THE LEGEND OF THE GREAT PINK PEARL - A YA novel for young people interested in the early days of flight. E-Book

Ashton Lamar

• Herausgeber: Abela Publishing
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Andy Leighton, Andrew to his mother, have journeyed from St Paul, Minnesota to Valkaria, Florida to settle the estate of her late brother-in-law, Abner Leighton. Little did they know that Valkaria was a request stop and the station nothing more than a revamped box car, which they found out soon after disembarking. Left with nothing to do but gather their belongings they were about to start trudging along the only track in the eerie moonlight when they saw lanterns bobbing their way towards them in the dark. They were soon acquainted with Captain Joe Anderson. On the dark walk to the Captain’s house is when they learn about the special project Abner Leighton was working on, and Andy soon learns about the new engine and the Pelican (which is not a bird). It wasn’t long before the game was afoot  and that’s when the action and adventure started…… 10% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to charity. ============= KEYWORDS-TAGS: Legend of the great pink pearl, YA, Young Adult, Y.A., Action, Adventure, Biys Own, Cays, keys, Florida, Bahamas, water, sea, Metropolis, Strange Work, Wilderness, Exile, Boat Without Sails, Screw, propeller, Oars, Sequel, Aero-Catamaran, Home, Eccentric, Experimenter, Experimenteer, Unfinished Letter, Solve, Mystery, Firm, Leighton, Anderson, Andy, Hear, King Cajou, New Idea, Aeroplanes, Desperate, Needs, Bold, Appeal, Roy Osborne, Reach, Valkaria, Pelican, First Flight, Ba the Bahaman, Talk, Daring Chance, Timbado Key, Captain Monckton Bassett, Cannibal King, Pink Pearl, Bird of Death, aeroplane, Andy, Bassett, beach, boat, boathouse, Box car, boy, Cajou, Captain Anderson, car, colored, engine, Englishman, explain, flight, frame, laughter, Leighton, lever, little house, machine, Nassau, Osborne, Pelican, pink pearl, Roy, rudder, sail, schooner, shaft, Timbado, train station, uncle, Valkaria

Leseprobe

The Legend of the Great Pink PearlorA Cruise In The Sky

ByAshton Lamar

Illustrated By S. H. Riesenberg

Originally Published By

Reilly & Britton Co.Chicago

[1911]

Resurrected byAbela Publishing, London[2018]

The Legend of the Great Pink Pearl

Typographical arrangement of this edition

Abela Publishing © 2018

This book may not be reproduced in its current format in any manner in any media, or transmitted by any means whatsoever, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, or mechanical ( including photocopy, file or video recording, internet web sites, blogs, wikis, or any other information storage and retrieval system)

except as permitted by law without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Abela Publishing

London

United Kingdom

[2018]

ISBN-: -X-XXXXXX-XX-X

Email:

[email protected]

WebsiteAbelaPublishing

He Took the Tiller at Times

Contents

IA Florida Metropolis

IIThe Strange Work of a Wilderness Exile

IIIA Boat Without Sails, Screw or Oars

IVThe Sequel of the Aero-Catamaran

VThe Home of the Eccentric Experimenter

VIAn Unfinished Letter Solves a Mystery

VIIThe Firm of Leighton & Anderson is Formed

VIIIAndy First Hears of King Cajou

IXA New Idea in Aeroplanes

XDesperate Needs and a Bold Appeal

XIRoy Osborne Reaches Valkaria

XIIThe Pelican Makes Its First Flight

XIIIBa, the Bahaman, Talks at Last

XIVAndy Takes a Daring Chance

XVTimbado Key and Captain Monckton Bassett

XVIThe Cannibal King and the Pink Pearl

XVIIThe Bird of Death

List Of Illustrations

He took the tiller at times - Frontispiece

“Nothing much doing!”

“Jump in,” said Andy

“Come, Bird of Death!”

CHAPTER I A Florida Metropolis

All afternoon the train had been following the picturesque shore of the Indian River, in Florida. The snow and ice of the north had long since disappeared. Summer heat increased as the train sped southward. Most of the seats in the car were filled with tourists on their way to Palm Beach. Two persons, both from their looks and actions, were not destined to that aristocratic winter resort.

In one of the sections were a woman and a boy. The latter, about sixteen years old, was begrimed with dust and smoke, but there was a snap in his eyes. In the fast gathering dusk, he sat, his nose mashed against the window and his eyes shaded by his hands, as if anxious to catch every detail of the strange land through which the train was flying.

The woman glanced out of the window now and then in a nervous manner, and, at last, when it was almost wholly dark and the porter had begun to turn on the electric lights, she touched the boy on the shoulder.

“Look at your watch again, Andrew. We must be almost there.”

As the boy drew out a watch (his father’s, lent to him as a safeguard on the long trip), his lips puckered.

“Twenty minutes!” he exclaimed, almost in alarm. “We’re due at Valkaria at 8:15. It’s five minutes of eight now.”

“O, dear, I hope they won’t forget to stop,” said the woman, with increasing nervousness. “Hadn’t you better speak to the conductor again? I don’t know what we’d do if we were carried past our station.”

“I know,” answered the boy, with a laugh. “If they forgot us, they’d have to bring us back for nothing. But the conductor won’t forget. I’ve pestered him so often about it that I guess he’ll be glad to get rid of us.”

“I never thought about it being dark when we got there,” the woman went on, as the lights in the car turned the outside world into blackness. “I suppose we’d better not try to open up your uncle’s house to-night.” She looked out into the deep shadows of the palmettos. “We’ll go to a hotel or boarding house to-night.”

“What’s the use?” argued the boy. “That is, unless you are too tired. It’ll be a useless expense. I’d like to find the house to-night, if we can. Someone can show us. Every one in the town’ll know where Uncle Abner lived.”

“We must go to Captain Anderson first,” replied the woman at once. “He is the one who wrote to us of your uncle’s death, and sent the body to us for burial. He has the key to the house, and he was your uncle’s friend.”

“Maybe their homes were near together,” suggested the boy hopefully. “I guess it isn’t a very big town, and it won’t be very late. We can go to a restaurant and get our supper and then find Captain Anderson. He can take us right to the house to-night. It’ll be kind o’ like campin’ out—”

“Camping out?” interrupted the woman. “I hope not, although,” and she smiled faintly, “that would just suit you.”

The boy only laughed and again tried to make out the landscape.

“Well,” he said at last, “even if it’s on the main street of Valkaria, it won’t be far to the river, and that’ll be something.”

“What do you think it will be like?” asked the woman as she gathered her bag and wraps together.

“I don’t care much,” replied the boy, dragging his suitcase from beneath the seat, “just so it isn’t too fancy—I don’t want to be mowing lawns all the time, ’specially in January.”

Just then there was the hoarse sound of the locomotive whistle, and, almost with it, the grinding of the quick set brakes. As the woman and the boy sprang to their feet, the train conductor hurried into the car and the porter sprang forward to help with the baggage of the anxious travelers. As the other passengers aroused themselves in surprise at the unexpected stop, the woman and the boy were hurried to the platform and, the long train scarcely coming to a stop, assisted precipitately from the car.

Instead of landing upon a depot platform, the two suddenly disembarked passengers found themselves on a sandy incline, slipping slowly downward into a dry ditch. They were conscious that their bag, suitcase and wraps had lodged somewhere near their feet. Scrambling to upright positions, they both turned only to see two fading green lights marking the fast disappearing Lake Worth express.

“Andrew!” exclaimed the woman, clasping the boy’s arm.

“Looks like they’ve dumped us into nothin’, mother.”

“It’s gone!” the woman almost shouted.

“Gone?” repeated the boy. “You bet she’s gone, and gettin’ goner about a mile a minute.”

“What’ll we do?”

The boy laid his hands on his mother’s arms.

“Looks like a mistake. But don’t get scared. Let’s look about. If this is Valkaria, I reckon it must be the outskirts of the town.”

“The trunks,” cried the boy’s mother. “And they’ve taken our trunks. What are we to do? Something awful is sure to happen to us.”

“It hasn’t happened yet, mother. And I can begin to see something. What’s this?”

On the far side of the ditch, a dark mass outlined itself in the night. While his mother protested, the boy clambered up the bank. Then a peal of boyish laughter sounded in the still night.

“It’s all right, mother. We’re right in town. This is the union depot. It’s an old box car. And here’s the sign on it—‘Valkaria.’”

There was a half hysterical sob, and the boy rushed back to his frightened parent.

“Don’t be scared, mother. It’s all right. This is the place. There’s bound to be someone near. Brace up.”

Just then the hoarse croak of a frog sounded, and the woman broke into tears. The boy, attempting to pacify her, began another survey of his surroundings.

“Look, mother. It’ll be moonlight in a little while. See!”

As he pointed to the east, they could make out the glowing rim of the full moon just silvering the waxen tops of the encircling palmettos. Composing herself somewhat, the frightened woman allowed the boy to help her through the loose sand to the makeshift depot.

Along the front of it ran a rude, tramp-hacked bench. On this, the two seated themselves. The depot-car was doorless. As the boy observed this, he laughed again.

“Why, this isn’t bad, mother. We can sleep in here—”

“In there?” protested his mother. “There are insects there, I know. I’m not going to move from this bench till daylight. Then we’ll take the first train back to the north.”

“It may be our mistake, mother. Maybe Valkaria isn’t a town at all. I reckon it isn’t, judgin’ by the depot.”

“Why should they call an old car ‘Valkaria?’” exclaimed the woman. “Cars don’t have names. They have numbers.”

“I give it up,” answered the boy, with some cheerfulness. “But I don’t see that it’s so bad. The weather is fine. I’ll bet it’s dandy around here in the daytime. That moon’s makin’ things kind o’ great, now.”

“What’s that?” exclaimed the woman, suddenly catching her son by the arm and pointing in the direction in which the train disappeared. “There! Across the railroad!”

The boy had seen it too. A broad, ribbon-like band of chalky-white extended from the black shadow of the palmettos on the left, crossed the track, and lost itself in the blackness beyond. As the boy looked he caught sight of similar thin strips along the track.

“It’s sand, mother. Looks like a ghost, but it’s white Florida sand. And I’ll bet it’s a road. Let’s try it. If it’s a road, it goes somewhere.”

Anything was better than the black, noisome box car. The boy made his way into the now half illuminated ditch and collected the scattered baggage. Laden with it, the marooned travelers set forward. As the boy surmised, the white strip was a road. When they reached it, they discovered, to their relief, safely lying in the gully beyond the crossing, their two trunks.

“Better get ’em out o’ the ditch, in case o’ rain,” said the boy, and, despite his years, the well-muscled lad tackled the job. It was not an easy one, but, by rolling and sliding, the heavy parcels were soon landed on the edge of the soft roadway. The moon was now shining so brightly that the lad could make out the time. It was 8:35 P.M.

“Now,” said the lad, mopping his face, “we can go toward the river or away from it.”

“Perhaps the town is on the river,” suggested his mother, more composed. “We’ll try—there’s a light,” she added excitedly.

Far down the white strip of road was certainly a light. From its low, regular swing, the boy at once concluded that it was a lantern. He so informed his mother, who immediately became newly panic-stricken.

“It may be robbers,” she gasped, clutching her son’s arm again.

“Robbers don’t carry lanterns, mother. Let’s hope it’s the hotel runner or transfer man.”

“Or tramps,” added the woman in a frightened whisper.

“Look here, mother,” answered the boy soberly. “You know the only way for us to get out of this mess is to find someone to tell us where we are and what we’ve got to do. There is certainly someone coming toward us. Do you want to meet whomever it is, or run away and hide in the bushes?”

“I suppose we ought to wait,” answered his mother meekly.

“Wait nothin’,” exclaimed the boy. “We’ll march right up to the relief party.”

Leaving their baggage in the road, the boy took his mother by the hand and, despite her alarm, marched her forward along the road. The suspense was soon over. In a few moments, a figure emerged from the shadows. While it was yet a hundred yards away, the anxious boy, partly to keep up his courage, sang out a bold “Hello!”

“You folks get off that train?” was the response in a man’s voice.

“We did,” answered the boy. “Where’s Valkaria?”

“Valkaria?” repeated the approaching stranger good-naturedly. “Why, you’re right on the main street now.”

The man, who by this time had reached them, was unquestionably neither robber nor tramp. He was past middle age, well but roughly dressed, and wore a yachting cap on top of a good growth of silvery white hair, which lay above a face bronzed by the sun and wind.

“We are from the north,” hastily explained the woman, “and we are looking for the place where my brother-in-law, Mr. Abner Leighton, lived—”

“Then you must be—”

“Mrs. Howard Leighton, of St. Paul. And this is my son, Andrew. We have come—”

“I understand,” interrupted the man quickly. “I wrote to your husband. My name is Anderson—Captain Anderson. Why didn’t you let me know? We’d have met you. I heard the train stop, and I wondered what it meant. So I came up to see. I’m glad to meet you.”

“And you live here?” began Mrs. Leighton, as Captain Anderson shook hands with her and Andy. “You can’t imagine how relieved I am. But are there any buildings—a hotel or boarding house?”

“Yes,” continued Andy. “We’ve got all this stuff scattered along Main Street, and haven’t had any supper, and as for sleepin’—”

Captain Anderson laughed and picked up his lantern.

“As for your baggage, we’ll take care of that in short order. Your uncle and I were friends for many years. His house is over on the other side of the railroad. You can’t go there to-night. My place is down here on the river—”

“But, Captain—” began Mrs. Leighton.

“Young man,” interrupted the captain, ignoring Mrs. Leighton’s protest, “take this lantern and start right down the road with your mother. I’ll be after you as soon as I find those grips. You’ll eat and sleep to-night in the Anderson house. There isn’t any Valkaria but a signboard.”

CHAPTER II The Strange Work of a Wilderness Exile

Captain Joe Anderson’s real home was in the north on one of the great lakes. As a young man he had devoted much of his time to yachting. Therefore, when he and Mrs. Anderson sought a winter home in the south, he built his bungalow on the wide, baylike Indian River.

To this salubrious spot Captain Joe and his wife hastened each fall. With no servants, Mrs. Anderson saw to the few household needs. Living on the shore of the biggest and most beautiful body of boating water in America, Captain Joe gave every daylight hour to sailing and making boats.

Just to the left of his trim little cottage was a low, wide building. Therein, when summer came, Captain Anderson stored his boats. These ran from his well-known sailing yacht “Valkaria,” down through smaller craft for fishing and cruising to three or four skiffs or rowboats. He had no power-boats and, as Andy Leighton soon learned, had no patience with those who owned or operated them.

At this time of the year, with his boats safely moored at the long pier, which extended 150 yards out into the shallow river, the boathouse was a boat shop. Here, when he was not on the water sailing with Mrs. Anderson, Captain Joe was busy, slowly working into shape some new water craft. Some days, when it rained or a norther brought a chill to the balmy spot, he would kindle a fire in the big stove in the boathouse, and, his tools lying idle, sit and read.

Before Mrs. Leighton and Andy had even come in sight of the light in the Anderson home the captain had rejoined them.

“I don’t know how we are going to repay you for your kindness, Captain Anderson,” Andy’s mother began.

“I know one way,” answered their rescuer good-humoredly. “Your brother-in-law’s home isn’t much of a place, but if you and your son can see your way to livin’ there awhile each winter, that’ll be all the reward I want. It gets pretty lonesome down here sometimes for Mrs. Anderson.”

Then the two older persons began to exchange talk about their northern homes and possible mutual friends. At the first opportunity, Andy broke in:

“Captain Anderson, what did my uncle do down here? I suppose he raised oranges.”

“Your uncle was a peculiar man,” answered the captain. “I liked him. But I never could understand why a good lawyer should bury himself in the wilderness.”

“Father says he used to be a fine lawyer,” commented the boy, “but his health failed.”

“And like a lot more such people,” added Captain Anderson, “he got to livin’ alone and bein’ so much alone, he got sort o’ peculiar.”

“One could tell that from his letters, when we got any,” interrupted Mrs. Leighton. “He used to write about some invention on which he was working.”

“An engine,” broke in Andy. “Father told me my uncle thought he had an engine that was to do wonderful things. Did it work?”

“Oh, his engine worked all right,” answered Captain Joe soberly. “There wasn’t any trouble about that. That wasn’t his real weakness. He made engines that’d work just as long as he ran ’em like other people, with steam or gasoline. But steam and gasoline didn’t suit him. He was lookin’ for some other kind o’ power; something cheap and light—calcium something I think it was.”

“Gas from calcium carbide?” suggested Andy impulsively.

“Yes, that’s it—calcium carbide,” went on Captain Joe, “though I never took any stock in it and never paid much attention to it. He said when he got his generator finished, he’d be able to carry his power in a little tube.”

“And did he?” persisted Andy, pushing forward. “Did he finish his generator?”

Instead of replying at once, Captain Anderson dropped back by Mrs. Leighton’s side.

“Madam,” he said soberly, “the doctor said your brother-in-law died o’ heart disease. But there was enough other things in that shop o’ his to kill him,—gases and fumes and odors,—and if I had a guess about what ended his lonesome life, I’d say it was as much that idea of his as a weak heart. If he ever got at the bottom o’ what he was lookin’ for,” added Captain Anderson, turning to the eager Andy, “I reckon no one’ll ever know unless he wrote it down. And there’s nothin’ o’ that sort so far as I know.”

While Mrs. Leighton made further inquiries concerning her late relative Andy’s brain was beginning to burn with a sudden and new curiosity. Andy’s father was a factory foreman, and the family lived in a modest home in a city suburb, but the boy had already finished the second year of high school. Andy had all the dreams, desires, and determinations of the average boy. But he had something more—a decided bent for mechanics.

Only the summer before, Andy and a classmate had made a single-cylinder gas engine. It didn’t happen to work when completed, but that didn’t matter. The making of it had given Andy a good knowledge of engines. Like many an older person, he was already theorizing on a new motive power. Anyway, he knew what Captain Joe meant when he spoke of “calcium something.”

“Captain Anderson,” said Andy, breaking in on the talk of his elders, “is it too late to see my uncle’s shop to-night?”

“It’ll be too late when we’ve had some supper. But in the morning I’ll turn over the key. Everything is there just as Mr. Leighton left it—except the engine he made two years ago, and that’s in my boathouse.”

“Does that one work?” persisted Andy, eagerly.