In search of an unknown race

Front matter

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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT;

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Chapter I. A Message From The Unknown Land

The schooner Rattler lay at an outside berth of a Boston wharf ready to sail on the following morning. In the snug cabin below, Captain Josh Peterson, a squarely-built, middle-aged seaman, with a resolute weather-beaten face, had just shaken hands, for at least the third time, with a manly-looking young fellow in his seventeenth year, who had just come on board.

Van Briscoe — for by this name will the hero of my story be known — was tall and sinewy for his years, with pleasant clear-cut features, a trifle bronzed by sea air.

He had but that day arrived in Boston from New York, where for three years he had been on board the school ship St. Mary’s. He had paid a flying visit to one of the suburban towns close to Boston, where

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Captain Peterson’s maiden sister resided, and now had come aboard in accordance with an arrangement with the captain, who was his guardian.

“Van,” said Captain Peterson, as he nervously drew a tin case from his desk, “ I — there’s something a — a — little out of the ordinary run of things to be talked over ”

And checking himself abruptly, he stepped to the door which led to the outer cabin. There he listened, locked the door, and then, after glancing up the after companionway to make sure the slide was pulled over, returned to his seat at the table.

“As you know, Van,” he commenced in a low tone, “the Rattler is bound for Para, in Brazil, and thence up the Amazon on a trading voyage.”

Van assented.

“You have heard me speak of your uncle, Richard Vance Briscoe,” Captain Peterson went on, “ your father’s twin brother, who sailed as passenger for San Francisco, in 1865, on board the Argonaut, afterward reported as lost on the Peruvian coast with all on board ? ”

“That was the year before father died on the passage from the south coast of Africa,” replied Van a little irrelevantly. But the reference to the uncle he had never seen had suddenly suggested to his mind how utterly alone he was in the world. His mother had died at Van’s birth, his father (who had been a sea captain) was buried in mid-ocean, and, so far as he knew, Van had neither kith nor kin in the world.

Without replying directly, Captain Peterson took from the tin case a letter written on bluish paper like parch-

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ment, which exhaled a strange, spicy odor as he unfolded it. On the back of the sheet, Van saw the outline of a map cleverly drawn in a sort of golden-tinted ink, and in one corner was the impress of a seal of singular design. A hand clasping a burning torch was encircled by a serpent holding the tip of its tail in its mouth — the ancients’ symbol of eternity.

“A year ago this month,” began Captain Peterson nervously, “a big, sailorish-looking chap, who called himself Robert Martin, came aboard the Rattler with this letter, which was directed to Captain James Briscoe, your father, in care of Davis & Co. , ship brokers. Martin had been there with it, and they sent him to me, knowing that I, as your father’s administrator, was his only representative excepting yourself. Martin had a remarkably strange story to tell that was fully corroborated by the contents of this letter, which he left. Then, taking out his clasp knife, he ripped open the collar of his coarse flannel shirt, and, from at least a dozen diamonds of the purest water which he had sewed in the lining, selected the largest. ‘This goes with the letter — you’ll understand the whole thing when you come to read it,’ he said, and before I could stop him, Martin was gone. I’ve never set eyes on him since then,” said Captain Peterson, drawing a long breath, “though, for reasons you’ll soon understand, I would give a hundred dollars to-day to be able to lay my hand on Bob Martin.”

“ But the letter,” eagerly exclaimed Van. “Who was it from ? what is it about ? ”

“That’s what I’ve been coming at,” replied the cap- Cain, “and now if you’ll listen without interruption,

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you’ll hear something that will astonish you, to say the least.”

Thus premising, Captain Peterson cleared his throat, and, in a voice suggestive of repressed excitement, began :

* ‘ City of Itambez, )

“ Province of Itambezi, Brazil, j

“ Brother James,

“ Of course you have thought of me as dead all these years. The bearer of this letter, Robert Martin, will tell you to the contrary. Whatever he says, no matter how incredible it may sound in your ears, you may implicitly believe. For reasons which you may some time understand, I am not allowed to explain how Martin and myself, the only survivors of the Argonaut, reached this region, hitherto unvisited by strangers, after terrible privation and suffering. Indeed, it is only through a special edict that I have been after all this time permitted to communicate with you through Martin, who, very foolishly, has resolved to leave this wonderful city — but a sailor would grow tired of Paradise itself in time.

“Of the people of Itambez I am not allowed to say anything in this letter. Their history and characteristics must for the present remain a mystery to you as well as to the outside world. But regarding the wealth of the country I am permitted to say that it is simply fabulous.

“Now, to come to the point. By a freak of fortune, I have risen to hold an important position in Itambez, through which I have been granted a favor unprecedented in the city’s history, namely, to share with my

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II kindred some of the great wealth which I have accumulated, provided they ha - the coura gz to come here after it. In 4 his case, the only restrictions are these : Should you or any of yours decide to thus do, guided by the map drawn on the back of this letter and my brief instructions, such visitor will be allowed to bring two comrades (as alone, it would be impossible to reach the province of Itambezi) who must never reveal certain things which will come to their knowledge.

“ The first part of the route traced out on the map is comparatively easy — being simply the ascent of the Amazon to its junction with the branch called the Uraria, connecting the Amazon with the Madeira. Midway of the branch the Canuma river enters it. Follow up the Canuma to the lake of the same name, into the further side of which flows the same Canuma, which rises among the Cordilleras. Whoever shall reach Canuma Lake bringing this letter, which has the imprint of the royal seal, has no further difficulty. His or their responsibility ceases, and such person or persons are taken in charge by others.

“The stone that Martin will deliver with this letter is an earnest of my sincerity. He may show you others of his own as well.

“Given at the council chamber in the eleventh month of the year 1884, under the authority of the Council of Seven.

“Richard Vance Briscoe.

During the reading of this most extraordinary message, Van’s face was a study. Curiosity, astonishment and incredulity in turns strove for the mastery.

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“ It is the strangest thing I ever heard in all my life,” he exclaimed. “ But what do you think, Captain Peterson?”

“ What can I think otherwise than to believe the whole thing is just as you’ve heard it?” was the grave reply. “The letter is in your uncle’s own handwriting, which I could swear to anywhere, while everything it contains confirms Martin’s story.”

But despite the captain’s assertion, no less than the written proof, Van’s practical, matter of fact nature could not take in all at once anything that bordered so closely upon the marvelous.

“I’m not going to urge this thing, Van,” said Captain Peterson, who seemed rather disappointed at the short silence that had followed his reply ; ‘ ‘ but between now and our arrival at Para I want you to think it over seriously, for it looks to me as though a fortune lies within your reach. But we won’t say any more to-night, for it’s getting late and we must be on deck bright and early.”

Very soon Van found himself in his comfortable berth, but it was some time before slumber visited his eyelids.

The singular revelation to which he had listened — the knowledge that his only relative, so long regarded as dead, was not only living but was a denizen of a mysterious country not unlike the fairyland of which he had read in boyhood, and the possibilities thus suggested, filled his mind to overflowing.

Finally he fell asleep, to be roused at daybreak by Captain Peterson. “Now, then, Mr. Briscoe ! ” he said, and realizing that with his new prefix of “Mr.” his

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duties as a vessel’s officer were to be taken up, Van hurried on deck.

The morning was cold and gray, with a fierce northwest wind shrieking through the rigging. Muffled in their pilot coats the Rattler’s commander and his young officer moved about the decks, directing the men, who were taking off the sail covers and casting the stops from the stiff canvas.

Most of the new crew had the collars of their ragged coats turned up and their shabby caps pulled well down, to protect their ears and faces from the biting cold ; so Van could not form a very good idea what manner of men they might be, with one exception.

This was an almost gigantic negro with heavy, goodnatured features, whose strength, as Van quickly perceived, was something almost incredible. He answered to the name of “Tom,” and when Van noticed him unaided lift the end of the kedge anchor forward to clear a line, he resolved if possible to have that man in his watch.

Though a novice as far as holding office was concerned, Van was no greenhorn as to his duties. Six short voyages in the school ship had thoroughly posted him in the practical details of seamanship, and with Captain Peterson to give him points, he speedily began to gain confidence. He soon saw, too, that despite his youth, the crew recognized the fact that he was a firstrate sailor, and by no means backward in pulling and hauling with the rest when occasion required.

By nightfall Cape Cod was being left astern. The decks were cleared up, everything made fast, and the crew mustered aft for choice of watches. Van took

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In the captain’s were Smith, a dwarfed fellow with immensely broad shoulders, long arms, and disproportionately short legs, and an English sailor calling himself Carson, while the third, who had shipped under the name of Bates, was a good-looking young man seemingly not much more than twenty years old.

Strangely enough, Bates — if that was his real name — soon showed himself to be the smartest man in the crew. And not only that, but Van, who at once was interested in the young sailor’s appearance, noticed two curious things.

His language at times suggested that he might have moved in very different society from that of a ship’s forecastle, yet perhaps in the next breath it would be replete with sailor slang and oaths. This was one.

The other, that he was a sort of leader among his four shipmates. I say four, for the reason that the five white sailors had come on board in company, while the negro, Tom, had applied personally to Captain Peterson for a berth in the Rattler after he learned her destination. The others ignored their colored companion as far as possible and seemed to regard him with a certain distrust.

“ Rather a hard-looking set — all but that good-looking fellow in your watch, don’t you think, sir ? ” queried Van, as after all was made snug for the night, one watch was sent below, while Van and Captain Peterson stood on the quarter comparing nautical notes.

“ If you’d been at sea as many years as I have,” returned the captain with a rather grim smile, “ you’d

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think these a very fair average as sailors go nowadays. And in my way of thinking,” he added, lowering his voice a little, “ the good-looking chap is the worst-looking — there’s an evil spirit in his eye as big as the ship’s dog, to use a sailorism.”

After a little further conversation Van went below for his first “ four hours in,” thus alternating with Captain Peterson through the twenty-four.

Now this is not a sea story, the voyage of the Rattler being simply one of the links in the marvelous chain of experiences which Vance Briscoe was destined to meet

So it will be sufficient tor me to say that with the usual alternations of storm and calm, fair winds and foul, the Rattler plowed steadily onward toward her destination.

About ten o’clock in the evening of the twenty-ninth day out from Boston, the strong breeze which had followed the schooner for most of the voyage, suddenly died out, leaving her becalmed almost exactly on the imaginary line known as the equator, some fifty miles from the mouth of the River Para.

But the important events which transpired while the schooner lay thus motionless, must be left for another chapter.

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Chapter II. A Murderous Plot

During the whole voyage, Van had freely discussed the important question which was nearest Captain Peterson’s heart, and had drawn from him all that Bob Martin had told concerning Itambez and the high position to which Van’s uncle had attained.

And after long pondering on the subject, he had fully made up his mind to undertake the strange enterprise.

On the evening of the calm, Van was sitting on the taffrail, when Captain Peterson came on deck and called to him.

Leading the way to the cabin, the captain drew from the head of his bertti a small but heavy tin trunk, which he placed on the table and unlocked. Lying on the top of its contents was a money belt of soft chamois skin, which he handed to Van, instructing him how to buckle it about him under his outside clothing.

“ One never knows at sea what a day may bring forth, and it’s always best to be on the safe side,” he said lightly, in answer to Van’s look of surprise.

The captain went on to explain that he had sold the diamond sent by Van’s uncle for seven thousand dollars. In a compartment of the money belt was the important letter and a letter of credit on El Banco Na - tionale , of Para, for a thousand dollars, to be kept as a reserve fund for emergencies. The trunk itself contained the balance of the money in gold.

Relocking the trunk, Captain Peterson turned to replace it in his berth, when a slight noise at the open skylight overhead attracted the attention of both.

Van sprang quickly up the after companion way steps, but nobody was in sight. The schooner not being under steerage way, there was no one at the wheel, and by the dazzling light of the full-orbed moon he could see the men gathered about the windlass forward.

From the long main boom, swayed sluggishly to and fro by the lazy swells, hung one of the “ stops/’ which was dragged backward and forward across the cabin skylight.

Satisfied that this was the origin of the sound they had heard Van was about to return to the cabin, when a faint puff of air fanned his cheek.

“ Come aft here whoever’s wheel it is,” he called. One of the crew came shuffling along the deck, Van gave him the course, the sails were trimmed, and the Rattler began to move slowly through the smooth expanse.

Returning to the cabin, Van informed Captain Peterson of the probable cause of the noise at the skylight. Then, it being his watch below, he kicked off his shoes and lay down on the outside of the berth mattress for his “ four hours in,” while Captain Peterson, after another glance at the coast chart, went on deck.

Almost before he knew it, Van was sound asleep.

A slight noise directly over his head, as of the sudden shuffling of feet, partly roused him after he had slumbered rather over an hour. Raising himself on one elbow, he listened drowsily.

Nothing w s heard but the monotonous creak of the main boom and '.he lapping sound of the water slipping past the schoon r': sides. Dropping back on his pillow, Van abandoned himself again to repose.

“And I say the easiest course is round the Cape of Good Hope. I’ve had enough Cape Horn weather to last me a lifetime.”

Good heavens, what was this ?

The clear, well-modulated voice, slightly elevated above its usual pitch, which had suddenly aroused Van from sleep, was that of Bates, the good-looking young sailor. What was he doing in the Rattler's cabin? To whom could he be speaking in tones of such decisive authority ?

Parting the berth curtains. Van peered quickly out.

Bending over the chart, which lay open on the table, was Bates himself, while close at his side stood Smith, the dwarfed sailor, tracing a certain course on the same chart with the end of his dirty forefinger.

With fearful forebodings of evil, Van glanced toward the gun rack about the mainmast. It was empty, and Captain Peterson’s revolver was also missing from its usual place.

“Well, I think I'd orter have some say in the 'rangemen t,” growled Smith, “seein’s I've done nigh all the work.”

“ Indeed ! ” sneered the other. “ May I ask in what way?” he inquired with ceremonious politeness contrasting curiously with the ominous frown which darkened his features.

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“How?” sullenly echoed Smith; “you know well enough ’thout askin’. Direc’ly I found out about the schooner, and that she was wantin’ a crew, didn’t I hunt you and the other three up, jest fer the reason we was together in t’other affair and I knowed there wasn't one of us as would stick at anything where there was a chance of makin’ a big divvy ”

‘ ‘ That’s enough — ixomyou ! ” interrupted Bates ; and Smith, who evidently held his younger companion in wholesome awe, shrank back before the latter’s fierce look.

“What you’ve done is well enough as far as it goes,” continued Bates, with an entire change of manner; “ but you forget ”

“You’ve woke up the mate,” sourly interrupted the dwarfed sailor, who, looking suddenly up, had seen Van’s face looking out between the berth curtains.

“Why, so I have,” said Bates in a tone of easy assurance, turning without the slightest show of embarrassment toward Van. The latter instantly slipped from the berth.

“What does this all mean?” he demanded, calling up all his self-command to meet what he instinctively knew to be a terrific emergency. “Where is Captain Peterson, and what right have you two in the cabin here ? ”

“ I am sorry to say,” coolly replied Bates, in a mocking tone, “that Captain Peterson accidentally fell over the rail and instantly sank, in the middle watch. So thinking that you, Mr. Briscoe, are rather too young for such a responsibility, I’ve decided to take charge myself, with the full concurrence of my four shipmates.”

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His four shipmates ! Then at least, Tom, the negro, was not in the plot— for that it was a plot the conversation to which Van had just listened had alreadyassured him.

“ You are lying,” he said with a coolness which surprised even himself. “If Captain Peterson is missing, you have murdered him and thrown his body over the side.”

“ You’ll have hard work to prove it,” returned Bates, as cool as ever.

“Let me go on deck,” said Van, hoarsely. “ Stand out of the way, you infernal scoundrel ! ” he fiercely ex. claimed, as the dwarfed sailor placed his muscular hand on the boy’s shoulder to stop him.

“ You stop where you be ! ” said Smith.

Scarcely had the words escaped his lips when Van, swinging himself free, planted a crushing blow between the sailor’s eyes, sending him headlong to the floor.

Springing past Bates, who seemed rather amused than otherwise at his companion’s discomfiture, Van ran up the companionway, while Smith, breathing out fierce oaths of vengeance, picked himself up and rushed into the little lavatory to apply water to his bruised and bleeding nose.

In a state of mind hardly to be described, the young officer glanced hastily about the deck. Captain Peterson’s familiar form was nowhere in sight, and a groan escaped Van’s lips as the truth of the assertion he had uttered in the cabin forced itself upon his mind.

The three other members of the gang of conspirators were laughing and talking loudly on the deck. They had routed out the steward, who, in a state of the most

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abject terror, had set three tumblers and a bottle of brandy before them on the head of the capstan, about which the villainous trio had gathered.

With a gesture of despair, Van turned to the wheel, where the gigantic negro was standing. Tom had only just come on deck. He knew nothing of the mutiny, or of the disappearance of Captain Peterson, and did not seem to understand the situation.

As Van faced him, Tom placed his fingers on his thick lips and motioned in the direction of the open companionway, at which the voices from the cabin below were plainly discernible.

“ I tell you,” Bates was saying, “it shan't be done. The young fellow has always treated us decently, and I’m not going to have him chucked over the side, to please you or anybody else, without there's need for it."

Van had heard enough. With a sickening sensation of loathing and dread, he turned from the companionway. Oh, if he only had some sort of weapon !

Almost as though divining his thoughts the negro, glancing swiftly about him, placed his huge black paw into the breast of his ragged shirt, and withdrawing it quickly, thrust into Van's hand one of those clumsy yet effective weapons known as “British bulldogs."

With a thrill of joy, Van hastily concealed the pistol, the possession of which gave him a certain sense of security.

“But you, Tom," he whispered.

The negro grinned significantly.

“ I look out for myself — don' you be 'fraid,” he muttered, as Bates, followed by the dwarfed seaman, came up the companionway steps.

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“I think — a — Briscoe,” began Bates, familiarly, “ that under all the circumstances, you had better take your traps for’ard to the forecastle. Mr. Smith here will act as my mate till further notice, and sleep aft in the berth you have used.

“No words,” he added, sharply, as Van began to utter an indignant protest. “ I’m master of this vessel now ! ”

“ And I’m the mate,” coarsely put in Smith, as the self-appointed captain descended to the main deck.

“Confound you,” snarled Smith, addressing Van as soon as Bates was out of hearing; “ if I don’t make this here a hot ship for you after this, my name ain’t — ain’t wot it is , ” he said, suddenly checking himself. “ And you, you ugly nigger — ” turning fiercely to Tom, who had taken a step forward as though in defense of Van — “none of your savage looks — git back to yer place — d’ye hear?”

Perhaps if the new mate had not attempted to enforce his authority by a blow, the remark might have passed unnoticed.

As it was, Smith had mistaken his man. For with a deep guttural utterance like that of a wild beast, the negro seized the sailor in his powerful grasp, and lifting him off his feet as though he had been a child, dashed him heavily against the lee rail.

At the same moment Bates, who had turned at the sound of the scuffle, sprang with one leap on the quarter. Seeing his trusty lieutenant lying stunned and bleeding on the deck, he drew Captain Peterson’s revolver, pointed it directly at the negro’s head, and fired !

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Chapter III

van’s flight from the rattler.

Now Van’s athletic training had made him a proficient in those exercises where thought, eye, and hand must move at one and the same time.

There was no opportunity for hesitation or deliberating on the right and wrong of his action.

As the new master of the Rattler leveled Captain Peterson’s revolver at the negro’s head, Van, wheeling like lightning, drew the weapon given him by Tom, threw it forward and pulled the trigger.

The two reports were almost simultaneous, but with very different effect.

The ball from the revolver in Bates’s hand flew wide of its mark, and the weapon itself dropped to the deck. The ball from the clumsy bulldog had passed through the fleshy part of the mutineer’s arm and diverted his aim.

Uttering a suppressed cry, he stepped back, a little too far. His heel caught against a ring bolt, and he fell heavily from the break of the quarter to the main deck.

Before he recovered his feet, or those on deck could overcome their utter astonishment, the quick-witted negro saw a possible chance of escape. Striding over

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the prostrate form of Smith, Tom seized Van by the shoulder, while the schooner, with no one at the wheel, came flying- up in the wind.

“Quick — inter de launch ! ” he hurriedly exclaimed, jumping at the same moment from the main channels into the towing boat.

Van seized Captain Peterson’s revolver from the deck where it had fallen, and thrusting it into his pocket, sprang at a bound, into the launch.

Slashing the painter with his sheath knife, the negro pushed the boat clear of the schooner, as the voice of Bates rose above the confusion.

“ Hard over the wheel, Smith, if you’ve got sense enough left in that thick skull of yours ! Flatten in the head sheets ! Trim down the fore sheet — so — that will do ! Now, meet her with the helm ! ”

While he was thus thundering out order after order, Tom and Van were cutting loose the mast, sail, and rudder from their lashings under the thwarts, and in an incredibly short time the launch was running before the steady breeze.

The moon was obscured by drifting clouds, and the haze indicative of their nearness to the shore was beginning to rise from the surface of the water. But that the launch could still be seen from the Rattler’s deck was evident from the sharp fusillade which suddenly followed as the vessel wore round and started in full pursuit.

“ She sail two foot to our one — not’ing sabe us now but gale ob wind, Mist’ Briscoe,” said the negro, shaking his head.

Van made no reply. He knew that if the launch was

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overtaken, neither could hope for any mercy from the infuriated wretches on board the Rattler 1

On flew pursuer and pursued, and as the waning moon grew dim, the flush and glow of coming dawn began lighting up sea and sky.

The schooner was now so near that escape seemed impossible, yet the launch held steadily on.

Suddenly the misshapen form of Smith, armed with one of the carbines, appeared in the bows of the schooner, now not half a cable’s length astern.

Steadying himself against the fore stay, he raised the weapon to his shoulder and seemed to take careful aim.

But the anticipated shot was never fired. All at once they saw Smith drop the carbine and disappear. The sound of a sudden order was borne by the breeze to their ears, and in another moment the schooner had hauled her wind, and, with sheets flattened in, was standing off to the south and east, instead of following the launch in hot pursuit.

“ What does it mean ? ” exclaimed Van, starting excitedly to his feet, but as he did so, he saw directly ahead a long line of boiling, tossing, turbulent foam !

‘ ‘ Breakers! Breakers , Tom!” he shouted in great alarm, but to his astonishment Tom steered directly toward them.

“Don’ be scart, Mist’ Briscoe — I pilot too many steamer round Para and Amazon to mind dem kind o' breakers,” he said, as the launch went pitching and yawing directly through the creamy surges into comparatively smooth water beyond.

And then Tom went on to explain that what not only

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Van but those on board the Rattler had mistaken for breaking surf was simply the outcoming flood from the mouth of the Amazon meeting, miles from the shore, with the incoming current.

Over a sea of turbid mud-colored water the launch sped on toward the land, which was now not more than forty miles distant.

It was no wonder that Van, thoroughly depressed and cast down at the sudden ending of a voyage which had promised so much sat gloomily by himself on one of the thwarts, with his face buried in his hands.

Tom seemed to accept the situation with the easy philosophy of his race.

4 ‘Six knot current wid dis spring flood,’' he said as though talking to himself, “and strong trade wind ought bring us well into Para ribber by noon — den Para sixty mile furder up. ”