did, in spite of the fact that one white man has been admitted into the community. You have been my friends, but when you leave me now you must forget our friendship, as I am resolved to do. Should you invade the country of the Techlas again, you do so at your peril.”
This assertion, coming from one whom I had trusted and regarded as a faithful comrade, filled me with consternation not unmixed with resentment. But the man had always been peculiar and I tried to make allowances for his erratic nature.
“Tell me, then,” I said, after a moment’s thought; “how about dividing those diamonds?”
“They are yours. I have no use for such things now,” he added, a touch of sadness in his voice. “You are welcome to whatever share was due me — on one condition.”
“What is that, Duncan?”
“That you will tell no one where you found them and will promise never to return here for more.”
I hesitated, and Uncle Naboth looked sorely disappointed.
“It is my intention,” continued Moit, firmly, “to support the traditions of the Techlas. They must own nothing that will arouse the cupidity of the outside world, for only in this way will they be able to control their own territory. I am glad the audacious Tcharn is dead, and I will destroy all his pretty goldsmith work within the next few days. Also I shall have the valley of diamonds thoroughly searched and all the white pebbles cast into the sea. Therefore no temptation will exist for you or your fellows to come here again. Our laws will be rigidly maintained, and any strangers, white or black, who defy them will be severely punished.”
Yes, I had always suspected a streak of madness in Moit. Perhaps the destruction of his marvelous invention had served to unbalance a mind already insecurely seated. Anyway, I could see that he was in deadly earnest and that any argument would be useless. My companions, also, noted a strange glitter in his eyes that warned them he would not lift a finger to save their lives if they again ventured to invade the country ruled by Queen Ilalah.
So, with regret, we submitted to the inevitable. We bade Duncan Moit and his beautiful bride farewell and marched away through the forest till we came to the banks of the river, where the wreck lay in plain sight. A strong escort of silent natives watched us until we were all on board, and then they melted away and disappeared like ghosts.
I have never seen the inventor since, or stepped a foot upon the land of the Techlas.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WE LEAVE PANAMA
WELL, THE STORY is told, as you may easily guess. Uncle Naboth and I ran up to Colon, and not liking that city took a train across the isthmus to Panama, which we liked no better. The people we met were a miserable lot, and did not compare either in intelligence or dignity with the isolated tribes of the San Blas. Some day, however, when the great canal is built, Americans will invade these parts in such numbers that the present population will disappear.
It is a mistake to think the climate of Panama unhealthful. On the uplands, both north and south of the depression where the canal zone is established, it is as healthful as any tropical country in the world. In the zone itself, which is ten miles wide, bad sanitation caused by the carelessness of the French workmen used constantly to breed fevers and disease. The Americans are now busily cleansing the Augean stables and good sanitary conditions are rapidly being established. But I will say this: that unless one has business in Panama he may readily discover a more desirable location for a residence.
We soon returned to the wreck, which we preferred to the towns of the isthmus, and there amused ourselves until the Carmenia arrived at Colon. Then her captain, an active and energetic young man named Colton, took charge of the remains of the Gladys H. He had received orders to remove the cargo, strip the wreck of all valuables and then abandon her where she lay.
He brought his ship alongside with ease and as soon as he was in charge and had given me a receipt, our people removed their personal possessions and were rowed round to Colon, where a steamer was shortly due that would carry us to New Orleans.
I kept an eye upon the forest for Moit, thinking he might appear to bid us good-bye; but he did not. We warned Captain Colton not to land in the San Blas country, but did not confide to him any part of our recent remarkable experiences.
A few days later we caught the steamer and made a quick voyage across the gulf. We reached Chelsea on the twelfth day of February, and were warmly welcomed by my father, who reported the Seagull nearing completion.
The diamonds were sold for a surprising amount of money, because the stones proved exceptionally large and perfect, and the proceeds were equally divided between Ned Britton, Uncle Naboth and myself. We had selected three good specimens of the “white pebbles” to sell for the benefit of our faithful seamen, and the amount of prize money they received from this source greatly delighted them. Nux and Bryonia would never accept anything in the way of money at all. They said that they belonged to Uncle Naboth and “Mars Sam,” and they knew very well that whatever we had they were welcome to.
Neither Mr. Harlan nor his company ever blamed me for the loss of the Gladys H. It was one of those fateful occurrences that mortal man is powerless to control.
THE BOY FORTUNE HUNTERS IN EGYPT
Reilly & Britton published The Boy Fortune Hunters in Egypt in 1908, the third in a series under Baum’s pseudonym, Floyd Akers, illustrated by Emile A. Nelson. The novel follows young ship captain Sam Steele and his friends as they seek the ancient and secret trove known as the treasure of Karnak. The companions encounter numerous dangers, from enraged camels to murderous desert tribes to scorpion-filled pits. Baum based some of the colorful details on his own Egyptian travels in 1906.
A first edition copy of ‘The Boy Fortune Hunters in Egypt’
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
Baum and his wife, Maud Gage Baum, in Egypt, 1906
CHAPTER ONE
THE RUNAWAY
I was standing on the deck of the Seagull, looking over the rail and peering into the moonlight that flooded the bay where we lay at anchor, when the soft dip of an oar caught my ear.
It was the softest dip in the world, stealthy as that of an Indian, and in the silence that reigned aboard ship I stood motionless, listening for a repetition of the sound.
It came presently — the mere rustle of the drops as they slid off the oar’s blade — and a small boat stole from the shadows astern and crept to our side.
I glanced along the rail and saw, a few paces away, the dim form of the watch, alert and vigilant; but the man knew I was there, and forbore to hail the mysterious craft below.
At a snail’s pace the boat glided along our side until it was just beneath me, when I could see a blot in the moonlight that resembled a human form. Then a voice, so gentle that it scarce rose above the breeze, called out:
“Ahoy, mate!”
Now I ought to explain that all this was surprising; we were a simple, honest American merchant ship, lying in home waters and without an element of mystery in our entire outfit. On the neighboring shore of the harbor could be seen the skids from which the Seagull had been launched a month before, and every man and boy in Chelsea knew our history nearly as well as we did ourselves.
But our midnight visitor had chosen to steal upon us in a manner as unaccountable as it was mysterious, and his hail I left unanswered while I walked to the landing steps and descended them until I stood upon the platform that hung just over the boat.
And now I perceived that the tub — for it was little else — was more than half full of water, and that the gunwale rode scarce an inch above the smooth surface of the bay. The miserable thing was waterlogged and about to sink, yet its occupant sat half submerged in his little pool, as quiet and unconcerned as if no danger threatened.
“What’s up?” I demanded, speaking rather sternly.
The form half rose, the tub tipped and filled, and with a gentle splash both disappeared from view and left me staring at the eddies. I was about to call for help when the form bobbed up again and a hand shot out and grasped a rope dangling from the landing stage. I leaned over to assist, and the fellow scrambled up the line with remarkable agility until I was able to seize his collar and drag him, limp and dripping, to a place beside me.
At this time I was just eighteen years of age and, I must confess, not so large in size as I longed to be; but the slender, bent form of the youth whom I had rescued was even of less stature than my own. As he faced me in the moonlight and gave a gasp to clear the water from his throat, I noted the thin, pinched features and the pair of large, dark eyes that gazed with pleading earnestness into my own.
“For Heaven’s sake, what are you up to?” I asked, impatiently; “and how came you to be afloat in that miserable tub? It’s a wonder you didn’t sink long before you reached our side.”
“So it is,” he replied in a low voice. “Are you — are you Sam Steele, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Ah! I hoped it would be you. Can I go aboard, sir? I want to talk to you.”
I could not well have refused, unless I consigned the fellow to the waters of the bay again. Moreover, there was a touching and eager appeal in the lad’s tones that I could not resist. I turned and climbed to the deck, and he followed me as silently as a shadow. Then, leaning against the rail, I inquired somewhat testily:
“Couldn’t you wait until morning to pay me a visit? And hadn’t you enough sense to know that old dinghy wouldn’t float?”
“But it did float, sir, until I got here; and that answered my purpose very well,” he replied. “I had to come at night to keep from being discovered and recaptured.”
“Oh! You’re a criminal, then. Eh?”
“In a way, sir. I’m an escaped cabin-boy.”
That made me laugh. I began to understand, and the knowledge served to relieve the strain and dissolve the uncanny effect of the incident. An escaped cabin-boy! Well, that was nothing very wonderful.
“Here, come to my room and get some dry togs,” I said, turning abruptly to the gangway. The lad followed and we passed silently through the after-cabin, past the door of Uncle Naboth’s quarters — whence issued a series of stentorian snores — and so into my own spacious stateroom, where I lighted a lamp and carefully closed the door.
“Now, then,” I exclaimed, pulling some of my clothes from a locker, “slip on this toggery at once, so your teeth will stop chattering.”
He discarded his dripping garments and replaced them with my dry flannel shirt and blue trousers, my thick socks and low shoes. I picked up his own ragged clothes and with a snort of contempt for their bedraggled and threadbare condition tossed them out of the window into the sea.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, and clutched at his breast.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Nothing. I thought at first you had thrown away mother’s picture; but it’s here, all right,” and he patted his breast tenderly.
“Hungry?” I inquired.
“Yes, sir.” He gave a shiver, as if he had just remembered this condition; and I brought some biscuits and a tin of sardines from my cupboard and placed them before him.
The boy ate ravenously, washing down the food with a draught of water from the bottle in the rack. I waited for him to finish before I questioned him. Then, motioning him to a seat on my bunk, for he seemed weak and still trembled a bit, I said:
“Now, tell me your story.”
“I’m a Texan,” he replied, slowly, “and used to live in Galveston. My folks are dead and an uncle took care of me until a year ago, when he was shot in a riot. I didn’t mind that; he was never very good to me; but when he was gone I had no home at all. So I shipped as a cabin-boy aboard the Gonzales, a tobacco sloop plying between Galveston and Key West, for I always loved the sea and this was the best berth I could get. The Captain, José Marrow, is half Mexican and the cruelest man in the world. He whipped me when he was drunk, and abused and cuffed me when sober, and many a time I hoped would kill me instead of keeping up the tortures I suffered. Finally he came up here with a cargo, and day before yesterday, just as he had unloaded and was about to sail again, he sent me ashore on an errand. Of course I skipped. I ran along the bay and hid in a lumber shed, from the top of which I could watch the Gonzales. She didn’t sail, because old Marrow was bound to have me back, I guess; so I had to lay low, and all the time I was sure he’d find me in the end and get me back. The sloop’s in the bay yet, sir, only about a quarter of a mile away.”
“Well?”
“Well, last evening a couple of men came to sort some of the timbers, and I lay hid on top the pile and listened to their talk. They spoke of the Seagull, and how it was to sail far away into the Mediterranean, and was the best built ship that ever left this port.”
“That’s true enough, my lad.”
“And they said Cap’n Steele was the best man to work for in the merchant service, and his son, Sam Steele — that’s you, sir — was bound to make as good a sailor as his dad, and had been in some queer adventures already, and was sure to find more of them before he was much older.”
I had to smile at that evident “taffy,” and my smile left the boy embarrassed. He hesitated a moment, an
d then continued:
“To a poor devil like me, sir, such a tale made me believe this ship a floating paradise. I’ve heard of captains who are not as cruel as old Marrow; so when the men had gone I decided to get to you in some way and beg you to take me aboard. You see, the Mexican is waiting to hunt me down, and I’d die sooner than go back to his terrible ship. If you’ll take me with you, Mr. Steele, I’ll be faithful and true, and work like a slave for you. If you won’t, why, just say the word, and I’ll jump overboard again.”
“Can you swim?”
“No.”
I thought a moment. “What’s your name?” I asked, finally.
“Joe Herring.”
“Well, Joe, you’re asking something unusual, I must say. I’m not the captain of the Seagull, but merely purser, or to be more exact the secretary to Mr. Perkins, the supercargo. I own a share in the ship, to be sure, and purchased it with money I made myself; but that fact doesn’t count when we’re at sea, and Captain Steele is last man in the world to harbor a runaway member of the crew of a friendly ship. Indeed, your old master came aboard us this morning, to inquire about you, and I heard my father say that if he set eyes on you anywhere he’d let Captain Marrow know. As he never breaks his word this promise is to be depended upon. Do you see, now, what a fix you’re in?”
“I do, sir.”
His voice was low and despondent and he seemed to shrink back in his seat into an attitude hopeless and helpless.
I looked at the boy more closely, and the appeal in his pinched features, that had struck me at the first glance on the landing stage, became more impressive than ever.
“How old are you, Joe?”
“Fifteen, sir.”
He was tall, but miserably thin. His brown hair, now wet and clinging about his face, curled naturally and was thick and of fine texture, while his dark eyes were handsome enough to be set in the face of a girl. This, with a certain manly dignity that shone through his pitiful expression, decided me to befriend the lad, and I had an inspiration even in that first hour of meeting that Joe Herring would prove a loyal follower and a faithful friend.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 667