CHAPTER III. THE MAJOR EXPLAINS.
"Well," began the major, "I suppose you are all naturally curiousconcerning that wallet of mine."
The four lads nodded attentively.
"I must admit we are," volunteered Rob.
They were gathered in the library of Mr. Blake's home. The banker wasseated in his own pet chair, while the major stood with his back to abookcase, a group of eager-eyed Boy Scouts surrounding him.
"In the first place," continued the major, "I think you would better allsit down. The story is a somewhat lengthy one."
The boys obeyed, and the major began:
"I shall have to take you back more than a century," he said, "to thedays when the first settlers located adjacent to the south banks of LakeChamplain. Among the colonists were my ancestors, Chisholm Dangerfieldand his family. Chisholm Dangerfield was the eldest son of theDangerfield family, of Chester, England. He had been left an amplefortune, but having squandered it, decided, like many others in a similarcase, to emigrate to the new country.
"On arrival here, he and his family went up the river to Albany, andthere, hearing of new settlements along the lake, decided to take up landthere. They went most of the way by water, being much harassed by Indianson the journey. But without any serious mishaps, they finally arrived attheir destination, and, in course of time, established a flourishingfarm. But Chisholm Dangerfield had a younger brother, a harum-scarum sortof youth, to whom, nevertheless, he was much attached. When quite young,this lad had run away to sea, and little had been heard of him since thattime.
"But while his family had remained in ignorance of his whereabouts, hehad joined a band of West Indian pirates, and in course of time amassed aconsiderable fortune. Then a desire to reform came over him, and hesought his English relatives. They would have nothing to do with him,despite his wealth, and in a fit of rage he left England to seek hisbrother--the only being who ever really cared for him. In due time hearrived at the farm with quite a retinue of friendly Indians andcarriers.
"He was warmly welcomed. Possibly his money and wealth had something todo with it. I don't know anything about that, however. At any rate, forsome years, he lived there, till one day he fell ill. His constitutionwas undermined by the reckless, wild life he had led, and he died notlong after. He left all his gold and jewels to his brother.
"Indians were many and hostile in those days, so in order to be secure incase of an attack, the elder brother had no sooner buried his kin withdue reverence, and received his legacy, than he decided to secrete theentire amount of the old pirate's treasure in a cave in a remote part ofthe Adirondacks."
"Gee!" exclaimed Tubby, who was hugging his knees, while his eyes showedround as saucers in his fat cheeks.
"Did the Indians get it?" asked Hiram.
"Wait a minute, and you shall hear," continued the major. "Well, as Isaid, the treasure was buried in a cave so securely hidden that nobodywould be able to find it again, except by a miracle, or by aid of thechart of the spot, which Chisholm Dangerfield carefully made. A fewnights after that, a tribe went on the warpath, landed in canoes near tothe Dangerfield farm, and massacred every soul on the place but one--ayoung boy named Roger Dangerfield, who escaped.
"This Roger Dangerfield was my great-great-grandfather. With him, when hefled from the burning ruins, he took a paper his father had thrust intohis hands just before the Indian attack came. All this he wrote in hisdiary, which did not come into my hands till recently. Well, RogerDangerfield, left to his own resources, proved so able a youth that hewas, before very long, a prosperous merchant in Albany. But in themeantime he made several expeditions to the mountains to try to find thehidden wealth.
"I should have told you that the paper was in cipher, and a veryelaborate one, so that it had never been completely worked out. This, nodoubt, accounts for Roger Dangerfield's failure.
"Well, in course of time, the cipher became a family relic along withRoger Dangerfield's diary. His descendants moved to Virginia, where I wasborn. I recollect, as a youngster, being enthralled by the story of theold piratical Dangerfield's hidden gold, and resolving that when I grewup I would find it. We had, in our employ at that time, a butler namedJarley. I was an only child, and he was my confidant. I naturally toldhim about the cipher and what its unraveling would mean.
"This happened when I was about eighteen and home on a vacation. Jarleyseemed much interested, but after both he and I had puzzled in vain overthe cipher, we gave it up. When I came home on my next vacation, Ilearned that Jarley had left. His mother and father had died, hedeclared, and he was required at his home in Maine. Well, I thought nomore of the matter, and forming new acquaintances in our neighborhood,which was rapidly settling, I soon forgot Jarley. But one day a notionseized me to look at the cipher and the diary again.
"But when I came to look for them, they had gone. Nor did any searchresult in my finding them. It at once flashed across my mind that Jarleymight have taken them. So fixed an idea did this become, that I visitedthe place in Maine to which he said he had gone, only to find that he hadremoved soon after his return from Virginia. However, pursuing the trail,I found that he--or a man resembling him--had visited the spot on thelake where the old-time house had stood, and had made a mysteriousexpedition into the mountains. The spot was at that time known asDangerfield, and was quite a flourishing little town, with a pulp milland a few other local industries. In that quiet community theyrecollected the mysterious visitor well.
"However, as I learned, Jarley had left the town without paying hisguides or the man from whom he had hired the horses, I concluded that theexpedition had not been successful. Then I advertised for the man, butwithout success. Then I was appointed to West Point, and for a long timeI thought no more of the matter. In fact, for years it lay dormant in mymind, with occasional flashes of memory; then I would advertise forJarley or his heirs, but without success.
"The last time I advertised was about a year ago. After six months'silence I received a letter, asking me to call at an address near theErie Basin in Brooklyn, if I was interested in the long-lost Jarley. Allmy enthusiasm once more at fever heat, I set out for the place. Theaddress at which I was to call I found to be a squalid sailors'boarding-house. On inquiring there for James Jarley, the name signed tothe letter, I was conducted into a dirty room, where lay a rough-lookingsailor, evidently just recovering from the effects of a debauch.
"So dulled was his mind, that it was some time before I could explain myerrand, but finally he understood. He frankly told me he was out formoney, and wanted to know how much I would give him for some papers hehad which his father--our old butler, it transpired--had left him. Hisfather, he said, had told him that if ever he wanted to make money withthem he was to seek out a Major Dangerfield, who would be likely to payhim well for them.
"But it appeared that his father had also told him that he stood a chanceof arrest if he did so, and that it might be a dangerous step. However,he told me that he had at length decided to take that chance, and on areturn from a long voyage, during which he had encountered myadvertisement in an old newspaper in a foreign port, he had made up hismind to find me on his return.
"His father, it appeared, had always kept track of me, but fear and shamehad kept him from trying to arrange a meeting. The son, I gathered, bothfrom his conversation and the situation in which I found him, had alwaysbeen a ne'er-do-well. Well, the matter ended with my paying him a sum ofmoney for the papers, which as I suspected, proved to be the yellow-pagedold diary and the well-thumbed, tattered cipher. Then I had him removedto a hospital, where a few days later he died in an attack of delirium."