The days passed pleasantly enough for Dave, and he found very little to do, as compared with life on tramps. Sometimes, after satisfying himself that the lookout was wide-awake, the skipper would join the rest of the crew in the cozy cabin, and join in telling yarns while smoking fearsome black cigars that seemed to Dave to have an odor of tarred rope. One evening, when the tug was rolling gently in the ground-swell and various reminiscences had been exchanged, the conversation drifted towards pirates of other days and treasure-trove. “That reminds me,” Tempest said, “of a queer bit of news Dave here picked up some time ago in America. Do any of you remember hearing of a treasure-ship called the _Hatteras_ being lost in the South Seas years ago?” “The _Hatteras_,” Captain Grummitt repeated slowly, taking the cigar from his mouth and squinting at the swaying lamp overhead. “No, I don’t seem to recall it for the minute. What did she have on board?” “There was nothing special on board,” replied Tempest, “except a consignment of platinum belonging to a passenger who had spent a couple of years or so mining it. He was taking the stuff to San Francisco from Sydney.” “Wait a minute,” the skipper interrupted, unscrewing the cigar again, pensively. “I seem to have a hazy recollection of something of the sort, but it’s a good long while ago. What happened to the ship? Wasn’t she set on fire, or something?” “Nobody knows. She just disappeared.” “Oh, yes, that was it! I was confusing her with another craft. The _Hatteras_――let me see now――” Captain Grummitt scratched his head vigorously, an action which always seemed to assist his memory. “Blow me if that wasn’t the boat there was a reward offered for,” he said at length, his mind leaping back over the years. “But I don’t just recall if ever she was found.” “Never,” said Tempest. “There isn’t a man living to-day can say for a fact what happened to her or to any one on board, except perhaps Dave, and what he knows doesn’t amount to much, but it’s curious.” Several pairs of eyes were turned on the boy in surprise. “Shiver my timbers!” said Captain Grummitt. “Have you found her, lad?” Dave shook his head regretfully, with a smile. “No such luck,” he said, “though Tempest keeps joking with me about it.” “It’s no joke, laddie,” said Tempest. “It seems to me you got nearer to it than any one else ever did, only you didn’t realize it at the time.” “Well, out with it,” urged Grummitt. “What happened?” “As far as we know at present,” Tempest explained, “there has only been one bark of that name lost in the South Seas. Dave happened to be talking to an old sailor on the quay at Brooklyn this year, and got wind of a bark called the _Hatteras_ that was lying half buried in sand on some island.” “Where?” Captain Grummitt asked, his interest aroused.