Chapter Two.
The Cryptogram.
The west attic was a sort of lumber-room, in which was stored an extensive collection of miscellaneous articles which had survived their era of usefulness, but, either because they happened to be relics of former Saint Legers, or for some other equally sufficient reason, were deemed too valuable to be disposed of. The contents of this chamber could scarcely have proved uninteresting, even to a stranger, for in addition to several handsome pieces of out-of-date furniture—discarded originally in favour of the more modern, substantial mahogany article, and now permitted to remain in seclusion simply because of the bizarre appearance they would present in conjunction with that same ponderous product of the nineteenth-century cabinet-makers’ taste—there were to be found outlandish weapons, and curiosities of all kinds collected from sundry out-of-the-way spots in all quarters of the globe, to say nothing of the frayed and faded flags of silk or bunting that had been taken from the enemy at various times by one or another of the Saint Legers—each one of which represented some especially hard-fought fight or deed of exceptional daring, a complete romance in itself—and the ponderous pistols with inlaid barrels and elaborately carved stocks, the bell-mouthed blunderbusses, and the business-like hangers, notched and dinted of edge, and discoloured to the hilt with dark, sinister stains, that hung here and there upon the walls, relics of dead and gone Saint Legers. To me, the only surviving descendant of that race of sturdy sea-heroes, the room and its contents had of course always proved absorbingly interesting; and never, even in my earliest childhood, had I been so delighted as when, on some fine, warm, summer day, I had succeeded in coaxing my mother up into this room and there extracted from her the legend attached to some flag or weapon. To do her justice she, poor soul, would never of her own free will have opened her lips to me on any such subject; but my father—a Saint Leger to the backbone, despite the fact that his susceptibilities had become refined and sensitive by the more gentle influences of modern teaching—felt none of the scruples that were experienced by his gentle, tender-hearted spouse, and seemed to consider it almost a religious duty that the latest of the Saint Legers should be so trained as to worthily sustain the traditions of his race. Not, it must be understood, that my father preserved the faintest trace of that unscrupulous, buccaneering propensity that was only too probably a strongly marked characteristic of the earlier Saint Legers; far from it; but it had evidently never occurred to him that it was even remotely possible that I should ever adopt any other profession than that of the sea, and, knowing from experience how indispensable to the sailor are the qualities of dauntless courage, patient, unflinching endurance, absolute self-reliance, and unswerving resolution, he had steadily done his utmost to cultivate those qualities in me; and his stories were invariably so narrated as to illustrate the value and desirability of one or another of them.
On the present occasion, however, my thoughts on entering the room were intent upon a subject but remotely connected with the valiant achievements of my ancestors; and I lost no time in collecting together in one corner every article, big or little, that still remained of the possessions of Richard Saint Leger. There were not many of them: his sea-chest, containing a somewhat limited wardrobe, including the clothes in which he died; his writing-desk, a substantial oak-built, brass-bound affair; a roll of charts, still faintly redolent of that peculiar musty odour so characteristic of articles that have been for a long time on shipboard; a few books, equally odoriferous; a brace of pistols; and his sheathed hanger, still attached to its belt.
The writing-desk, as being the most appropriate depository for papers, was, naturally, the object to which I first devoted my attention; and this I completely emptied of its contents, depositing them in a clothes-basket on my right hand, to start with, from which I afterwards removed them, one by one, and after carefully perusing each completely through, tossed them into a similar receptacle on my left. Many of the documents proved to be sufficiently interesting reading, especially those which consisted of notes and memoranda of information relating to the projected or anticipated movements of the enemy’s ships, acquired, in some cases, in the most curious way. Then there were bundles of letters retailing scraps of home news, and signed “Your loving wife, Isabella.” But, though I allowed no single scrap of paper to pass unexamined, not one of them contained the most remote reference to any such matter as buried treasure.
I next subjected the desk itself to a most rigorous examination, half hoping that I might discover some secret receptacle so cunningly contrived as to have escaped the observation of those who had preceded me in the search. But no; the desk was a plain, simple, honest affair, solidly and substantially constructed in such a manner that secret recesses were simply impossible. Having satisfied myself thus far, I carefully restored all the papers to the several receptacles from which I had taken them, locked the desk, and then turned my attention to the sea-chest.
Here I was equally unfortunate; for, though in the bottom of the chest I actually found the identical log-book relating to the cruise during which Richard Saint Leger was supposed to have acquired his knowledge of the hidden treasure, and though I found duly entered therein the usual brief, pithy, log-book entries of both actions with the Spanish ships, not a word was there which even remotely hinted at the existence of the treasure, or any record relating to it. And—not to spin out this portion of my yarn to an unnecessary length—I may as well say, in so many words, that when I had worked my way steadily through every relic left to us of Richard Saint Leger, until nothing remained to be examined but his hanger and belt, I found myself as destitute of any scrap of the information I sought as I had been at the commencement of the search.
It was not in the least likely that any one would select such an unsuitable place as the sheath of a cutlass in which to conceal an important document; still, that I might never in the future have reason to reproach myself with having passed over even the most unlikely hiding-place, I took down the weapon from the peg on which it hung, and with some difficulty drew the blade from its leather sheath.
There was nothing at all extraordinary about the weapon or its mountings; blade and hilt were alike perfectly plain; but what a story that piece of steel could have told, had it been gifted with the power of speech. It was notched and dinted from guard to point, every notch and every dint bearing eloquent evidence of stirring adventure and doughty deeds of valour. But I was not there on that occasion to dream over a notched and rusty cutlass; I therefore laid the weapon aside, and, with the belt across my knees, proceeded to carefully explore the interior of the sheath with the aid of a long wire. And it was while thus engaged that my eye fell upon a portion of the stitching in the belt that had the appearance of being newer than—or perhaps it would be more correct to say of different workmanship from the rest. The belt, I ought to explain, was a leather band nearly four inches wide, the fastening being an ordinary plain, square, brass buckle. The belt was made of two thicknesses of leather stitched together all along the top and bottom edge; and it was a portion of this stitching along the top edge that struck me as differing somewhat in appearance from the rest.
That I might the better inspect the stitching, I moved toward the window with the belt in my hand; and, as I did so, I ran the thick leather through my fingers. Surely the belt felt a shade thicker in that part than anywhere else! And was it only my fancy, or did I detect a faint sound as of the crackling of paper when I bent the belt at that spot in the act of raising it to the light? Was it possible that Richard Saint Leger had actually chosen so unlikely a spot as the interior of his sword-belt in which to hide the important document? And yet, after all, why unlikely? It would be as safe a place of concealment as any; for he doubtless wore the belt, if not the hanger, habitually; and therefore, by sewing the document up inside it, he would be sure of always having it upon his person, with scarcely a possibility of losing it.
Determined to solve the question forthwith, I whipped out my knife and carefully cut through the suspicious-looking stitches, thus separating the two thicknesses of leather along their upper edges for a length of about six inches; then, forcing the two edges apart, I peered into the pocket-like recess; and there, sure enough, was a small, compactly folded paper, which I at once withdrew and carefully unfolded. The result was the disclosure of the following incomprehensible document:—
“11331829 14443401 64519411 74217411 93613918 21541829 154123 49274519 44384914 27163426 41152923 39154319 44214414 44153317 32 24535184 19492442 17321635 24531739 15261943 24381526 29594354 29 43163543 72164627 38537766 79193423 48132915 19412338 18294865 62 93415619 48233516 31233415 43265524 54193743 58274253 87273819 32 43731941 57761738 43581741 19341645 19484368 27435989 28467691 27 43152644 57284327 52193563 74163951 62184227 43699143 68273844 74 58776387 19361641 18424777 19372041 56894566 15452641 19471526 62 91436226 56689115 34425924 42245417 29264163 93284652 831948
“17465383 17322944 17455369 64892351 44742947 16314462 234854 76133526 51235619 31274218 48558817 32294419 43295216 41154619 49 23414354 19431529 24372543 67865983 27385579 23371449 37521342 65 83445515 37497176 92163553 77193323 34164453 72195117 32164418 51 43611635 24375169 25371641 72844458 52741954 26411842 55852439 16 44152623 47193316 45334428 47557716 47537972 91558518 29849842 61 17461545 21321741 15284459 16412642 15451331 53811429 27422743 18 49164419 41436817 41264338 67154528 53164629 47425718 31295743 58 39547697 39645377 16462843 17323867 17472738 57855769 18437485 29 57193329 47349153 97791438 91728386 73564163 53761619 114301848 53711934 26395785 51666378 17382334 45693751 29511829 15392539 35 49153959 92139445 91635467 53355142 51135213 51747294 722371747 19471227 16271847 16471947 12274567 38570277 38671327 26571328 19 48335827 58588814 32163244 72174239 62629224 42112634 46656617 46 31407196 15313161 23417691 36614961 16311941 12311241 41622452 37 62294221 42.”
This I studied for a few minutes, in complete bewilderment, and then carried it downstairs to my mother, who had been called away upon some household matter some time before.
“See here, mother!” I exclaimed. “I have found something; but whether or no it happens to be the long-missing secret of the hidden treasure it is quite impossible for me to determine. If it is, there is every prospect of its remaining a secret, so far as I am concerned, for I can make neither head nor tail of it.”
“Let me look at it, my son. Where did you find it?” she exclaimed, stretching out her hand for the paper.
“It was sewn up in Richard Saint Leger’s sword-belt, from which I have just cut it,” I replied. “So, whether or not it will be the secret of the treasure, I think we may safely take it for granted that it is a document of more than ordinary value, or Dick Saint Leger would never have taken the trouble to conceal it so carefully.”
“Yes,” remarked my mother, “there can be no doubt as to its contents being of very considerable importance. It is a cryptogram, you see, and people do not usually take the trouble to write in cipher unless the matter is of such a nature as to render a written record very highly desirable, whilst it is also equally desirable that it should be preserved a secret from all but the parties who possess the key. It is certainly a most unintelligible-looking affair; but I have no doubt that, with a little study, we shall be able to puzzle out the meaning. As a girl I used to be rather good at solving puzzles.”
“So much the better,” I remarked; “for to me it presents a most utterly hopeless appearance. The only thing I can understand about it is the sketch, which, while it bears the most extraordinary resemblance to the profile of a man’s face, is undoubtedly intended to represent an island. And that, to my mind, is a point in favour of its being the long-sought document. And now,” I continued, “if you feel disposed to take a spell at it and see what you can make of it, I think I will walk into the town and attend to one or two little matters of business. Perhaps you will have the whole thing cut and dried by the time that I return.”
My mother laughed.
“I am afraid you are altogether too sanguine, my dear Jack,” she replied; “this is no ordinary, commonplace cipher, I feel certain. But run along, my dear boy, the walk will do you good; and while you are gone I will sit down quietly and do my best to plumb the secret.”
Dismissing, for the time being, the mysterious document from my mind, I set out along the lane toward Weymouth, giving my thoughts, meanwhile, to the question of what would be the best course for me to pursue under my mother’s altered circumstances. She was now absolutely dependent upon me for food and clothing, for the funds requisite to maintain the household—for everything, in fact, save the roof that covered her; and it needed no very abstruse calculation to convince us that my wages as chief mate were wholly inadequate to the demands that would now be made upon them. If only I could but obtain a command, all would be well; but I had no interest whatever outside the employ in which I was then engaged; and I had already received a distinct assurance from my owners that I should be appointed to the first suitable vacancy. But—as I had taken the trouble to ascertain immediately upon my arrival home—the prospect of any vacancy, suitable or otherwise, was growing more remote and intangible every day; steamers were cutting out the sailing craft in every direction; freights were low and scarce; and ships were being laid up by the hundred, in every port of any consequence, for want of profitable employment. Still, there were exceptions to this rule; and I had met an old shipmate of mine, only a few days before, in London, who, in command of his own ship, was doing exceedingly well. And, as my meeting with him and our subsequent chat recurred to my memory, the thought suggested itself, “Why should not I, too, command my own ship?”
I had a little money—a legacy of a few hundreds left me by an uncle some years previously; and there was my share of the salvage money: it might be possible to obtain a command by purchasing an interest in a ship! Or, better still, I might be able to acquire the sole ownership of a craft large enough for my purpose by executing a mortgage on the ship for the balance of the purchase-money.
The idea was worth thinking over, and talking over also; and, since there is no time like the present, I determined to call upon an old family friend—a retired solicitor, named Richards—forthwith.
I was fortunate enough to find the old gentleman at home when at length I had made my way over the bridge, up through the town, and along the esplanade, to his comfortable villa on the Dorchester road. He was pottering about in his garden when I was announced; and the smart parlour-maid who took my card to him quickly returned with a message requesting that I would join him there. He seemed genuinely glad to see me; and, like most elderly people who have passed their lives in one place, was full of inquiries as to the spots I had last visited, the incidents of my voyage, and so on. Having satisfied his curiosity in this respect, and indulged in a little desultory chat, I unfolded the special object of my call to him, explaining my position, and asking him what he thought of my plan.
“Well,” said he, when I had finished my story, “shipping, and matters connected therewith, are rather out of my line, as you are no doubt aware; but if you can see your way to make the purchase of a ship a paying transaction I should think there ought not to be any very serious difficulty about finding the funds: the money market is said to be tight, just now, it is true; but my experience is that there is always plenty of money to be had when the prospects of a profitable investment are fairly promising. Now, for instance, it is really a most curious coincidence that you should have called upon me just at this time, for it happens that certain mortgages I held have recently been paid off, and I have been casting about for some satisfactory re-investment in which to employ the money. How much do you think it probable you will require?”
I made a rapid calculation, and named the sum which I thought would suffice.
“Coincidence number two!” he exclaimed. “Singularly enough, that happens to be precisely the amount I now have lying idle. Now, Jack, my lad, I have known you from a boy; and, though it is an axiom with us lawyers never to think well of anything or anybody, I would stake my last penny upon your integrity. So far as your honesty is concerned I would not hesitate to advance you any sum you might require that I could spare, upon the mere nominal security of your note of hand. But there are other risks than that of the borrower’s dishonesty to be considered, and they must be guarded against. Take, for example, the possibility of your failing to find remunerative employment for your ship. How is that to be guarded against?”
“You would hold a bottomry bond—in other words, a mortgage—upon the ship for the amount of your debt, which would constitute an ample security for its recovery,” I replied.
“Um—yes; just so,” he commented. “Still, a ship is not a house; the cases are by no means parallel. Then, there is the risk of loss, total or partial. The ship might be stranded, and receive so much damage that it would cost more than she was worth to repair her. Or she might become a total wreck. All such possibilities would have to be provided against by insurance, and, as a business man, I should expect to hold the policy. Would you be willing that I should do that?”
“Certainly,” I replied. “Of course, in the event of your deciding to lend me the money I require, I presume that a proper agreement would be drawn up, specifying the amount, terms, and duration of the loan, the mode of repayment, and so on—an agreement, in short, which would equally protect both our interests; and if that were done there could be no objection whatever to your holding the policy; indeed, I should most probably ask you to do so, apart from any stipulation to that effect, as it would be much safer with you than with me.”
“That is very true,” assented the old gentleman. “The chief question, however, is whether you are practically convinced that you would be acting wisely in entering upon this undertaking. Do you honestly believe that there is a reasonable prospect of your being able to make it pay? I am asking this question on your own behalf, not mine, my dear boy. I shall be quite safe, for, as a business man, I shall take care to make myself so; but failure would be simply disastrous for you. Now, tell me, honestly, have you any doubt at all as to the success of the enterprise?”
“None whatever,” I answered confidently. “There is, doubtless, plenty of hard work and anxiety in store for me, but not failure. I am master of my profession, and I have a certain modicum of business ability, as well as common sense. Never fear for me, my dear sir; I shall come out all right.”
“Upon my word, I believe you will, Jack,” the old gentleman replied. “You are a plucky young fellow, and that is half the battle in these days. However, do not decide upon anything hastily; take a little more time to think the matter over; and if, after doing so, you finally determine upon hazarding the experiment, do not go to a stranger to borrow money; come to me, and you shall be dealt fairly with.”
As I wended my way homeward, on that glorious summer afternoon, I once more turned the whole matter over in my mind, with the result that before I reached “The Spaniards” I had fully come to the determination to take the risk, such as it was, and be my own master. There was no blinking the fact that I should have to do something; and to purchase a ship and sail in my own employ seemed to be not only the best but the only thing I could do, under the circumstances.
On reaching home I found that my mother had spent the entire afternoon in a fruitless effort to decipher the cryptogram, much to her disappointment; so, by way of giving her something else to think about, I told her of the idea that had occurred to me during my walk; of the chat I had had with Mr Richards about it, and of his offer to assist me with a loan, if need were. The dear old mater entered upon the subject with enthusiasm, as she always did upon any plan or scheme upon which I had set my heart; and though at first the idea of trusting all my savings to the mercy of the treacherous sea failed to commend itself to her, she came round to my view at length, and dissipated the only scruples I had had by unreservedly assenting to my proposal.
The matter settled thus far, the next thing to be done was to obtain my master’s certificate; and this I determined to do forthwith, and to look about me for a ship at the same time. I knew exactly what I wanted, but scarcely expected to get it with the amount at my disposal, even with such assistance as Mr Richards might be able to afford me. Still, I was in no hurry for a month or two; I should have a little time to look about me; and if I could not find precisely what I wanted, I should perhaps succeed in obtaining a reasonably near approach to it.
Accordingly, on the following day I made the few preparations that were necessary; called upon Mr Richards again and acquainted him with my decision, and, on the day afterwards, took an early train to London, and not only settled myself in lodgings in the neighbourhood of Tower Hill, but also arranged with a “coach” to give me the “polishing-up” necessary to obtain my certificate, before night closed down upon the great city.