Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 1128 — page 2: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ns «J - is ee er Wey i bt if) ae | i ae ft 2 —————————aEE——————— — pleasant ways of his school companion and play mate, Maggie Lawson, the only child of the squire, “If I had thought about the matter, sir,’’ Julian continued refiectively, ‘‘my mind would have been less likely to have turned to you, sir, than to my father’s old friend, Mr. Haven. ‘*What! eld Benny Haven?’ exclaimed Squire Lawson, with both surprise and contempt in his tone. ‘What does old Benny Haven know about law?” **T cannot say, sir,’’ responded Julian deferentially, maki: a movement for departure, ‘** but he knows a little of most everything, and as I was going away for a short time, I had aJready determined on leav- ing the keys with him. Good-day, sir.”’ Without giving the squire time for reply, Julian moved away, leaving him standing in the roadway lookin. darkly after him, as he increased his pace to @ rapid walk. A few minutes’ walking brought him in sight of a large white house, situated on an eminence, and having an appearance of substantial comfort. To- ward this dwelling the boy’s eyes turned somewhat longingly, as if in expectation of seeing Maggie Law- sen—for this was the squire’s residence. She was not in sight, however, and after approach- ing within a short distance, perhaps a quarter of a mile, the boy turned aside at a stile in the low stone wall, and went off. in a path at right angles from the house. This course took him across an open field, up a rise of ground, toward a wooded knoll, which he reached and penetrated, going through to the oppo- site side, and coming out suddenly upon a shelving terrace of flat rock overlooking the sea, from the seaward side of which descended an abrupt preci- pice of fifty feet or more. An old man, hale and hearty, in sailor’s garb, was sitting on a low stool in front of a rude but comfort- able cabin that formed the background of this ter- race, mending a net and alternately glancing at the bright face of a young girl of thirteen or fourteen years, who was ee on a coil of rope at his feet. The appearance of Julian on this scene was hailed with manifestations of warm appreciation, not un- mingled with surprise at the knapsack he carried. The old sailor threw down the net he was mending, and the young girl sprung to her feet. ‘* Hallo! my lad,” cried the old man, Mm a voice re- resembling the roar of a distant surf; ‘“‘ whither bound with that ballast?’ Julian laughed, and unslung his knapsack, laying it at the old man’s feet; taking his great brown hand in both his own, while the young girl came close and laid her hand on his shoulder with an ex- pression of pleasure. ‘‘T am going away, Uncle Benny,”’ he said, “‘ and I have brought you the keys of our cottage,’’ produc- ing them as he spoke. “Going away?’ gasped the old man at his hoarsest. ‘*‘ Away?” echoed Maggie, for the young girl was she. “Yes,” said Julian, turning to Maggie; “‘and I am so glad I have met you here, where I can say good- by. Iwas afraid I should not see you.”’ ‘‘But where are you going, Julian?” she asked, while her pretty cheek grew a shade paler. Julian waved his hand toward thp sea and the dis- tant ocean, as if he were a sovereign, and there lay his empire. At this moment a voice was heard calling the name of Maggie. The young girl started. “They are looking for me and [must run home,” she said, regretfully. ‘‘ But you will not go to-day?” she added. “That will depend upon the wind and the tide,’ he replied, looking along the coast toward a small inlet where a schooner could be seen loading with humber. ' “Tf I do not get off you will see me again, Maggie,” he added; ‘‘and in any event you will hear from me,”* and throwing his arm around her neck, he pressed his lips to hers, and so they parted. In a moment her light footsteps could be heard, attering among the leaves, along the wooded path e had just come. “And now, Uncle Benny,’’ said Julian, as Maggie’s airy form disappeared from their gaze, “let us go into the Sabine t have something ,very, very impor- tant to say to you.” CHAPTER U. SOMETHING IMPORTANT—THE OLD SAILOR’S LETTER. Tue interior of the old sailor’s cabin was enough like that of a vessel to well merit that designation. It was the apn eounterpart of the cabin of a ship, even to the ship’s lantern hanging aloft. There were lockers and cupboards, and bunks; eoils of rope, swing-Shelves and sideboards; and in addition thereto a big anchor standing in the corner with quite a lengthy hawser cord around it; anc about everything there was an air of neatness, that would have pleased the heart of any housewife; for all of which, thanks were alone due to Benny Ha- ven, for the old sailor lived entirely alone, with the exception of a parrot, almost as gray and ‘hoarse as himself, and showing equal vitality. This parrot was in a circular cage, hanging near the door, and knew Julian at once, on his entering, for he saluted him, with, “ Hallo! Jule,” followed by a wild, “Ha! ha!” extraordinary in depth and hoarse- ness which familiar greeting Julian suitably recog- The old sailor invited Julian to a seat on one of the lockers, and with an air of kindly interest told him 1h Well then,” said Julian, ‘‘as I have intimated I to sea; but not te as a sailor, Uncle Bony,” he added, as be saw tho oi man shake his ’ f by Hd aah Sar *. ‘ - ey > ' af es) RY * ah A 4 vd - BRB 1s ~ | Sls Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. head rather gravely. ‘ You have heard me speak of my uncle Kidd—Captain Kidd,” he ¢ontinued. ‘Ay! often, often, and know’d him too,’’ was the response. ‘Well then, what do India to find him?’’ ‘*T think,” said the old sailor, anxiously—** but, let me hear what you yourself think, Julian.” ‘Why I think I had better go, as you see, for I am all packed up to start, and have already left home, and am on my way. In fact, I have started.” ‘* Then I think so too,” was the response of the old man, visibly brightening at the determination ex- pressed in Julian’s tone and manner. “TI always told your mother that the captain wasn't so bad as they thought him; though his name was a terrible one enough. But, hang it, what's in a name?” : 7 CS LONE in that at least,’’ responded ulian. ‘““Ay! ay! nor in t’other one now, for the owner of that was hanged, and good riddance, long ago. But you are going out as gen’lman passiger, instead of sailor,’ he added, looking at Julian admiringly, and yet with some show of earnest regret. “ Yes,’ said Julian, reflectively, “‘ but I do that to save time, otherwise I should prefer to go as a sailor.”’ ‘“*T see,’’ was the response; the old man brightening under this explanation. “ To save time.” ae have the money, Julian,” he added, inquir- ingly. ; ” Yes,” said Julian, promptly. ‘“*‘ Two hundred dol- ars.”’ The old sailor drew out a small box from under the bunk, and after selecting one from several keys, un- locked it. It contained some gold and silver, the coinage of different nationalities. There were Spanish doub- loons, English crown pieces, French Louis d’ors, Ger- man thalers, and smaller coin from the American mint, “Tt takes a great deal of money, Julian, to go as en'’man passiger, and I would like to haye m ear boy,’’ said the old man tenderly, ‘‘ to be as hig toned as any. o’ them. Take out of this as much as you will need.”’ ulian was much affected by this kind offer, but re- fused to take any from the old man’s store, which refusal was sharply contested by the old sailor. But Julian was firm, and the old man returned the money and box to the secret depository. **You can serve me in a better way now, Uncle Benny,”’ he said, “as I think I am amply provided for in the way of money for ct 9 egy. I want you to be my guardian, and you will take charge of the eos whilelam away. It will only be necessary, suppose, to go to the cottage once or twice a week just to see if everything remains asI leftit. Wi you accept this trust for me?” concluded Julian, earnestly. ‘‘ You have been my parents’ friend, and my friend.” \ ‘* Sartin, boy, sartin,”’ said the old man with glisten- ing eyes, ‘‘ but there’s no pirates about here likely to board the property while you are away.” “Why, as for that, Uncle Benny,” said Julian, “Squire Lawson has got himself appointed my guardian, under the mistaken supposition that I was not old enough to choose for myself, and he demand- ed possession.”’ ‘* And what did you say ?”’ questioned the old sailor, sitting bolt upright, and brushing the scanty hair from his brow like a strong swimmer about to dive; ‘what did you say to his demand?”’ ‘*T said,” responded Julian, “that I was of age to choose my own guardian, and that if I thought of choosing, it would be you.”’ The old sailor’s great brown hand patted the boy’s shoulder with the gentleness of a woman. ‘* Dear boy,” he said, “that’s like you. it up I s’pose?”’ ‘Yes, sir, for the time; but I séft him, without pula words, on the highway and came directly ere.”’ Uncle Benny nodded his approval. “Should he take any further steps, [ shall of course know about it,”’ he added, “and shall give him to understand that you and yours are shipped with me and are under my charge.” ‘ And so saying he arose and began walking to and ro. It was clear, there was a latent energy in the old man, that opposition would very quickly develop; and Julian thought with much satisfaction, as he looked at him, that his cause could not have bee. placed in safer hands. Uncle Benny paused abruptly in his walk. ‘** What port will you make first?” he inquired, “New York,” replied Julian, promptly. ‘‘ Onco there, I will visit the prificipal shipping offices to ascertain the »quickest and cheapesS way of reach- ing India. I am in hopes of meeting some one who has been out there and who has recently returned. uite likely I will be able to hear something of my ncle. Any one hearing his name would not be likely to forget it.” “Ay! ay! very singular—Captain Kidd. Who'd ’a’ thunk that old Benny Haven would have ever been incouraging a search for such a piratical name as that? But, my boy,I can help you in this more than you think. I know a man that’s out there some- where, and a Big Injun he is, too, to my thinking—a king or queen at least of some of those heathenish countries. He was a mate of mine once, “Ned Trus- thim by name; arising, striving, shifty chap he was. Ned allus said he’d be a B un some day, and I remember the men called the Prophet of the Larboard Watch; for he was allus a prophesyi pas t for himself, like some other people ve h of. He left the ship at Gibraltar, declar- you think of my going out to He gave ~% oe he eo . sett LL LLL LLL LLL LLL LLL LLL LO a Se — ES EE -_—_ — ~ ee oa a: as ’ 4y> ing his intention of going to Turkey and the Bast, and if heis out there, he must be a king at least now, for thet was more’n twenty years ago. ‘““T'll give you a letter to him, Julian, in case you come across him. You are a scholard, my boy, and there’s pen, ink, and paper, in the locker there; take it out and write ms a letter as I shall direct. Now then: “To Ned Trusthim, King.”’ ‘** But perhaps he is not a king yet, Uncle Benny;,”’ said Julian, after he bad written this address. ‘* No, that’s a fact,’’ was the response, and the old sailor’s hands went up through his scant hair again with that gesture, habitual to him, of the swimmer about to dive. He rubbed bis chin thoughtfully. “But he may be a king of good fellows,” he cn a. with a sudden burst of satisfaction. “* Dye see Julian?”’ Julian nodded an assent. “That direction will do then,” continued the cit! sailor; ** go on. “These by the hand of my best beloved boy, whe isn’t my son, nor yet my nephew; but I love him as well as if he were both. This thouzht to be, and hoping it will find and a king as you expected, and able to give a help. ; ing hand to my boy, which his name is Jul’un' Adams; and if you can make him a Prince;.'d he glad, and he’d be well deserving the same. He's, going to search for his uncle, Captain Kidd, not the. bloody a age of course. I close these orders. by hoping that with your aid he will find him. “Signed with the hand of your old messmate, “BENNY HAVEN,” ‘** And witnessed by my boy, * JULIAN ADAMS.’ ‘‘ Have you got it all down?” he asked, after pais. | ing a moment. * All but the signature,” said Julian. ‘Here is the place for you to sign,”’ he added, hand ing him the pen , ’ ‘It’s a pretty stiff flipper for this sort of work,” ! said the old man, taking it from him and seating himself, ‘“‘ but I can do it after a fashion.” ’ It was indeed rather a laborious task:for the old } leaves me stout and » hearty, and comfortable on shore, which I never ;. ou the same, ' sailor, but he accomplished it at last, and Brasy % HAVEN, in thick, broa suggestive of the owner of the name, stood out star- ingly upon the paper. Julian affixed his own signature as witness, dried and folded the document, and put it safely in his pocket. ‘‘I purpose going to New York by schooner loading at the mill wharf,’ buttoning his coat and slinging his paratory to departure. “I suppose they will sail at the turn of the tide,’’ he continued, “and if must be Ls cnatheig now. I will have to say, good-by, Uncle enny..”’ “T hate to have you go, my boy,’ said the old man, as Julian put his hand in his.’ “ Ye are sure, now, it is for the best, Julian, and you have no hesi- tation in starting?”’ ‘None, whatever,” said Julian, briskly. “* Thirzz how soon I shall be back, loaded with wealth and eee perhaps—and bringing with me Captain idd.”’ Hand in hand they came out of the cabin. ‘*Good-by, Jule!” said a hoarse voice, and the parrot oe ge to and fro, and chuckled to himself, ‘*Good-by, Poll,’’ cried Julian in return, as the door closed. A lovelier view than that from old Benny Haven’s cabin the eyes seldom rest upon. Looking south, and to the eastward, only the broad expanse of water, dotted here and there with sails of vessels, and now and then an occasional steamer, met the glance, Away to the westward, beyond the bright margin of white sand that marked the ocean boundary— “The very sea-mark of its utmost sail,”’ was a low, indented shore, with umbrageous folia contrasting its deep green with the color of the waters. Near at hand, and extending inland perhaps a half-mile, was a broad, deep inlet, where a tide-miil in active operation, and a wharf adjacent thereto,’ showed the loaded schooner, of which Julian h spoken, ready for departure, Over all the bright sunlight shone richly, giving to every object a glow of warmth and color. Good-by was said, and they parted; not without deep emotion on both sides, and Julian descended by a rude path to the beach below. Looking back he saw the old man’s figure, strongly outlined against the wooded background, and waved a final farewell. In ten minutes more he was on board the schooner, made his arrangements with the captain, with whom he was acquainted, and half an hour afterward was watching Uncle Benny’s figure, growing less and less on the rocky tempace. as the schooner stood boldly out to sea. the lumber said Julian, knapsack, pre- CHAPTER IT. THE LAND-SHARK—IN THE TOILS! THe voyage to New York was not without inci dent. A huge dog belonging to the vessel, with which , made a mis-step on a loose piece Julian was pla of timber and tumbled overboard. uite a breeze was woald prob- It was the second day out, and blowing at the time, and the ably have been lost but for Julian going to his res- cue. Seizing a coil ot ee one end fast, and springing overboard with the other, the rope spun cp pod ta eR + ree € i Lele} letters, somewhat strangely ; ~ fru . ’ ‘ , ae —— ee I » l= Se & ‘ : * ry . ° - d : at ‘ ‘sd $7 ¥ w \a