"Your notion of what is best for man as he draws near to his end, captain Gar'ner, is not likely to be of the most approved nature. The sea does not produce many very orthodox divines."
The young sailor coloured, bit his lip, cast a glance at Mary, and began a nearly inaudible whistle. In a moment he forgot the rebuke he had received, and laughingly went on with the inventory.
"Well," he cried, "this is rather a poorer outfit than Jack is apt to carry! infit, I suppose it should be called, as the poor fellow who owned it was inward bound, when he brought up on Oyster Pond. You'll hardly think it worth while, captain Daggett, to take this dunnage across to the Vineyard."
"It is scarce worth the trouble, though friends and relations may set a value on it that strangers do not. I see a couple of charts there--will you hand them this way, if you please? They may have a value with a sea-faring man, as old mariners sometimes make notes that are worth as much as the charts themselves."
This was said very naturally and simply; but it gave the deacon a good deal of concern. Nor was this feeling at all lessened by the earnest, not to say eager, manner in which Daggett, as we shall now call this member of the family, spread the chart on the bed, and began to pry into its records. The particular chart first opened in this way, was the one including the antarctic circle, and, of course, was that from which the deacon had been at so much pains to erase the sealing-islands, that the deceased mariner had laid down with so great precision and care. It was evident that the Martha's Vineyard-man was looking for something that he could not find, and that he felt disappointment. Instead of looking at the chart, indeed, he may be said to have been peering at it, in all its holes and crannies, of which there were not a few, in consequence of the torn condition of the paper. Several minutes elapsed ere the investigation terminated, the stranger seeming, all that time, to feel no interest in the remainder of his relation's wardrobe.
"This is an old chart, and of the date of 1802," observed Daggett, raising himself erect, as a man who has long been bent takes the creaks out of his back. "So old a chart as to be of little use now-a-day. Our sealers have gone over so much of the ground to the southward of the two capes, as to be able to do much better than this now."
"Your uncle had the appearance of an old-fashioned sailor," coldly observed the deacon; "and it may be that he most liked old-fashioned charts."
"If such was the case he must have pretty well forgotten his Vineyard schooling. There is not a woman there who doesn't know that the latest chart is commonly the best. I own I'm disapp'inted somewhat; for the master of the sloop gave me to understand he had heard from the master of the brig, that some valuable information was to be found on the old gentleman's charts."
The deacon started, as here was an indication that the deceased had talked of his knowledge to others, as well as to himself! It was so natural for a man like Daggett to boast of what his charts were worth, that he saw the extreme probability that a difficulty might arise from this source. It was his cue, however, to remain silent, and let the truth develop itself in due course. His attention was not likely to be drawn aside by the shirts and old clothes, for the stranger began a second time to examine the chart, and what was more, in the high latitudes at no great distance from the very spot where the sealing-islands had been placed, and from which they had been so carefully erased. "It is unaccountable that a man should wear out a chart like this, and leave so few notes on it!" said the Vineyard-man, much as one complains of a delinquency. "Here is white water noted in the middle of the ocean, where I dare say no other white water was seen but that which is made by a fish, and nothing is said of any islands. What do you think of this, captain Gar'ner?" laying his finger on the precise spot where the deacon had been at work so long that very morning erasing the islands. "This looks well-fingered, if nothing else, eh?"
"Its a shoal laid down in dirt," answered Roswell Gardiner, laughing--"Let's see; that's about lat. --° --″, and long. --° --″. There can be no known land thereaway, as even captain Cook did not succeed in getting as far south. That's been a favourite spot with the skipper for taking hold of his chart. I've known one of those old-fashioned chaps put his hand on a chart, in that way, and never miss his holding ground for three years on a stretch. Mighty go-by-rule people are some of our whaling-masters, in particular, who think they know the countenances of some of the elderly fish, who are too cunning to let a harpoon get fast to 'em."
"You've been often in them seas, I some think, captain Gar'ner?" said the other, inquiringly.
"I was brought up in the business, and have a hankering for it yet," returned the young man, frankly. "Nor do I care so much for charts. They are well enough when a vessel is on her road; but, as for whales or seals, the man who wishes to find either, in these times, has to look for them, as I tell my owner. According to reports, the time has been when a craft had only to get an offing to fall in with something that was worth putting a harpoon into; but those days are gone, captain Daggett; and whales are to be looked after, out at sea, much as money is to be looked for ashore here."
"Is the craft I saw at the wharf fitting out for a whaler, then?"
"She is going after luck, and will accept of it, in whatever form it may turn up."
"She is rather small for the whaling business, though vessels of that size have done well, by keeping close in upon our own coast."
"We shall know better what she will do after she has been tried," returned Gardiner, evasively. "What do you think of her for the Banks of Newfoundland?"
The Martha's Vineyard-man gave his brother tar a quick, impatient glance, which pretty plainly said, "tell that to the marines," when he opened the second chart, which as yet had been neglected.
"Sure enough," he muttered, in a low tone, though loud enough to be heard by the keenly attentive deacon; "here it is--a chart of the West Indies, and of all the keys!"
By this casual, spontaneous outbreaking, as it might be, the deacon got another clue to the stranger's knowledge, that gave him increased uneasiness. He was now convinced that, by means of the masters of the brig and the sloop, such information had been sent to the relatives of Daggett as had prepared them to expect the very revelations on which he hoped to establish his own fortunes. To what extent these revelations had been made, of course he could only conjecture; but there must have been a good deal of particularity to induce the individual who had come over to Oyster Pond to look into the two charts so closely. Under the circumstances, therefore, he felicitated himself on the precaution he had so early taken to erase the important notations from the paper.
"Captain Gar'ner, your eyes are younger than mine," said the Vineyard-man, holding the chart up to the light--"will you be good enough to look here?--does it not seem as if that key had been noted, and the words rubbed off the chart?"
This caused the deacon to peer over Roswell Gardiner's shoulder, and glad enough was he to ascertain that the stranger had placed his finger on a key that must lie several hundred miles from that which was supposed to hold the buried treasure of the pirates. Something like an erasure did appear at the indicated point; but the chart was so old and dirty, that little satisfaction could be had by examining it. Should the inquirer settle down on the key he evidently had in his eye, all would be well, since it was far enough from the spot really noted.
"It is strange that so old a seafaring man should wear out a chart, and make no observation on it!" repeated the stranger, who was both vexed and at a loss what to conjecture. "All my charts are written over and marked off, just as if I meant to get out an edition for myself."
"Men differ in their tastes and habits," answered Roswell Gardiner, carelessly. "Some navigators are for ever finding rocks, and white water, and scribbling on their charts, or in the newspapers, when they get back; but I
