Dave Porter on Cave Island; Or, A Schoolboy's Mysterious Mission

CHAPTER XV—SOMETHING ABOUT WHITE MICE

The car was only half-filled with passengers, so the boys and Dunston Porter had plenty of room, and they moved around from one seat to another. So the time passed quickly enough, until they rolled into the Grand Central Station, in New York.

“Well, little old New York looks as busy as ever,” was Phil’s comment, as they stepped out on the street. “Are we to transfer to Jersey City at once?”

“Yes,” answered Dunston Porter. “We’ll take the subway and the river tube, and get there in no time.”

Riding through the tube under the Hudson River was a new experience for the lads and they rather enjoyed it. The train of steel cars rushed along at a good rate of speed, and almost before they knew it, they were in New Jersey and being hoisted up in an elevator to the train-shed.

“Coast Line Express!” was the cry at one of the numerous gates to the tracks, and thither the party hurried. Willing porters took their baggage, and a minute later they found themselves in an elegant Pullman car. Dunston Porter had telegraphed ahead for sleeping accommodations, and they had two double seats opposite each other, directly in the middle of the car.

“All aboard!” sang out the conductor, about ten minutes later, and then the long train rolled slowly from the big train-shed, and the trip to Florida could be said to have fairly begun.

“Do we go by the way of Philadelphia and Washington?” asked Phil, who had not taken the time to study the route.

“Yes,” answered Dunston Porter. “Here is a time-table. That will show you the whole route and tell you just when we get to each place.”

“Will we have to make any changes?” asked Roger.

“None whatever.”

Soon the train had left Jersey City behind and a little later it stopped at Newark, and then sped on towards Philadelphia. By this time it had grown too dark to see the landscape and the boys and Dunston Porter retired.

On and on through the long night rolled the train, keeping fairly close to the Atlantic sea-coast. With nothing to do, the boys did not arise until late in the morning. They found Dave’s uncle in the lavatory ahead of them, indulging in the luxury of a shave with a safety razor.

“Well, how are you feeling?” asked Dunston Porter.

“Fine!” cried Dave.

“Couldn’t feel better,” added the senator’s son.

“Ready for a big breakfast?”

“I am,” answered Phil, promptly. “Gracious, but traveling makes me hungry!”

They had to wait a little before they could get seats together in the dining-car and they amused themselves by gazing at the settlements through which they were passing. Here and there were numerous cabins, with hordes of colored children playing about.

“This is the Southland, true enough,” observed Dave. “Just see how happy those pickaninnies seem to be!”

“Yes, one would almost envy their care-free dispositions,” answered Dunston Porter. “Their manner shows that it doesn’t take money to make one happy.”

They had passed through Richmond and were now on their way to Emporia. It was growing steadily warmer, and by noon all were glad enough to leave the car and go out on the observation platform at the end of the train.

The next stop was at Fayetteville and after that came Charleston. Long before this the snow had disappeared and the fields looked as green as in the fall at home.

“We’ll be at Jacksonville when you wake up in the morning,” said Dunston Porter, as they turned into their berths the second night on the train.

“Good! We can’t get there any too quick for me!” answered Dave.

“You mustn’t expect too much, Dave. You may be bitterly disappointed,” remarked his uncle, gravely.

“Oh, we’ve just got to catch Merwell and Jasniff, Uncle Dunston!”

“Yes, but they may not be guilty. You’ll have to go slow about accusing them.”

“Well, I want to catch them and question them anyway. I can have them detained on the old charge, you know—that is, if they try to get away from me.”

Dave and Phil slept on one side of the car, with Dunston Porter and Roger on the other. As the steam heat was still turned on, it was uncomfortably warm, and as a consequence Dave was rather restless. He tumbled and tossed in his berth, which was the upper one, and wished that the night were over and that they were in Jacksonville.

“Oh, pshaw! I really must get some sleep!” he told himself. “If I don’t, I’ll be as sleepy as an owl to-morrow and not fit to hunt up those rascals. Yes, I must go to sleep,” and he did what he could to settle himself.

He had just closed his eyes when a peculiar noise below him made him start up. Phil was thrashing around wildly.

“What’s the matter, Phil?” he asked, in a low tone.

“Something is in my berth, some animal, or something!” answered the shipowner’s son. “I can’t go to sleep for it. Every time I lie down it begins to move.”

“Maybe it’s a rat.”

“Whoever heard of a rat in a sleeping-car?” snorted Phil.

“Perhaps you were dreaming. I didn’t hear anything,” went on Dave.

“No, I wasn’t dreaming—I heard it as plain as day.”

“Better go to bed and forget it, Phil,” and then Dave lay down again. The shipowner’s son grumbled a little under his breath, then turned off his electric light, and sank on his pillow once more.

Dave remained quiet for several minutes and then sat bolt upright and gave a low cry. There was no mistake about it, something had moved over his feet and given him a slight nip in the toe.

“Phil!” he called, softly. “Did you do that? Come, no fooling now. This is no place for jokes.”

“Do what?”

“Pinch me in the toe.”

“I haven’t touched your toe. How can I from the lower berth?”

“Well, something nipped me.”

“Maybe it’s you who are dreaming this trip, Dave,” returned the shipowner’s son, with pardonable sarcasm.

Dave did not reply, for just then he felt something moving in the blanket. He made a clutch for it. A little squeak followed.

“I’ve got it, Phil!”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know yet—it’s in the blanket.”

“Oh, what a noise!” came from the berth beyond. “Cannot you young men be quiet?” It was a woman who was speaking. She was an elderly person and Dave had noticed, during the day, that she was rather sour-looking.

“Sorry, madam, but I’ve just caught something in my berth,” answered Dave. “I’ll turn up the light and see what it is,” he added, as he held on to the object in the blanket with one hand and turned on the electric illumination with the other.

The cries and talking had awakened half a dozen people and the sleepy porter came down the aisle to find out what was wrong.

“It’s a mouse—a white mouse!” cried Dave, as the little creature was uncovered.

“Wot’s dat, a mouse!” exclaimed the porter. “Nebber heard of sech a t’ing! How did he git yeah?”

“Don’t ask me,” replied Dave. “Ugh! he nipped me in the toe, too!”

“Here’s another one!” roared Phil. “Ran right across my arm! Take that, you little imp!” he added, and bang! one of his shoes hit the woodwork of the car.

“A mouse!” shrieked the elderly woman. “Did you say a mouse, young man?”

“I did—and there is more than one, too,” answered Dave, for he had felt another movement at his feet. He lost no time in scrambling up, and Phil followed.

By this time the whole sleeping-car was in an uproar. Everybody who heard the word “mouse” felt certain one of the creatures must be in his or her berth.

“Porter! porter! save me!” screamed the elderly lady. “Oh, mice, just think of it!” And wrapping her dressing-gown around her, she leaped from her berth and sped for the ladies’ room. Others also got up, including Dunston Porter and Roger.

“What am I going to do with this fellow?” asked Dave, as he held the mouse up in his vest.

“Better throw it out of a window,” suggested his uncle. “Mice in a sleeper! This is certainly the limit!” he muttered. “The railroad company better get a new system of cleaning.”

“Mice!” screamed a young lady. “Oh, I shall die!” she shrieked, and looked ready to faint.

“Shoot ’em, why don’t you?” suggested a fat man, who came forth from his berth wearing a blanket, Indian fashion.

By this time Phil had caught one of the creatures. Both he and Dave started for the rear of the car, to throw the mice off the train.

“Stop! stop! I beg of you, don’t kill those mice!” came suddenly from a tall, thin young man who had been sleeping in a berth at the end of the car. Dave had noticed him during the day and had put him down as a preacher or actor.

“Why not?” asked our hero.

“They are mine, that’s why,” said the man. “I would not have them killed for a thousand dollars!”

“Say, wot yo’-all talkin’ about?” demanded the porter. “Dem mice yours?”

“Yes! yes! Oh, please do not kill them!” pleaded the tall, thin man. “They won’t hurt anybody, really they won’t.”

“Say, are them white mice educated?” demanded the fat man.

“Indeed they are—I educated them myself,” answered the other man. “I spent months in doing it, too. They are the best-educated white mice in the United States,” he added, proudly.

CHAPTER XVI—PICKING UP THE TRAIL

“I—er—I had them in a cage in my—er—in my suit-case,” the owner of the mice answered, and now his voice faltered. “I really didn’t think they would get out.”

“We don’t allow no mice in de sleepin’-cahs!” stormed the porter. “Dogs, an’ cats, an’ parrots, an’ mice goes in de baggage-cah.”

“Are there any more of them loose?” asked one of the ladies.

“I will see!” cried the tall, slim man. “I forgot about that! Oh, I hope they are safe! If they are not, what shall I do? I have an engagement in Jacksonville, and another in St. Augustine, to fill.”

“Do you show ’em on the stage?” snorted the fat man.

“To be sure. Haven’t you heard of me, Professor Richard De Haven, the world-famous trainer of mice, rats, and cats? I have exhibited my mice in all the countries of the world, and——”

“Never mind that just now,” interrupted Dunston Porter. “Go and see if the others are safe, otherwise we’ll have to round up your live-stock before we go to sleep again.”

“Oh, I shall never sleep another wink in this car!” sighed a lady.

“I shall!” snorted the fat man, “or else get the price of my berth out of that chap, or the railroad company!”

Professor De Haven ran to his berth and dragged forth a dress-suit-case. A moment later he uttered a genuine howl of dismay.

“They are all gone!”

“How many?” queried Dave, who had followed him.

“Sixteen of them, not counting the two I have here now! O dear, what shall I do?” And the professor wrung his hands in despair.

“Sixteen mice at large!” shrieked one of the ladies. “Oh, stop the train! I want to get off!”

“Can’t stop no train now,” answered the porter. “We’se got to jest catch dem mice somehow, but I dunno how it’s gwine to be done,” he went on, scratching his woolly head in perplexity.

“I’ve got a shotgun along,” suggested the fat man. “Might go gunning with that.”

“I’ll get my cane,” said another man.

“I guess the ladies better retire to the next car,” suggested a third passenger.

“Yes, yes, let us go, at once!” cried the elderly lady. “Porter, can I get a berth there?”

“Sorry, missus, but I dun reckon all de berths on dis yeah train am tooken.”

“See here!” cried Dave, to Professor De Haven. “If the mice are educated, can’t you call them to you in some way?”

“To be sure!” cried the professor, struck by the idea. “Why did I not think of that myself? I was too upset to think of anything. Yes, I can whistle for them.”

“Whistle for ’em?” snorted the fat man.

“Yes, yes! I always whistle when I feed them. Please be quiet. I shall have to whistle loudly, for the train makes such a noise and it may be some of my dear pets may not hear me!”

“Humph! Then you better whistle for all you’re worth!” returned the man of weight.

Walking slowly up and down the sleeping-car Professor De Haven commenced to whistle in a clear, steady trill. He kept this up for fully a minute and by that time several white mice had shown themselves. They were somewhat scared, but gradually they came to him and ran up on his shoulders.

“Well, doesn’t that beat the Dutch!” whispered Roger, half in admiration.

“I shouldn’t have been so scared if I had known they were educated,” returned Phil.

“Hush!” said Dave. “Give him a chance to gather them all in.”

Placing the captured mice in their cage, the professor moved up and down the car once more, opening the berth curtains as he did so. He continued to emit that same clear trill, and soon his shoulders were full of the white mice.

“Only one is missing, little General Pinky,” he announced.

“Spit, spat, spow! Where did Pinky go?” murmured Phil.

“Ha! I have him! Dear little Pinky!” cried the professor, as the mouse dropped onto his shoulder from an upper berth. “Now I have them all, ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “You can go to sleep without alarm. I shall take good care that they do not get away again.”

“I dun reckon I’se gwine to take care of dat!” put in the porter. “Dem mice am gwine into de baggage-cah dis minit!”

“But, my dear fellow——” broke in the professor.

“I ain’t a-gwine to argy de question, mistah. Da is gwine in de baggage-cah!” And the porter reached out and caught hold of the cage containing the mice.

“Then I shall go with them,” answered the professor, resignedly.

“Suit yo’ self, sah.”

“But they wouldn’t hurt a flea!”

“Can’t help it, sah, it’s de baggage-cah fo’ dis collection of wild animals,” answered the porter, striding off with the cage in his hands, while the professor followed.

“Talk about something happening!” burst out Roger, when the excitement was over. “This was the funniest experience I ever had.”

“I am sure I don’t see anything funny about it!” snapped the elderly lady, who overheard the remark. “I think that man ought to be prosecuted!”

“He didn’t expect his mice to get loose,” said Dunston Porter. “Just the same, he had no right to bring them in here. As the porter said, all animals must go in the baggage-car.”

“Wonder if he’ll come back,” mused Phil.

“I doubt it,” answered Dave. “Well, now I’m going to try to get a little sleep,” he added, as he climbed back into his berth. The others followed suit, and presently one after another dropped into slumber. It may be added here that Professor De Haven did not show himself again while on the train, he being afraid of the indignation of those who had been disturbed by his educated mice.

Early the following morning found our friends in the city of Jacksonville, which, as my readers must know, is located on the St. John’s River. They did not wait for breakfast but hurried at once in the direction of the Hotel Castor, once a leading hostelry of the city, but which had seen its best day.

“Quite a town,” remarked the senator’s son, as they passed along.

“Jacksonville is now the main city of Florida,” replied Dunston Porter. “It is a great shipping center, and is also well-known as a winter resort.”

“How balmy the weather is!” was Phil’s comment. “Just like spring at home!”

Dave’s uncle had been in Jacksonville several times and knew the way well. Soon they reached the hotel, and with his heart beating loudly, Dave hurried up to the desk and asked the clerk if Link Merwell and Nick Jasniff were stopping there.

“Never heard of them,” replied the clerk, after thinking a moment.

“I have photographs, perhaps you can tell them from that,” went on Dave, and he drew from his pocket two photographs, taken at different times at Oak Hall. Each showed a group of students, and in one group was Merwell and in the other Jasniff.

The clerk looked at the pictures closely.

“What is this, some joke?” he asked, suspiciously.

“No, it is a matter of great importance,” answered Dave. “We must find those two young men if we possibly can.”

“Well, if they are the pair who were here some days ago, you are too late. But their names weren’t what you said.”

“What did they call themselves?” asked Dunston Porter.

“John Leeds and Samuel Cross,” answered the clerk. “They had Room 87, and were here two days.”

“Do you know where they went to?” asked Phil.

“I do not.”

“Can you tell me anything at all about them?” went on Dave. “It is very important, indeed.”

“I might as well tell you,” put in Mr. Porter, in a low voice. “They were a pair of criminals.”

“You don’t say! Well, do you know, I didn’t much like their looks,” returned the clerk. “And come to think of it, one acted rather scared-like, the fellow calling himself Leeds—this one,” and he pointed to the picture of Link Merwell.

“And you haven’t any idea where they went to?”

“Not the slightest. They simply paid their bill and went away.”

“Did they have any trunks sent off?” asked Roger. “We might find the expressman,” he explained, to the others.

“No, they had nothing but hand baggage.”

“What—can you remember that?” questioned Dave.

“Yes, each had a suit-case and a small valise,—kind of a tool-bag affair.”

“Better look for that schooner, Dave,” said his uncle, in a low voice, and in a few minutes more they left the hotel, telling the clerk that they might be back.

“Shall we get breakfast now?” questioned the senator’s son. He was beginning to grow hungry.

“You can get something to eat if you wish, Roger,” answered Dave. “I am going to try to locate that schooner first.”

“No, I’ll wait too, then,” said Roger.

The shipping along the St. John’s River at Jacksonville is rather extensive. But Dunston Porter knew his business and went direct to one of the offices where he knew he could find out all about the ships going out under charter and otherwise.

“We want to find out about a schooner named the Emma Brown, or Black, or Jones, or some common name like that,” said Dave’s uncle, to the elderly man in charge. “She was in this harbor several days ago. I don’t know if she has sailed or not.”

“Emma Brown, eh?” mused the shipping-clerk. “Never heard of such a schooner.”

“Maybe she was the Emma Black, or Emma Jones,” suggested Dave.

“No schooner by that name here,—at least not for the past month or two. We had an Emma Blackney here about six weeks ago. But she sailed for Nova Scotia.”

“Well, try to think of some ship that might be named something like what we said,” pleaded Dave. “This is very important.”

“A ship that might have sailed from here in the past two or three days,” added Roger.

The elderly shipping-clerk leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair, thoughtfully.

“Maybe you’re looking for the Emma Brower,” he said. “But she isn’t a schooner, she’s a bark. She left this port yesterday morning.”

“Bound for where?” asked Dave, eagerly.

“Bound for Barbados.”

“Where is that?” questioned Phil. “I’ve heard of the place, but I can’t just locate it.”

“It’s an island of the British West Indies,” answered Dunston Porter. “It lies about five hundred miles southeast of Porto Rico.”

“If that’s the case, then good-by to Merwell and Jasniff,” murmured Phil. “We’ll never catch them in the wide world.”

CHAPTER XVII—MEETING OLD FRIENDS

“That’s right, so I did!” cried the shipowner’s son. “I remember you now. We went fishing together.”

“So we did, Mr. Lawrence. My, how you’ve grown since then!” added the former supercargo, as he gazed at Phil’s tall and well-built form.

“Mr. Castner, we are in a hurry, and maybe you can help us a good deal,” went on Phil. “We are after two fellows who we think sailed in that schooner, or bark, or some vessel that left here within the past two days. They were young fellows, not much older than us boys. Will you aid us in getting on their track?”

“Sure I will,” was the ready answer. “What do you know about ’em?”

“All we know is that they went under the names of Leeds and Cross,” answered Dave. “But those are not their right names.”

“And that they are supposed to have sailed on the ship known by a common name—Emma something or other,” put in Roger.

“I can soon find out who sailed on the Emma Brower” answered Sam Castner. “Come with me to the next shipping office.”

He called another clerk to take charge, and accompanied the party to the next shipping office. On the way he was introduced to Dave and the others.

“One of your father’s vessels is in this harbor now,” he said to Phil.

“What ship is that?”

“The Golden Eagle, Captain Sanders.”

“Captain Sanders!” cried Dave. “Do you mean Bob Sanders, who used to sail on the Stormy Petrel with Captain Marshall?”

“The same, Mr. Porter. Then you know him?”

“Indeed I do!” returned Dave. “Why, I sailed with him in the South Seas!”

“Well, he’s here.”

“We’ll have to try to see him before we leave,” said Phil. “He was a nice fellow.”

At the second shipping office further inquiries were made concerning the sailing of the Emma Brower. It was learned that the bark had carried not more than half a cargo for Barbados and eight passengers. The names of Merwell, Jasniff, Leeds, or Cross did not appear on the passenger list.

“Did anybody here see those passengers?” asked Dunston Porter.

“I did,” returned a young clerk. “I was aboard just before she sailed, and I saw all of them.”

“Were there two young fellows, chums?” asked Dave.

“There were, two tall chaps, a bit older than you.”

“Did they look like these fellows?” and now our hero brought out the photographs he had used before.

“They certainly did!” cried the clerk. “I remember this fellow distinctly,” and he pointed to Jasniff’s picture, taken just before that individual had run away from Oak Hall.

“Then they sailed, just as we feared!” returned Dave, and there was something like a groan in his voice.

“Wonder if they took the jewels,” murmured Roger.

“Most likely, Roger,” answered Dunston Porter.

“But what would they do with them in such an out-of-the-way place as Barbados?”

“I rather imagine their plan is to keep quiet for a while, until this affair blows over. Then they’ll either return to the United States, or take a British vessel for England. Barbados is an English possession, you must remember, and a regular line of steamers sail from there to England.”

“I wonder if we couldn’t charter a steam tug and go after the bark?” mused Dave.

“It might be done,” returned his uncle. “But I doubt if we could catch the bark, or even locate her. She has too much of a start.”

“Was the bark going to stop at any ports along the way?” asked Phil.

“She was not,” answered the young shipping-clerk.

“Then there is nothing to do but to sail for Barbados after them!” cried Dave.

“Sail after them—that far!” ejaculated the senator’s son.

“Yes, Roger. Of course you haven’t got to go, or Phil either. But I think my uncle and I ought to go after ’em. Don’t you think so, Uncle Dunston?”

“I don’t know—perhaps,” was the slow reply. “We had better make a few more inquiries first, Dave.”

“Oh, yes, let us find out all we can about Merwell and Jasniff.”

They left the shipping office and walked back to the hotel. Here they had a late breakfast and then commenced to make diligent inquiries concerning all the movements of Merwell and Jasniff. They soon learned that the pair had had plenty of money to spend, and that they had bought many things for the trip to Barbados, even taking along an extra supply of the Turkish cigarettes that came in the boxes with bands of blue and gold.

“I think that that proves my clew of the cigarette box is correct,” said Dave.

They visited the local pawnbrokers, and from one of them learned that Merwell had pawned two diamonds for two hundred and fifty dollars. The rascal had told the pawnbroker that the gems were the property of a rich lady who was awaiting a remittance from France.

“Do these diamonds belong to the Carwith collection?” asked Roger.

“That remains to be found out,” answered Dunston Porter, and then he told the pawnbroker to be sure and not let the gems go out of his possession until a further investigation could be made. The man grumbled somewhat, but when Dave’s uncle spoke about calling in the officers of the law, he subsided.

“Very well, I’ll keep them,” he said. “And if anything is wrong, I’ll do what the law requires, even if I lose by it.”

“Let us visit the Golden Eagle and see Bob Sanders,” said Phil, late in the afternoon. “Perhaps he knows something about the Emma Brower, and her trip.”

The others were willing, and sundown found them aboard the vessel belonging to Phil’s father. Hardly had they stepped on deck when a grizzled old tar, with white hair, rushed up to Dave.

“If it ain’t Dave Porter!” he burst out. “Yes, sir, Dave, wot I haven’t seen in a year o’ Sundays! How be you, my boy?” And he caught the youth by both hands.

“Billy Dill!” exclaimed our hero, as his face lit up with pleasure. “Where in the world did you drop from? I thought you had given up the sea.”

Billy Dill, as my old readers will remember, was the tar who aided Dave in locating his Uncle Dunston. As related in “Dave Porter in the South Seas,” Billy Dill had traveled with our hero to that portion of the globe, in the Stormy Petrel, of which Bob Sanders was, at the time, second mate. On returning home, the old tar had been placed in a sanitarium and then a sailors’ home, and Dave had imagined he was still in the latter retreat.

“Couldn’t give up the sea, Dave,” replied the old sailor. “I tried my best, but it wasn’t no use. So I goes to Phil’s old man, an’ I says, says I, ‘Give me a berth an’ anything I’m wuth,’ an’ he says, says he, ‘How would ye like to sail with Cap’n Sanders, wot sailed with you to the South Seas?’ ‘Fust-rate,’ says I; an’ here I be, an’ likes it very much.”

“Well, I’m glad to see you looking so well,” answered Dave.

“It’s the sea air done it, lad. When I was ashore I jest knowed I wanted sea air. No more homes ashore fer Billy Dill, not much!” And the old tar shook his head with conviction.

A few minutes later, while the old sailor was shaking hands with the others, and asking and answering questions, the captain of the ship came up.

“Very glad indeed to see you again,” said Captain Sanders, with a broad smile. He looked closely at the boys. “Grown some since I saw you last.”

“And you have advanced, too,” answered Dave, with a grin. “Let me congratulate you on becoming a captain, Mr. Sanders.”

“It’s all through the kindness of Mr. Lawrence and Captain Marshall. If it wasn’t for them, I shouldn’t be in this berth.”

“How is Captain Marshall?” asked our hero. The man mentioned was the commander of the ship in which Dave had sailed to the South Seas.

“First-rate, the last I heard of him. He sailed from San Francisco to Manila ten days ago.”

“Captain Sanders, what port are you bound for next?” questioned Phil, after greetings had been exchanged all around and a number of other questions had been asked.

“No port as yet, Phil. I’m waiting for orders.”

“Have you any idea where you may go to?”

“Something was said about a cargo for Porto Rico. But nothing was settled. I’ll know in a couple of days, I think.”

“Do any of our ships ever sail to Barbados?”

“Not very often. I could have had a cargo for that port from here, but the firm didn’t take it, and it went to the Emma Brower.”

“The very ship we are after!” murmured Dave.

“Could you get another cargo for Barbados, do you think?”

“I don’t know—maybe. Why?”

“We want to go there!”

“You do! That isn’t much of a place.”

“But we have a reason for wanting to go,” went on Phil. And then, knowing he could trust Captain Sanders, he told the story of the stolen gems and the search for Merwell and Jasniff.

“Humph! that’s a queer yarn,” mused the captain of the Golden Eagle. “Supposing I got a cargo for that port—you’d go along?”

“I would,” answered the shipowner’s son, promptly. “That is, if dad would let me—and I’m sure he would.”

“So would I go,” added Dave.

“I’d have to go—to look after the others,” said Dunston Porter, with a smile.

“Well, you can’t leave me in the cold,” came from Roger. “If the rest went, I’d go too.”

“Come down to the cabin and talk it over,” said Captain Sanders, and led the way across the deck and down the companionway.

Once below they were invited to remain to supper and did so. While at the meal the boys and Dunston Porter told all they knew concerning the case against Merwell and Jasniff, and the captain told what he knew about the Emma Brower and her commander.

“I am going to telegraph to my father about this,” said Phil, a little later. “If this vessel can get a cargo for Barbados she might as well sail for that port as anywhere.”

“Well, I’m willing,” answered Captain Sanders. “When will you send word to him?”

“Right away—I’ll send him a telegram at once.”

“I hope it turns out all right,” said Dave. “I feel it is my duty to get after Merwell and Jasniff, and do it as soon as possible.”

CHAPTER XVIII—OFF FOR BARBADOS

“Yes, that is, inside of two days.”

“Then by all means take it, Phil!” cried Dave. “I know Mr. Wadsworth will stand the extra expense. And if he won’t, I know my father will.”

“Where is your Uncle Dunston?” questioned the shipowner’s son.

“He’s out on a little business trip. He got a telegram from New York that upset him somewhat. I hope it isn’t anything serious,” added Dave, soberly.

The boys rushed off to talk the matter over with Captain Sanders. They found the master of the vessel at the shipping office, talking over the matter of a cargo for Barbados.

“Four men want to take passage with us, if we go,” said the captain. “That will help pay for the trip, since they are willing to pay good passage money.”

“We want you to take that half-cargo,” said Phil, and explained matters.

“All right, if you say so,” answered Captain Sanders. “But you had better speak to Mr. Porter about it first.”

Half an hour later Dunston Porter came driving up in a cab. He was plainly excited.

“I’ve got to go to New York at once,” he said. “I must look after some valuable investments in Wall Street. Do you think you boys can get along alone?”

“I think we can, Uncle Dunston,” answered Dave. “You know we are used to taking care of ourselves,” and he smiled faintly.

“Then go ahead and do as you think best.”

“We want Captain Sanders to start for Barbados as soon as he can,” went on our hero, and told of the telegrams received.

A general talk followed, lasting until Dunston Porter had to ride away to catch the train for New York.

“You must be right, and Merwell and Jasniff must be guilty,” he said. “And if they are, spare no expense in catching them. I think the quicker you start for Barbados the better. And as soon as you arrive do your best to locate the rascals and have the authorities arrest them. And above all things, keep your eyes open for the jewels, for we need them much more than we need to catch Merwell and Jasniff. To catch the rascals and miss the gems will do us no good.”

“I understand, Uncle Dunston,” answered Dave. “And if the jewels are anywhere around we’ll locate them.”

“Then good-by and good luck!” finished Dunston Porter, and in a minute more he was off.

As soon as he was gone the boys and Captain Sanders commenced preparations for the trip to Barbados. An extra number of longshoremen were engaged, so that the half-cargo to be taken along could be gotten aboard quickly, and the boys spent their time in buying such things as they needed for the trip.

“They tell me it is pretty warm down there,” said Roger. “So we had better buy some thin suits.”

“And we had better go armed,” added Phil. “No telling what trouble we may run into, in trying to corner Merwell and Jasniff. Merwell is no great fighter, but Jasniff is a brute.”

“Yes, I’ll take no chances with Jasniff,” answered Dave. He had not forgotten his quarrel at Oak Hall with that bully, and how Jasniff had attacked him with an Indian club, as related in detail in “Dave Porter’s Return to School.”

At last all was in readiness for the trip, and the boys and the other passengers, four burly Englishmen, went aboard. Fortunately, the Golden Eagle was well provided with staterooms, so there was but little crowding. Dave had a small room to himself and next to him were his chums, with Captain Sanders and the first mate opposite. Billy Dill was, of course, in the forecastle with the other sailors.

“It’s grand to have you along ag’in,” he said, to Dave and Phil. “Seems like old times, when we sailed the Pacific.”

“So it does,” answered our hero.

“Only ye ain’t a-lookin’ for no uncle this trip, be you?” And the old tar chuckled.

“No, Billy, we are looking for somebody quite different—two rascals who ran away with a lot of diamonds.”

“Mackerel an’ codfish! Ye don’t tell me, Dave! Your diamonds?”

“No, but some diamonds that were left with a close friend of mine. If they are not recovered, my friend will be almost ruined.”

“Jumpin’ dogfish! Then I hope you catch them lubbers! If so be I can help ye any, don’t be afeered to call on me,” added the old sailor, earnestly.

“All right; I’ll remember that,” replied Dave.

Early the next day the Golden Eagle slipped down the St. John’s River and past the jetties and the lighthouse into the Atlantic Ocean. It was warm and clear, with a good wind blowing from the west, an ideal day for the departure. The boys remained on deck, watching the scenery of the winding stream and then the fading shoreline, and then went below to arrange their belongings, for the trip to Barbados would occupy some time.

“I hope we don’t get seasick,” remarked the senator’s son.

“Well, if we do, we’ll have to stand it,” replied Phil. “But don’t let’s think about it.”

“What I am wishing, is that we’ll have good weather and a quick passage,” remarked Dave. “We can’t get to Barbados any too quick for me.”

“I was looking up the place in the shipping-guide,” went on Roger. “It’s not much of an island, only twenty-one miles long by fifteen wide. The whole population is only about two hundred thousand, mostly English.”

“The smaller the population the easier it will be to find Merwell and Jasniff,” was the comment of the shipowner’s son.

“Well, there may be a good many hiding-places on an island twenty-one miles long by fifteen miles wide,” added Dave, with a grin.

“Oh, we’ll rake the island with a fine-tooth comb, if we have to,” cried Roger.

“Roger, was your father quite willing to let you go on the trip?”

“Yes. He and mother are now in Washington, you know, and as the school is closed, I’d either have to go to the Capital, or stay with you. And I told him I’d much rather be with you and Phil.”

“And we are glad to have you with us!” cried Phil, and Dave nodded, to show that he felt the same way about it.

“What do you think about the other passengers?” asked Phil, in a lower voice, so that nobody else might hear.

“I don’t think I’ll like them very much,” replied the senator’s son. “That man named Geswick is very loud and dictatorial.”

“Yes, and the chap named Pardell is little better,” returned Dave.

“What line are they in, Phil, did you hear?”

“Oh, they are traveling, that’s all. They came to this country from London, and they are going back by the way of Barbados.”

“They seem to have some money.”

“Yes, but Captain Sanders told me that they hang on to it pretty well—more so than he at first expected they would.”

The first day passed rapidly and the Golden Eagle made good headway. The boys spent most of the time on deck, amusing themselves as best they could. They talked to Captain Sanders and his mate, and also visited with Billy Dill. Occasionally they conversed with the four Englishmen, but they noticed that the Britishers were inclined to keep to themselves.

“I guess it is just as well, too,” said Dave to his chums. “They are not our sort at all.”

“Unless I miss my guess, they have had some sort of quarrel among themselves,” remarked Phil. “They were disputing over something early this morning and again just before dinner.”

Several days passed, and the boys commenced to feel quite at home on the ship. None of them had been seasick, for which all were thankful.

“The weather has been in our favor,” said Captain Sanders. “If it keeps on like this, we’ll make Barbados in record time.”

“Billy Dill said he smelt a storm,” returned Dave.

“Hum! Is that so?” mused the captain. “Well, he’s a pretty good weather-sharp, I must confess. I’ll take another look at the glass,” and he walked off to do so.

The storm came up during the night, and Dave was awakened to find himself rolling from one side of his berth to the other. He arose, and as he did so he heard an exclamation from Roger.

“What is it, Roger?” he called out.

“I—I guess I’m seasick!” answered the senator’s son. “Gracious, how this old tub rolls!”

“Don’t call the Golden Eagle a tub!” returned Phil. “Say, can I do anything for you?” he went on sympathetically.

“Yes, tell Captain Sanders to keep the boat from rocking.”

“Better lie down again, Roger,” said Dave, entering the stateroom. “It’s a little better than standing up.”

“Oh, I—I guess I’m not so very ba-badly off,” gasped the sufferer. “But I do wish the storm was over.”

“We all wish that.”

But, instead of clearing away, the storm increased in violence, and by nine o’clock in the morning the wind was blowing close to a gale. Both the captain and the mate were on deck, and the former advised the boys and the other passengers to remain below. Two of the Englishmen were very seasick and found all manner of fault because of the storm.

“I’d never have come on this treasure hunt had I known I was to be so sick!” groaned one.

“What bloody luck!” said the other sick man. “All the pirates’ gold in the world is not worth it!”

“Stow it!” cried the man named Geswick. “You know you weren’t to mention what we were after.”

“Nobody can hear us, in this storm,” replied the first man who had spoken.

“Those boys might hear,” put in the fellow named Pardell.

“Oh, well, they are only boys. Besides, they’d not dare to follow us up to Cave Island——”

“Hush, I tell you!” cried Geswick, savagely. “Do learn to keep your tongue quiet.” And then the men continued to talk in whispers.

Dave had been passing the staterooms of the Englishmen during this conversation and he could not help but hear what was said. When he rejoined his chums he told them of the talk.

“They must be on the hunt after pirates’ gold,” said Phil. “Well, they are not the first to do that kind of searching. Party after party has sailed down here for the same purpose.”

“Yes, and each party has been unsuccessful, so far as I know,” answered Dave.

“Perhaps they have some extra-good clew,” suggested Roger, trying to forget his seasickness.

“Perhaps,” returned Dave. “Well, if they can find any pirates’ gold on any of these islands they are welcome to it, so far as I am concerned. All I want to get hold of are the Carwith jewels.”

CHAPTER XIX—THE MISSING SHIP

“I heard that two of those Englishmen are pretty sick,” went on Captain Sanders, with a faint smile.

“They are.”

“It’s queer to me that they sailed with us. It’s not such a pleasant voyage.”

“I overheard a little of their talk,” answered Dave, and, knowing he could trust the captain, he related what had been said.

“Pirates’ gold, eh?” muttered the master of the ship. “Most of those yarns are fairy-stories. I’ve known expedition after expedition to be fitted out, to search for treasures said to be hidden by the old-time buccaneers, but I never saw a man yet who got even a smell of a treasure. Where were they going for it, Dave?”

“I don’t know. I think one of them mentioned Cave Island. Is there such a place?”

“There may be, although I never heard of it. Many of the islands in this part of the globe, being of volcanic origin, contain caves.”

“They must expect to get to Cave Island from Barbados.”

“More than likely,” answered the captain, and then hurried on deck again.

The storm continued for the remainder of the day, but by nightfall the wind commenced to die down, and by midnight the clouds had passed and the stars were shining brightly. In the morning the big sun came out of the sea to the east like a globe of fire.

“Now we are going to have some warm weather,” remarked Billy Dill, and the old tar was right. As the sun mounted in the heavens it grew positively hot, until the boys had to go to their staterooms and don thinner clothing. With the departure of the storm, Roger’s seasickness left him, but the two Englishmen remained slightly unwell for some time longer.

“Phew! how warm it is!” remarked Phil. “And just think of it!—up at home they are having snow and ice!”

With the passing of the storm, the boys settled down as before. They saw but little of the Englishmen, especially of the pair who were sick. But one day something happened which came close to causing a crisis.

The boys were seated on the rear deck, talking over matters in general, when a strong puff of wind caused a sheet of paper to blow from somewhere ahead towards Dave. He reached out and caught the sheet just as it was about to go overboard.

“Hello, what’s this?” he cried, as he looked the sheet over. “Must be some sort of a chart.”

“It is,” answered Roger, gazing at the paper. “See, here is a spot marked Barbados, and another marked Cave Island, a little to the eastward.”

“Why, look what it says, up here!” cried Phil. “’Map of the Don Amorandos Treasure, buried in 1715.’ Say, do you think those Englishmen——”

“Hi, you! Give me that map!” bawled a voice from near by, and with a very red face, the Englishman named Geswick bore down on the boys. “How dare you look at this?” he went on, as he snatched the sheet out of their hands and folded it up.

“We wanted to see what it was and whom it belonged to,” answered Dave, as calmly as he could.

“You had no right to look at it,” stormed Andrew Geswick. “That is private property.”

“Then why did you let it fall in our hands?” asked Phil.

“If it hadn’t been for Dave, it would have gone overboard,” put in Roger.

“Humph!” The man fell back a little. “Well, I am thankful for that. But you boys had no right to look at it,” he grumbled.

“Why, it’s only a chart, isn’t it?” asked the senator’s son, curiously.

“Never mind what it is!” answered Andrew Geswick, sharply. “Did you read what was on it?” he demanded, an instant later.

“We saw it was a chart,” answered Dave, and looked knowingly at his chums, to make them keep silent.

“It—er—it belongs to Mr. Pardell and he is very particular about it,” went on the Englishman. And then without another word he walked away.

“My, isn’t he sweet!” muttered Phil.

“Just as sweet as a can of sour milk,” answered the senator’s son. “Dave, I guess you wish you had allowed that map to blow overboard.”

“Not exactly that, Roger. But he might have been a little more thankful for saving something that he thinks so valuable.”

“Do you think there is anything in this treasure idea?” questioned Phil, after a pause.

“No, Phil. That is, there may be some lost treasure, secreted by the pirates and buccaneers of old, but I doubt if anybody will ever find it—excepting by accident.”

“If there was a treasure on this Cave Island, we might hunt for it,” went on the shipowner’s son.

“Phil, don’t let that bee get into your bonnet!” cried Roger. “Many a man has gone crazy looking for pirates’ gold. Better drop it, and think of how we are to round up Merwell and Jasniff.”

“Well, I’d like to go to Cave Island anyway,” said Phil. “We might——” And then he stopped short, as he saw Geswick and Pardell near by. The Englishmen had been listening to part of the conversation.

“So you’d like to go to Cave Island, would you?” cried Andrew Geswick, his face red with rage. “You take my advice and keep away from that place!”

“Say, do you own that island?” demanded Phil, getting angry because of the other’s dictatorial manner.

“No, we don’t own the island. But we——” Andrew Geswick stopped short as his companion plucked him by the sleeve. “Never mind, you keep away from it, that’s all,” he growled.

“We’ll go there if we want to,” called out Phil.

“If you do you may get into trouble,” called back Pardell. Then he and his companion disappeared in the direction of the cabin.

“They are touchy enough,” was Roger’s comment. “Phil, you had better drop Cave Island after this.”

“I’ll talk about it as much as I please,” grumbled the shipowner’s son. “Those fellows make me tired. They act as if they owned the earth!”

Sunday was a quiet day on shipboard. The Englishmen did not show themselves excepting at meals, and the boys were content to leave them severely alone. They told Captain Sanders of the chart and of the talk that had occurred.

“Let them alone, lads,” said the commander of the Golden Eagle. “I’ll venture to say that sooner or later they’ll find out they are on a wild goose chase.”

“The only one that seems to be anyway nice is the fellow named Giles Borden,” said Dave. “He is rather quiet. The other fellow, Rumney, is almost as bad as Geswick and Pardell.”

“So I’ve noticed, Dave. And the queer part of it is, Borden paid for the passages. He appears to be the only one with money.”

“Maybe he is backing the expedition,” suggested Roger.

“I’m sorry for him if he is,” answered the captain.

The Bahama Islands had been passed, and now they were in the vicinity of Porto Rico. Then commenced the trip southward, through the Lesser Antilles.

“This is the spot for active volcanoes,” observed Phil. “Don’t you remember how the Island of Martinique suffered?”

“Oh, don’t speak of volcanoes!” cried Roger. “I have no use for them—or for earthquakes either.”

“There must be hundreds of islands around here,” observed Dave. “The charts are full of them.”

“That must make navigation difficult,” came from Phil.

“Oh, I reckon Captain Sanders knows what he is about.”

“Wonder how soon we’ll run into the harbor at Bridgetown?” mused the shipowner’s son, the place he mentioned being the main seaport of Barbados.

“Inside of three days, I hope, Phil,” answered our hero.

“Merwell and Jasniff must be there by this time.”

“It’s more than likely—unless something happened to delay them,” returned Dave.

At last came the day when they sighted Barbados and ran into the harbor of Bridgetown. The place was a picturesque one, but the boys had just then no time to view the scenery or the shipping. As soon as it could be accomplished, they went ashore, and Captain Sanders went with them, leaving his vessel in charge of the first mate.

“You may have trouble with those two rascals, if you find them,” said the commander of the Golden Eagle. “I’ll be on deck to help you all I can.”

“Shall we go to the hotel first?” questioned Roger.

“Might as well,” answered Phil. “They’d strike for the hotel first thing, after a sea trip like that. Maybe they were both seasick.”

“I hope they were—it would serve them right,” growled the senator’s son.

Dave and the captain were willing, and a little later walked into the Royal George Hotel. Here the boys looked at the register, but found no names that they could recognize. Then Dave brought out his photographs of Merwell and Jasniff and showed them to the hotel proprietor and his clerk.

“Nobody here that looks like either of them,” said the proprietor, while his clerk also shook his head.

“They came in on the Emma Brower,” said Captain Sanders.

“The Emma Brower!” cried the hotel man. “Is she in?”

“Why, I suppose so,” and now the commander of the Golden Eagle showed his surprise.

“She wasn’t in last night, and the agents were a bit worried about her. I know the agents personally, you see.”

“Then maybe she isn’t in yet!” cried Dave. “Let us go down to the docks and find out about this.”