CHAPTER XXXI
LIFTING THE CURTAIN
The second mate told the truth when he said Paul Shepley was a coward and under the thumb of the former supercargo. That very evening Shepley begged to see Captain Marshall alone, and, when given the opportunity, actually fell on his knees before the master of the Stormy Petrel.
"I am willing to do anything, captain!" he groaned. "Only don't—don't swing me from the—the yardarm!" He had it firmly fixed in his mind that he was to be executed.
"You deserve to be hanged!" answered the captain. "I don't see why I should spare you."
"It was all Van Blott's fault—he fixed the whole thing from beginning to end. He got the stolen cases on board and made me promise to help in getting rid of them. And he got up the plan to run away with the ship."
After that Paul Shepley told his story in detail, and the captain became convinced that the first mate was more of a sneak than a villain.
"I will let you off, upon two conditions," said Captain Marshall, at last. "The first is, that you serve as a common sailor for the rest of this trip. Will you do it?"
"Yes, but it's pretty hard on me," whined Shepley.
"The second condition is, that you promise to appear against Van Blott, whenever called upon to do so."
"Yes, I'll do that."
"Then go forward and take Billy Dill's place in the forcastle."
"Where is Dill to go?"
"I have made him second mate and Sanders first mate."
"Oh!" murmured Paul Shepley, and said no more. It cut him deeply to take up quarters in the forecastle, where the men treated him any way but kindly, yet he was glad to get off so cheaply.
The next day was an anxious one for Dave, who was on the constant lookout for land. Toward nightfall a speck was seen in the distance, and in the morning, when he came on deck, the country youth saw before him Sobago in all of its tropical beauty, with its cozy harbor, its long stretch of white sand, and its waving palms. In the harbor were ships of several nationalities, and also numerous native canoes, and the scene was an animated one.
The boys had no difficulty in getting ashore, but once on the streets of Nanpi, they scarcely knew how to turn. They walked along slowly until they came to a shipping office, in the window of which was a sign:
English Spoken Here.
"I am going in here to ask a few questions," said Dave, and entered, followed by Phil and Roger. They found in the office a very stout and very bald old gentleman, wearing big spectacles.
"You speak English, I believe," said Dave, politely.
"I speak English, and a dozen other languages, too," said the bald-headed gentleman, peering at them curiously. "Why—er—how's this?" he added, to Dave. "Is this some joke? Why did you shave so clean?"
"Shave?" repeated Dave. His heart gave a sudden bound. "Why do you ask that question?"
"Why, I—er—this is most extraordinary!" ejaculated the man, still staring at the country youth. "I don't understand it."
"Don't understand what?"
"You look so much like a man I know—a Mr. Dunston Porter. Maybe he is some relative of yours?"
"The very man I am looking for!" cried Dave. "Can you tell me where I can find him?" His heart was almost in his throat as he asked the question. Supposing Mr. Dunston Porter had left Sobago Island for parts unknown?
"Find him? I think so. He was here yesterday and said he was going out to the ruins of the old temple on the Pokali Road. He expected to be gone all day on the trip. He'll be back to town by night."
"Then you'll have to wait, Dave," came from Phil.
"Oh, I can't wait!" burst out Dave. "How far is that old temple from here?"
"About three miles."
"Can I hire somebody to take me there? I want to see Mr. Porter as soon as possible."
"Certainly; you can get a boy for a few pennies," answered the bald-headed man. "There is a boy now who wants a job." And he beckoned to an urchin who sat on an empty box, eating a banana.
When the lad came up the man explained in the native tongue, and soon the party set off, Dave first thanking the bald-headed man for his kindness.
To Phil and Roger the walk on the tropical road was long, hot, and dusty. But Dave was so busy with his thoughts that he did not notice he was walking at all. How much the next hour or two might reveal!
Presently they came in sight of a ruined pile, which the native boy pointed out as the old temple. Dave forged ahead and hurried into the ruins, and then around to the back. Here, from under some palms, could be had a fine view of the surrounding country.
A hasty glance around revealed to Dave the form of a man, lying on the grass half asleep. The country youth hurried forward, gave a good look, and uttered a little cry, at which the man sat up suddenly.
"Who are you?" asked the man, and then he began to stare at Dave very hard.
"Is this Mr. Dunston Porter?" asked Dave, in a voice he tried in vain to steady.
"Yes, that's my name. But you" The man paused expectantly.
"I am Dave Porter. I have come about seven thousand miles to see you."
"Dave Porter! Seven thousand miles to see me! I must be dreaming!" The man leaped to his feet and came up to Dave. "How is this? Won't you explain?"
"I will try, Mr. Porter."
"They do look exactly alike!" said Phil to Roger, in a whisper. "What an extraordinary likeness!"
"No wonder Billy Dill was startled when he first met Dave," added the senator's son.
"I have come about seven thousand miles to see you."
Page 274.
Dunston Porter heard the talk and looked at the others. At this Phil took a step forward.
"We are Dave Porter's school chums," he explained. "My name is Phil Lawrence, and this is Roger Morr."
"Glad to know you. Did you travel seven thousand miles to see me, too?" went on the man.
"Hardly that, but we took the trip with Dave," answered Roger.
"He wanted to find the man who looked like him," continued Phil, for he saw Dave could hardly speak for his emotion. "And he has found him. You two look exactly alike—that is, you would, if your mustache was shaved off."
"Yes?" Dunston Porter paused. "Is that all?"
"No! no!" cried Dave, struggling to keep calm. "I came to—to find out something about myself, if I could. It's a long story, and I'll have to start at the beginning. When I was a youngster about three years old, I was picked up alongside a rail road track by some farming people. They supposed I had been put off a train by somebody who wanted to get rid of me. They asked me my name, and I said something that sounded to them like Davy and Dun-Dun and Porter, and so they called me Dave Porter."
"Ah!" cried Dunston Porter, and he was all attention. "Go on."
"I was taken to the poorhouse, and then went to live with some other folks who were very kind to me, and one rich gentleman sent me to a boarding school. While there I helped an old sailor named Billy Dill"
"Billy Dill! Well, I never! Go on, please."
"He was struck when he saw me—said I was somebody else with my mustache shaved off, and a lot more. He finally told me about you, and said you had told him about a crazy nurse and a lost child, and so I made up my mind to find you, if I could, and see if you knew anything about my past." Dave's lips began to quiver again. "Can you tell me anything?"
"I—I—perhaps so." Dunston Porter's voice was also quivering. "Can you prove this story about being found near a railroad?"
"Yes."
"About thirteen years ago?"
"Yes."
"In the eastern part of the United States?"
"Yes, near a village called Crumville. They say I said something about a bad man who wouldn't buy some candy for me. It may be that that man put me off the train."
"He did!" almost shouted Dunston Porter. "It was Sandy Margot, the worthless husband of the crazy nurse, Polly Margot, you just mentioned. She took the child and turned the boy over to her husband. Margot wanted to make money out of the abduction, but, during his travels with the little one, he learned that detectives were after him, and, when the train stopped one day, he put the child off and promised it some candy to keep it from crying. He got away, and we never heard of him for about six years. Then he was rounded up in a burglary and badly wounded. He confessed at the hospital, but he could not tell the name of the place where the child had been dropped. We made a search, but could discover nothing. Margot died, and so did his crazy wife; and there the whole matter has been resting."
"But who am I?" cried Dave, unable to restrain the question any longer.
"Oh, you don't know that? I thought Billy Dill knew. If what you have told me is true, you are the son of my twin brother, David Breslow Porter."