START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOY FORTUNE HUNTERS IN EGYPT*** E-text prepared by Mary Glenn Krause, MFR, Stephen Hutcheson, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 55845-h.htm or 55845-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/55845/55845-h/55845-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/55845/55845-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/boyfortunehunter00aker Transcriberâs note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). [Illustration: Ships of the desert.] THE BOY FORTUNE HUNTERS IN EGYPT by FLOYD AKERS Author of âThe Boy Fortune Hunters In Panama,â etc. [Illustration: Publisher Logo] Chicago The Reilly & Britton Co. Chicago * * * * * * BOYS BOOKS BY FLOYD AKERS The Boy Fortune Hunters in Alaska The Boy Fortune Hunters in Panama The Boy Fortune Hunters in Egypt Cloth 12 mos. Splendidly Illustrated. Price 60 cents each. * * * * * * Copyright 1908 by The Reilly & Britton Co. LIST OF CHAPTERS CHAPTER PAGE I The Runaway 9 II Our Venture 21 III An Obstinate Passenger 47 IV A Riot and a Rescue 65 V The Professorâs Secret 76 VI The Treasure of the Ancients 92 VII A Great Undertaking 109 VIII Gege-Merak 119 IX Across the Black Mountains 135 X Deep in the Desert Sands 150 XI Taking Chances 167 XII Abdul Hashim Explains 183 XIII Prisoners 204 XIV The Well of the Scorpions 213 XV Van Dorn Turns Traitor 222 XVI The Mad Camel 233 XVII Iva 242 XVIII Ketti Proves a Friend 250 XIX Lovelace Pasha 261 XX The Khedive Takes the Last Trickâbut One 275 CHAPTER I. THE RUNAWAY. I was standing on the deck of the _Seagull_, looking over the rail and peering into the moonlight that flooded the bay where we lay at anchor, when the soft dip of an oar caught my ear. It was the softest dip in the world, stealthy as that of an Indian, and in the silence that reigned aboard ship I stood motionless, listening for a repetition of the sound. It came presentlyâthe mere rustle of the drops as they slid off the oarâs bladeâand a small boat stole from the shadows astern and crept to our side. I glanced along the rail and saw, a few paces away, the dim form of the watch, alert and vigilant; but the man knew I was there, and forbore to hail the mysterious craft below. At a snailâs pace the boat glided along our side until it was just beneath me, when I could see a blot in the moonlight that resembled a human form. Then a voice, so gentle that it scarce rose above the breeze, called out: âAhoy, mate!â Now I ought to explain that all this was surprising; we were a simple, honest American merchant ship, lying in home waters and without an element of mystery in our entire outfit. On the neighboring shore of the harbor could be seen the skids from which the _Seagull_ had been launched a month before, and every man and boy in Chelsea knew our history nearly as well as we did ourselves. But our midnight visitor had chosen to steal upon us in a manner as unaccountable as it was mysterious, and his hail I left unanswered while I walked to the landing steps and descended them until I stood upon the platform that hung just over the boat. And now I perceived that the tubâfor it was little elseâwas more than half full of water, and that the gunwale rode scarce an inch above the smooth surface of the bay. The miserable thing was waterlogged and about to sink, yet its occupant sat half submerged in his little pool, as quiet and unconcerned as if no danger threatened. âWhatâs up?â I demanded, speaking rather sternly. The form half rose, the tub tipped and filled, and with a gentle splash both disappeared from view and left me staring at the eddies. I was about to call for help when the form bobbed up again and a hand shot out and grasped a rope dangling from the landing stage. I leaned over to assist, and the fellow scrambled up the line with remarkable agility until I was able to seize his collar and drag him, limp and dripping, to a place beside me. At this time I was just eighteen years of age and, I must confess, not so large in size as I longed to be; but the slender, bent form of the youth whom I had rescued was even of less stature than my own. As he faced me in the moonlight and gave a gasp to clear the water from his throat, I noted the thin, pinched features and the pair of large, dark eyes that gazed with pleading earnestness into my own. âFor Heavenâs sake, what are you up to?â I asked, impatiently; âand how came you to be afloat in that miserable tub? Itâs a wonder you didnât sink long before you reached our side.â âSo it is,â he replied in a low voice. âAre youâare you Sam Steele, sir?â âYes.â âAh! I hoped it would be you. Can I go aboard, sir? I want to talk to you.â I could not well have refused, unless I consigned the fellow to the waters of the bay again. Moreover, there was a touching and eager appeal in the ladâs tones that I could not resist. I turned and climbed to the deck, and he followed me as silently as a shadow. Then, leaning against the rail, I inquired somewhat testily: âCouldnât you wait until morning to pay me a visit? And hadnât you enough sense to know that old dinghy wouldnât float?â âBut it did float, sir, until I got here; and that answered my purpose very well,â he replied. âI had to come at night to keep from being discovered and recaptured.â âOh! Youâre a criminal, then. Eh?â âIn a way, sir. Iâm an escaped cabin-boy.â That made me laugh. I began to understand, and the knowledge served to relieve the strain and dissolve the uncanny effect of the incident. An escaped cabin-boy! Well, that was nothing very wonderful. âHere, come to my room and get some dry togs,â I said, turning abruptly to the gangway. The lad followed and we passed silently through the after-cabin, past the door of Uncle Nabothâs quartersâwhence issued a series of stentorian snoresâand so into my own spacious stateroom, where I lighted a lamp and carefully closed the door. âNow, then,â I exclaimed, pulling some of my old clothes from a locker, âslip on this toggery at once, so your teeth will stop chattering.â He discarded his dripping garments and replaced them with my dry flannel shirt and blue trousers, my thick socks and low shoes. I picked up his own ragged clothes and with a snort of contempt for their bedraggled and threadbare condition tossed them out of the window into the sea. âOh!â he exclaimed, and clutched at his breast. âWhatâs the matter?â I asked. âNothing. I thought at first you had thrown away motherâs picture; but itâs here, all right,â and he patted his breast tenderly. âHungry?â I inquired. âYes, sir.â He gave a shiver, as if he had just remembered this condition; and I brought some biscuits and a tin of sardines from my cupboard and placed them before him. The boy ate ravenously, washing down the food with a draught of water from the bottle in the rack. I waited for him to finish before I questioned him. Then, motioning him to a seat on my bunk, for he seemed weak and still trembled a bit, I said: âNow, tell me your story.â âIâm a Texan,â he replied, slowly, âand used to live in Galveston. My folks are dead and an uncle took care of me until a year ago, when he was shot in a riot. I didnât mind that; he was never very good to me; but when he was gone I had no home at all. So I shipped as a cabin-boy aboard the _Gonzales_, a tobacco sloop plying between Galveston and Key West, for I always loved the sea and this was the best berth I could get. The Captain, Jose Marrow, is half Mexican and the cruelest man in the world. He whipped me when he was drunk, and abused and cuffed me when sober, and many a time I hoped he would kill me instead of keeping up the tortures I suffered. Finally he came up here with a cargo, and day before yesterday, just as he had unloaded and was about to sail again, he sent me ashore on an errand. Of course I skipped. I ran along the bay and hid in a lumber shed, from the top of which I could watch the _Gonzales_. She didnât sail, because old Marrow was bound to have me back, I guess; so I had to lay low, and all the time I was sure heâd find me in the end and get me back. The sloopâs in the bay yet, sir, only about a quarter of a mile away.â âWell?â âWell, last evening a couple of men came to sort some of the timbers, and I lay hid on top the pile and listened to their talk. They spoke of the _Seagull_, and how it was to sail far away into the Mediterranean, and was the best built ship that ever left this port.â âThatâs true enough, my lad.â âAnd they said Capân Steele was the best man to work for in the merchant service, and his son, Sam Steeleâthatâs you, sirâwas bound to make as good a sailor as his dad, and had been in some queer adventures already, and was sure to find more of them before he was much older.â I had to smile at that evident âtaffy,â and my smile left the boy embarrassed. He hesitated a moment, and then continued: âTo a poor devil like me, sir, such a tale made me believe this ship a floating paradise. Iâve heard of captains who are not as cruel as old Marrow; so when the men had gone I decided to get to you in some way and beg you to take me aboard. You see, the Mexican is waiting to hunt me down, and Iâd die sooner than go back to his terrible ship. If youâll take me with you, Mr. Steele, Iâll be faithful and true, and work like a nigger for you. If you wonât, why, just say the word, and Iâll jump overboard again.â âCan you swim?â âNo.â I thought a moment. âWhatâs your name?â I asked, finally. âJoe Herring.â âWell, Joe, youâre asking something unusual, I must say. Iâm not the captain of the _Seagull_, but merely purser, or to be more exact the secretary to Mr. Perkins, the supercargo. I own a share in the ship, to be sure, and purchased it with money I made myself; but that fact doesnât count when weâre at sea, and Captain Steele is the last man in the world to harbor a runaway member of the crew of a friendly ship. Indeed, your old master came aboard us this morning, to inquire about you, and I heard my father say that if he set eyes on you anywhere heâd let Captain Marrow know. As he never breaks his word this promise is to be depended upon. Do you see, now, what a fix youâre in?â âI do, sir.â His voice was low and despondent and he seemed to shrink back in his seat into an attitude hopeless and helpless. I looked at the boy more closely, and the appeal in his pinched features, that had struck me at the first glance on the landing stage, became more impressive than ever. âHow old are you, Joe?â âFifteen, sir.â He was tall, but miserably thin. His brown hair, now wet and clinging about his face, curled naturally and was thick and of fine texture, while his dark eyes were handsome enough to be set in the face of a girl. This, with a certain manly dignity that shone through his pitiful expression, decided me to befriend the lad, and I had an inspiration even in that first hour of meeting that Joe Herring would prove a loyal follower and a faithful friend. âWe sail at ten oâclock, and itâs now past midnight,â I remarked, thoughtfully. âYes, sir; Iâll go any time you say.â âBut you canât swim, Joe.â âNever mind. Donât let me be a bother to you. Youâll want to turn in,â casting a wistful look around my pleasant room, âand so Iâll find my way on deck and you neednât give me another thought.â âVery good,â said I, nodding. âI think Iâll turn in this minute.â He rose up, slowly. âJust climb into that upper berth, Joe, and go to sleep. Thereâll be work for you tomorrow, and youâll need to get rested.â He stared into my smiling face a moment with a startled look that soon became radiant. Then he broke down and cried like a baby. âHere, no snivelling!â I growled, savagely. âPile into that berth; but see you get your shoes off, first.â He obeyed, still blubbering but evidently struggling to restrain his sobs. Indeed, his privations of the past two days, half starved and hunted like a dog, had completely unnerved the poor fellow. When he had tumbled into the berth I locked the door, put out the light, and rolled myself in my own blanket. A few moments later I heard Joe stirring. He leaned over the edge of the bunk and murmured: âGod bless you, Sam Steele! Iâll never forget, sir, the way youâââ âOh, shut up and go to sleep, Joe,â I cried. âYouâve kept me awake long enough already.â âYes, sir.â And after that he was silent. CHAPTER II. OUR VENTURE. Those who were present at the launching of our beautiful new _Seagull_ were unanimous in declaring her the trimmest, daintiest, most graceful craft that had ever yet floated in the waters of old Chelsea bay. Her color was pure white, her brass work brilliant as gold. She was yacht built, on the lines of the fast express boats, and no expense had been spared in her construction or fittings. My father, Captain Steele, one of the ablest and best known sailors on the Atlantic coast, had personally supervised the building of the _Seagull_ and watched every step of progress and inspected every bit of timber, steel, or brass, so that nothing might be slighted in any way. She was one hundred and eighty-seven feet in length, with a thirty-six foot beam and a depth of twenty-one feet, and her net tonnage was close to fourteen hundred. We had her schooner rigged, because Captain Steele believed in sailing and had designed his ship for a merchantman of the highest class, but of the old school. Uncle Naboth and I, who were also part owners of the shipâthe firm being Steele, Perkins & Steeleâhad begged earnestly to convert her into a modern steamer; but my father angrily resented the suggestion. âHer nameâs the _Seagull_,â he declared, âanâ a seagull without wings âud be a doggone jack-rabbit; so wings she musâ have, my lads, ef Dick Steeleâs goinâ to sail her.â We had really put a fortune into the craft, and Uncle Nabothâa shrewd old trader who marked the world as it moved and tried to keep pace with itâwas as anxious to have the ship modern in every respect as I was. So we stood stubbornly side by side and argued with the Captain until he finally granted a partial concession to our wishes and consented to our installing an auxiliary equipment of a screw propeller driven by powerful engines, with the express understanding that they must only be used in case of emergency. âItâs a rank waste oâ money, anâ takes up vallyble room,â he growled; âbut ef so be you ainât satisfied with decent spars anâ riggin,â why, git your blarsted olâ machinery aboardâanâ be hanged to ye both!â This consent was obtained soon after my return from Panama, but Uncle Naboth and I had ordered the engines months previously, having been determined to install them from the day the _Seagull_ was first planned; so no time was lost in getting them placed. You will know the _Seagull_ more intimately as my story progresses, so I will avoid a detailed description of it just now, merely adding that the ship was at once the envy and admiration of all beholders and the pride and joy of her three owners. My father had sailed for forty years and had at one time lost his right leg in a shipwreck, so that he stumped around with a cork substitute. But he was as energetic and active as in his youth, and his vast experience fully justified his reputation as one of the ablest and shrewdest seamen in the merchant service. Indeed, Captain Steele was universally known and respected, and I had good reason to be proud of the bluff old salt who owned me as his son. He had prejudices, it is true, acquired through many strange adventures at sea and in foreign parts; but his heart was simple and frank as that of a child, and we who knew him best and loved him well had little fear of his stubborn temperament. Naboth Perkins, my dead motherâs brother, was also a remarkable man in his way. He knew the sea as well as did my father, but prided himself on the fact that he âcouldnât navigate a ferry-boat,â having always sailed as supercargo and devoted his talents to trading. He had been one of my earliest and most faithful friends, and although I was still a mere boy at the time the _Seagull_ was launched, I had encountered some unusual adventures in company with quaint, honest Uncle Naboth, and won certain bits of prize money that had proved the foundation of our fortunes. These prize-winnings, converted into hard cash, had furnished the funds for building our new ship, in which we purposed beginning a conservative, staid career as American merchantmen, leaving adventures behind us and confining ourselves to carrying from port to port such merchandise as might be consigned to our care. You will hear how well our modest intention was fulfilled. The huge proportions and staunch construction of the _Seagull_ would enable her to sail in any known sea with perfect safety, and long before she was completed we were besieged with proposals from shippers anxious to secure our services. Uncle Naboth, who handled all such matters for our firm, finally contracted with a big Germantown manufacturer of âOrientalâ rugs to carry a load of bales to Syria, consigned to merchants there who would distribute them throughout Persia, Turkey and Egypt, to be sold to American and European tourists and carried to their homes as treasures of Oriental looms. It was not so much the liberal payment we received as the fact that the long voyage to the Syrian port would give us an opportunity of testing the performances of the _Seagull_ that induced Mr. Perkins to accept the contract and undertake the lengthy voyage. âIf she skims the Atlantic anâ the Mediterranean all right,â said he, âthe boatâll weather any sea on earth; so we may as well find out at the start what sheâs good for. âSides that, weâre gittinâ a thunderinâ price fer cartinâ them rags to Syria, anâ so the deal seems a good one all âround.â My father gravely approved the transaction. He also was eager to test the powers of our beautiful new ship, and this would not be his first voyage to the Orient, by any means. So the papers were made out and signed and as soon as our last fittings and furnishings were installed and our crew aboard we were to voyage down the coast in sunny September weather and anchor in the Chesapeake, there to load our cargo. Our shipâs company had been carefully selected, for the fame of my fatherâs new vessel and the popularity of the Captain himself attracted to us the best seamen available; so we had the satisfaction of signing a splendid company of experienced men. In addition to these sailors we shipped a first and second engineer, clever young fellows that became instantly unpopular with my father, who glared at the poor âmechanicsâ as if he considered them interlopers, if not rank traitors. Some of the seamen, it was arranged, would act as stokers if the engines were called into requisition, so with the addition of a couple of oilers who were also carpenterâs assistants we were satisfied we might at any time steam or sail, as the occasion demanded. I am sure Captain Steele had already acknowledged in his heart that we were justified in equipping the _Seagull_ with engines, since any old salt fully realizes the horror of being becalmed and knows the loss such a misfortune is sure to entail in time, wages, and grub. But he would not admit it. Instead, he persisted in playing the part of a much injured and greatly scandalized seaman. It would be time enough to âtake waterâ when the value of the propeller was fully proved. Ned Britton was Captainâs Mate, of course. Ned had sailed with my father for years; he had also sailed two exciting voyages with Uncle Naboth and me, and we all admired and respected this strong, gallant fellow as much as we had come to trust in his ability. Two other curious characters were established fixtures of any craft that the firm of Steele, Perkins & Steele might own. These were two stalwart black men named Nux and Bryonia, South Sea Islanders whom Uncle Naboth had rescued from death years before and attached to his service. Since then they had become my own trusted friends, and more than once had I owed my life to their intelligence and faithfulness. Bryonia, or Bry, as we called him, was a famous cook, and always had charge of our shipâs galley. With Bry aboard we were never in want of a substantial, well cooked meal; for, as Uncle Naboth was wont to declare: âThet Bry could take a ropeâs end anâ a bit oâ tarpaulin anâ make a Paris tubble-de-hoot outân âem.â Nux was cabin steward and looked after our comforts aft with a deftness and skill that were wholly admirable. These blacks were both of them shrewd, loyal, and brave, and we knew we might always depend upon their fidelity. On the morning following my adoption of Joe Herring I left the runaway locked up in my stateroom and went on deck to watch the final preparations for our departure. A fair breeze swept down the bay, so at ten oâclock we hoisted anchor, spread our main and foresails and, slowly gathering way, the _Seagull_ slipped through the water on her maiden trip amid the shouts of hundreds who stood on the shore to watch and bid us God speed. We fired a shot from our small howitzer as a parting salute to our friends, dipped our pennants in gallant fashion, showed our heels, and sped away so swiftly that the harbor was soon left far behind. We passed the old _Gonzales_ soon after leaving our anchorage. It was still waiting to recapture its absconding cabin-boy, though why Captain Marrow should attach so much importance to the youth I could not then understand. As soon as we were well at sea I liberated Joe and told him he was to be my special servant and assistant, but must also help Nux to look after the cabin during his spare timeâwhich was likely to be plentiful enough. Knowing that the sooner I established the ladâs footing aboard the easier it would be for us both, I sent him on an errand that would take him past my fatherâs station on the deck. His sharp eye encountered the boy at once, as I had expected, and he promptly roared out an order for him to halt. Joe stopped and saluted respectfully. He was looking cheery and bright this morning; indeed, a different boy from the one I had pulled from the sinking dinghy the night before. Life bore a new aspect for Joe and his heart was light as a feather. He looked honest and wholesome enough in the fresh blue suit I had given him, and he had been duly warned that his only remaining danger lay in not winning the countenance of the skipper. âWho are you? âNâ where ânâ thunderâd you come from?â demanded Captain Steele. âJoe Herring, sir. Master Samâs assistant, sir,â answered the boy, in his quiet tones. âAssistant! Bungs anâ barnacles! Assistant to Sam! What doinâ? Loafinâ anâ a-killinâ time?â âI beg to refer you to Master Sam, sir,â was the composed answer, although from where I watched the scene I could see that Joe was badly frightened. âWhat Sam needs is suthinâ to do, more ân a grub-devourinâ assistant,â pursued my father, sternly. âLook here; did my son lug you aboard?â âHe did, sir,â replied Joe, truthfully. âSend him to me, then,â ordered my father. I stepped forward at once, saluting the Captain with my usual deference. When we were at sea I had been taught to put by the fact that this was my father, bearing in mind only the immediate fact that he was my commander. Still, in my capacity as secretary to Uncle Naboth I was in a measure independent of shipâs discipline. âWhat tricks are you up to now, Sam?â demanded the Captain, scowling at me. âFather, this boy was the runaway from the _Gonzales_, whom Captain Marrow has been seeking so earnestly. He was so abused by the dirty Mexican that he would rather die than return to his slavery. So he threw himself on my mercy, and knowing he would surely be retaken if I left him ashore, I brought the lad with us. Donât blame him, sir. Iâll take all the responsibility.â The Captain stared at me a moment. âSee that you do, then,â he grumbled. âSam, itâs a illegal anâ unperfessional act to harbor a runaway.â âYes, sir.â âUsually no good ever comes of it.â âHeâs an honest lad, sir.â The Captain eyed him closely. âItâs no affair oâ mine,â he muttered, half turning away. âThe boy belongs now to the Perkins outfit, mind you. Iâll have no runaways ner stowaways in my crew.â I knew then the battle was won, and that my father would refuse to surrender Joe to his old captain under any circumstances. The âPerkins outfit,â so sneeringly referred to, meant Uncle Naboth and myself, and although it was evident the mission of the _Seagull_ was dependent on the âPerkins outfitâ to manage and arrange its commerce in a profitable manner, it pleased my father to denominate us landlubbers and consider us of âno âcountâ in the sailing of the ship. Uncle Naboth wasnât aboard yet. He had gone by rail some days before to Philadelphia to attend to the business of our cargo, and it was not until we anchored in the placid waters of the Chesapeake that my uncle appeared, smiling and cheery as ever. Mr. Perkins was short and stout, with a round, chubby face, smoothly shaven, and a circle of iron-gray locks around his bald head. His eyes were small, light blue and twinkling; his expression simple and childlike; his speech inelegant and with a humorous twist that rendered him an agreeable companion. But as a trader Naboth Perkins was famed far and wide; his shrewdness was proverbial; his talent for bargaining fairly marvelous; his honesty undisputed. I have heard merchants say it was a pleasure to pay Mr. Perkins his demands, even though they could procure the same service elsewhere at less cost. For he was square as a die, faithful to the smallest detail, and his word was absolutely to be relied upon. The little old gentleman was known as a money-maker, and had been the partner of my father, his brother-in-law, for many years. Such a character could not fail to be eccentric, and Uncle Nabothâs ways were at time puzzling; but I knew he was devoted to me, since he had proved this quality many times; and I naturally regarded my whimsical uncle with great affection. When Mr. Perkins came aboard he announced that the bales of rugs were all on the dock and ready to load without delay. I was much interested in our queer cargo, for it seemed strange to me that Americans should ship âOrientalâ rugs to the Orient, to be purchased there by Americans and brought back home again. But Uncle Naboth, who had been through the mills at Germantown, explained the matter very clearly. âYou see,â he said, âthere ainât enough genooine Oriental rugs left to supply the demand, now thet theyâve got to be sich a fad with rich people. When the Orient was fust diskivered there was a good many rugs there, but it had took years to make each one of âem, anâ some was so old they had holes wore in âem; but that made âem the more vallyble âcause it proved they was antiques. They picked âem up fast, anâ the Orientals was glad to sell âem anâ say nothinâ. Evâry tourist thet goes to the East wants to buy rugs to send home, anâ heâll pay âmost any price thatâs asked fer rare olâ patterns anâ dim, washed-out colors. Ef thereâs a few holes, badly mended, so much the better, fer they proves the rugs is old. So the clever Easterners anâ the cleverer Yankees hit on a scheme to supply the demand, anâ here in Germantown they makes thousands of rare olâ Oriental rugs every year. They buy a few genooine ones to copy the patterns from, anâ they weave âem by machinery. Then the new rugs is put into a machine that beats dust anâ dirt into âem anâ beats it out again, till the new, fresh colors gits old anâ faded. After this theyâre run through a rubbinâ machine that wears âem down some anâ makes a few holes, here anâ there; anâ then the menders take âem anâ darn the holes. In about a dayâs time one oâ them rugs goes through about as much wear anâ tear by machinery as it would get in centuries of use; anâ fer my part I canât tell the diffârence atween a genooine Oriental anâ a imitation one. Weâve got a whole cargo to take to Syria, anâ in a few months theyâll mostly come back agin, anâ be laid on the floors of our millionaires. Queer traffic, ainât it, Sam? But if you stops to think, thereâs been enough Oriental rugs carted outân the Orient, in the last hundred years, to carpet most of Asia anâ Africa with; so it stands to reason they ainât all the real thing. If it wasnât fer Yankee ingenooity anâ Oriental trickery the supplyâd been exhausted years ago, anâ our peopleâd hev to carpet their floors with honest, fresh rugs instead oâ these machine worn imitations. That would break their hearts, wouldnât it?â But Uncle Naboth had arranged also to carry another queer line of merchandise on our voyage, consisting of several large cases consigned by a Connecticut manufacturer. These contained imitations of ancient Egyptian scarabs (a sort of mud beetle considered sacred by the old sun-worshippers), and a collection of funeral figures, tiny household gods and other articles supposed to be found only in the tombs of the primitive kings and nobles of Egypt. âThe Egyptian govâment,â explained Uncle Naboth, âwonât let any more genooine relics be taken outân the country, âcause they wants âem all fer the Cairo Museum; so the Yankees hev come to the front agin, anâ made mud relics by the bushel, soâs the eager tourists can buy what they wants to bring home anâ prove theyâve been there. These cases oâ goods is consigned to merchants in Luxor, a little town up the Nile, anâ Iâve agreed to run over to Alexandria, after weâve unloaded our Syrian rugs, anâ dump the rubbish on the dock there. There ainât many cases of it, but the profits is so big that we get well paid for the job.â âBut how did these wares get to Philadelphia from Connecticut?â asked my father. âOh, Iâve been correspondinâ with olâ Ackley, the Yankee that makes âem, fer some time,â said my uncle, âbut I couldnât tell how much room the rugs would take up until I got here. When I found I could stow the Egyptian rubbish, I telegraphed to Ackley anâ the consignment got here by freight yesterday. But that ainât the worst of it, partners.â âWhat is the worst?â I inquired. âWhy, the Yankee manufacturer has sent me his beloved son, with a letter askinâ me to carry him with us to Egypt, soâs he can study the country anâ find out what ancient relics they need supplied in large quantities, anâ collect from the dealers fer this first batch.â âWe donât take passengers,â said my father, sharply. âSo I said; but the young duffer is here, anâ wonât take no fer an answer. He says heâs willin to pay fer his passage, anâ his dad wants him to keep an eye on them precious modern antiquities as weâre to carry. So Iâve put the case up to you, anâ you can decide it.â âItâs none oâ my business, Naboth,â said my father, turning away with a frown; âI donât like passengers, but you anâ Sam can do as you please. Only, if you take him, keep him out oâ my way.â Uncle winked at me, and I knew the passenger would be booked. Work of loading the cargo progressed rapidly, and in two days the bales of rugs were all aboard and carefully stowed in our dry and ample hold. Then the Yankee antiques for Egypt appeared for loading, and with them came a youth whose appearance caused me to smile involuntarily. âArchibald Ackley, Jr., Middletown, Conn.,â his cards read. He was a stocky, well built fellow about seventeen years of age, although he evidently wished to appear much older. He had sharp gray eyes, lanky hair of light tow color, immense hands and feet, a swaggering gait, and a style of dress gay enough to rival the plumage of a bird-of-paradise. Archibaldâs features might have been handsome originally, but a swiftly pitched base-ball had once ruthlessly pushed his generous nose against his left cheek, and there it had remained. The youth sported a heavy watchchain that was palpably plated, a big âdiamondâ on his cravat that perhaps came from the famous âBarrios mines,â of New York, and his fingers were loaded with rings of vast proportions set with doubtful gems. It may be Mr. Ackley, Jr., imagined himself an exquisite, and sought to impress people by a display of wealth that may have cost him or his father several dollars; but, as I said, my first glimpse of his gorgeous person caused me to smileâan impertinence I quickly tried to repress. Mr. Perkins and I considered carefully the young manâs request for a passage to Egypt, and as we had ample accommodations we decided to take him along; but when he came for his answer and I caught sight of him for the first time, I almost regretted our decision. Uncle Naboth, however, seemed not to be disagreeably impressed. He shook the boyâs handâit was a âflipper,â all rightâwith cordial greeting and said to him: âVery good, Archie, my lad; weâve talked it over anâ you can go âlong ef so be you want to. But remember this is a merchantman, anâ no passenger ship, anâ make up your mind to abide by Capân Steeleâs rules anâ reggleations.â âThatâs fair,â said the boy, evidently pleased. âIâm not likely to bother any one. All I want is a berth to sleep in and three square meals a day. Howâs the feed?â âWhy, we have hearty appetites, ourselves, my lad, anâ thereâs no call for you to starve as I knows on,â with a wink at me. âYouâll eat at our table anâ have the best the ship affords.â âThatâs what I want,â said Archie, nodding his bullet head; âthereâs nothing too good for me. Whatâs the price for the passage?â I told him. âThatâs a pretty steep figure,â he rejoined, uneasily. âI can take an ocean liner for about the same cost.â âIt is your privilege, sir,â I said, stiffly. âWe donât want passengers; so we donât want you. But Mr. Perkins is disposed to accommodate you because your father is one of our shippers. Go or stay, as you like; but make up your mind quickly, for we sail at seven.â He scowled first at me and then at uncle; but presently he grinned. âI havenât a choice,â said he, carelessly. âPopâs paying the shot, for he wants me to keep an eye on the scarabs and things and see the goods safe landed and the money collected for them. Theyâre shipped to a lot of dirty Arabs who canât be trusted. So hereâs your money, and Iâll mail the receipt for the passage to Pop before we skate away, so heâll know itâs you who are robbing him instead of me.â I felt like punching the cadâs nose, but Uncle Naboth laughed good naturedly and nodded approval. âThatâs businesslike anâ to the point,â said he. âTake the money, Sam, and give our passenger the proper receipt.â I did so, and Archibald Ackley, Jr., stalked away down the dock to fetch his baggage from the hotel. To my surprise the _Gonzales_ made the harbor that afternoon and anchored alongside us. I promptly hid the trembling Joe in my cabin and locked him up; it proved a wise action because Captain Marrow lost no time in boarding us and asking for an interview with Captain Steele. This made me nervous, for I knew my father would not lie under any circumstances, and I dreaded the result of the ugly Mexicanâs visit. So I stood beside my father to make every possible endeavor to save my protege from recapture. âCapân Steele, sir, whereâs my cabin-boy?â asked Marrow, gruffly, as he came up and touched his cap. My father looked him over with grave attention. âCapân Marrow,â he replied, sternly, âwhereâs that calf that broke outân my ten-acre lot three year ago come next Sunday?â Marrow muttered a curse and glared at us evilly. âI happen to know, Steele, that my boy Joe, who was tryinâ to vamoose, stole a rotten dinghy anâ rowed out to the _Seagull_ the night afore you sailed. Ainât thet so?â âMebbe,â said my father. âThen I demand him in the name oâ the law, anâ Iâll hold you here in the bay till you give me back the stolen goods,â continued Marrow, savagely. âNed,â said my father, turning quietly to his brawny mate, âshow Capân Marrow over the side, anâ if heâs too slow in goinâ, toss him overboard.â âAye, aye, sir,â returned Ned, pleasantly. âIâll hev the law, remember! You canât sail from the harbor till youâve given up my property!â roared the exasperated Mexican. âMebbe,â repeated my father, again, as he turned indifferently away. But I saw trouble brewing and resolved to head it off. âCaptain Marrow,â I said, politely, with a motion to Ned to delay his intention, for the mateâs hand was lifted to seize the fellow in his terrible grip, âplease allow me to explain this case. A boyâperhaps it was your runawayâdid indeed board us at Chelsea, as you say; but my father, Captain Steele, did not discover his presence until we were at sea. Then we were obliged to carry him on here, where he was put upon the dock. I assure you I saw him bolt for the land as fast as he could go.â This was true in fact, as I had sent Joe on an errand. I did not relate, of course, that the boy had quickly returned, but my tale seemed to impress Marrow and explain why Captain Steele had so recklessly sneered at his demands, as if wilfully defying the marine law. âIf you make haste, sir,â I continued, very courteously, âyou may still be able to lay hands on the boy, who I am sure has no money to take him any distance from Philadelphia.â Marrow looked at me shrewdly. âDid Joe say anything about me, or about money?â he asked. âNot a word, sir,â answering the last question. âBut I advise you to make haste. And you must forgive Captain Steele for his abrupt answers, caused by what he considered the insolence of your demand and the knowledge that you are in the wrong in threatening to hold his ship. You know, sir, it would cost you heavily to do this, when the court found you were unable to prove your case.â This argument decided the man. He swore a nasty oath and stamped his foot in futile rage; but he at once left the ship to be rowed ashore, and that was the last we saw of him. Still I wondered at his interest in the miserable, half starved boy he had so wickedly abused; and I wondered at his strange question about money. There must be some mystery about Joe. At seven oâclock, all being snugly stowed and the last of our fresh provisions taken aboard, we hoisted anchor and headed out toward the mouth of the bay. Our passenger had settled himself in a spare cabin an hour before, having brought with him two huge âtelescopesâ that appeared to contain all his belongings. I did not let Joe out of his confinement until about midnight, and when from the swish of the water against our sides I knew we had reached the open sea. CHAPTER III. AN OBSTINATE PASSENGER. It is useless to relate the unimportant incidents of our voyage to Gibraltar and up the Mediterranean. The _Seagull_ behaved beautifully in both good and bad weather, amply fulfilling our most ardent expectations. It is true the voyage was unnecessarily long, since with our powerful engines we could have cut down our time to less than one-half; but we were obliged to concede this to Captain Steeleâs prejudice in favor of sailing, and the breeze held so steady and persistent that we cut the waves like a clipper and made a most remarkable sailing record for the voyage. It was not until we passed Sicily that the _Seagull_ was required to prove her staunchness. The waves at the lower end of the Mediterranean were wilder than any I had ever before encountered, but our beauty rode them like a swan and never a seam spread nor a beam so much as creaked. The voyage, however, served to make us better acquainted with both our boy passenger and my boy assistantâthe rich manâs son and the runaway Josephâthough this acquaintance was not ripened without some interesting experiences. A more willing or grateful follower no one could have than Joe Herring. The kindly treatment accorded him was in such sharp contrast to the dogâs life he had led aboard the _Gonzales_ that he was anxious to show his appreciation on every possible occasion. His dark eyes followed me affectionately wherever I went, and he would leap quickly to anticipate my every order. Also he liked to serve Uncle Naboth and my father, and proved so considerate of their wishes and comforts that he soon won their hearts completely. Nor was Joe so frail as he seemed at first glance. His muscles were hard as iron and on occasion his thin frame developed remarkable strength. This he proved conclusively within the first week of the voyage, as you shall hear. Our young passenger, whose imposing name we had quickly shortened to plain âArchie,â seemed likely to cause us unsuspected trouble. He at once developed two bad habits. The first was to sit on deck, lolling in a folding deck chair he had brought aboard, and play distressing tunes upon a harmonicaâwhich he termed a âmouth-organ.â The lad must have had a most powerful inherent love for music to enable him to listen to his own awful strains; but it was clear his musical talent was not developed, or at least not properly educated to any artistic degree. The first morning out the Captain, forced to listen to this âmusic,â scowled and muttered under his breath but forbore to interfere with the passengerâs evident enjoyment of his own performance. The second morning he yelled at Archie to âshut up!â but the boy calmly disregarded the order. The third morning my father stumped over to where I sat and ordered me to take away Archieâs âblamed olâ jewâs-harpâ and fling it overboard. I had myself been considerably annoyed by the wretched music, so I obeyed so far as to stroll over to our passenger and ask him to kindly discontinue his performance. He looked up resentfully. âThis is the passengerâs deck, ainât it?â he demanded. âWe have no passengerâs deck; but we allow you to sit here,â I replied. âThen leave me alone, and mind your own business,â he retorted. âIâm a free born American citizen, and Iâve paid my passage and can do as I please.â âBut you canât annoy everybody with that beastly music while youâre aboard the _Seagull_,â I answered, rather nettled at his attitude. âWe also have rights, sir, and they must be considered.â âIâve paid for mine,â he said. âYou get out, Sam Steele. I know what Iâm doing,â and he commenced to play again. I looked at him reflectively. Just how to handle such a situation puzzled me. But Joe stood just behind and had heard all. With a bound of amazing quickness he was upon the unprepared Archie, seized the mouth-organ from his grasp and flung the instrument of torture far over the side. âBeg your pardon, sir, Iâm sure,â he said, with a grin. Archie whistled softly and looked his assailant over. He rose slowly from his chair and, still whistling, began to unbutton his coat and take it off. He folded it neatly, laid it in the chair, removed his linen cuffs and placed them beside his coat, and proceeded deliberately to roll up his sleeves. The youthâs intentions were so obvious that I was about to order Joe to go below, as his slight figure seemed no match for the burly Archie, when a pleading look in the boyâs eyes restrained me. Uncle Naboth and Ned Britton, who had been promenading the deck near, had noted the incident and now paused to see its outcome. Some of the sailors also were interested, from their distant posts, while my father stood on the bridge and looked at our little group with an amused smile lighting his rugged face. Altogether it would not do to retreat in face of the coming fray, or to interfere with the logical outcome of Joeâs rash act. The Yankee boyâs face was white and set, and his soft whistle only rendered his bull-headed determination to exact revenge the more impressive. Having rolled up his sleeves, doubled his great fists and swung his arms once or twice to ease his muscles, Archie advanced steadily upon poor Joe, who stood listlessly with his hands thrust in his coat pockets and his head and shoulders bent slightly forward, in his accustomed pose. âThat mouth-organ cost two dollars,â said Archie, grimly, âand you donât look as if youâre worth two cents. So Iâll just take it out oâ your hide, my son, to teach you a lesson.â With that he paused and swung his right fist upward, and Joe, roused to action at last, gave a sudden bound. My eye could scarcely follow him as he leapt at Archie, embracing him and clinging to his antagonist like a vise. To my astonishment, the bulky Yankee swung around, tottered and fell heavily upon his back, with Joe kneeling triumphant upon his breast. We all gave an admiring cheer, for we could not help it, and at the sound Joe arose and stood in his place again, meekly as before. Archie got up more slowly, feeling the back of his head, which had whacked against the deck. He made a sudden rush and a lunge with his fist that might have settled Joe had he not dodged and closed again on his adversary with the same lightning tactics he had at first employed. They fell in a heap, and although Archie tried to keep Joe hugged to his breast the latter slid away like an eel and a moment after was on his feet and had assumed his careless, waiting pose. When the Yankee got up this time
{'title': 'The Boy Fortune Hunters in Egypt by L. Frank Baum', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}