Several more or less severe accidents have been caused by them, and so numerous have they become that, within the past few months, several vessels belonging to our navy have gone “derelict cruising”—blowing up and sinking the most dangerous wrecks afloat in the North Atlantic.
At the time of the Silver Swan’s reported loss, however, it was everybody’s business to destroy the vessels, and therefore nobody’s. At any time, however, the hull of the brig, reported by the steamship Montevideo as floating off Cuba, might be run into and sunk by some other vessel, such collisions being not at all uncommon.
Brandon Tarr realized that there was but a small chance of the Silver Swan being recovered, owing to these circumstances; yet he would not have been a Tarr had he not been willing to take the chance and do all he could to secure what he was quite convinced was a valuable treasure.
Derelicts had been recovered and towed into port for their salvage alone, and the Silver Swan was, he knew, richly laden. It might also be possible to repair the hull of the brig, for she was a well built craft, and if she had withstood the shock of being ground on the reef so well, she might even yet be made to serve for several years.
These thoughts flitted through the mind of the boy as he slowly crossed the wet fields toward the farm house.
“I’ll go tomorrow morning—Uncle Arad or no Uncle Arad,” he decided. “It won’t do to leave the old fellow alone, so I’ll step down after dinner and speak to Mrs. Hemingway about coming up here. He will have to have her any way within a few days, so it won’t much matter.”
He didn’t really know how to broach the subject to the old man, for he felt assured that his great uncle would raise manifold objections to his departure. He had lived at the farm four years now and Uncle Arad had come to depend on him in many ways.
They had eaten dinner—a most miserable meal—and Don was washing the dishes before he spoke.
“Uncle Arad,” he said, trying to talk in a most matter of fact way, “now that father is—is gone and I have nothing to look forward to, I believe I’ll strike out for myself. I’m past sixteen and big enough and old enough to look out for myself. I think I shall get along faster by being out in the world and brushing against folks, and I reckon I’ll go to New York.”
Uncle Arad fairly wilted into his seat, and stared at Don in utter surprise.