II.It was tea-time, and the Mess had gathered round the Wardroom table; a signalman came down from the upper deck and pinned a signal on the baize-covered notice-board."Hullo," said some one, "signal from the Flagship! What's the news?"The Assistant Paymaster, who was sitting with his back to the notice-board, relinquished the jam-pot, and tilting up his chair, scrutinised the paper over his shoulder. "Flag-General: Let fires die out. Usual leave may be granted to Officers."The Major of Marines, who had finished his tea, rose from the table and tucked the novel he had been reading under his arm. "Thanks very much," he said, "now we're all happy." He stared out through the rain-smeared scuttle at an angry grey sea and lowering sky. "I can see a faint blur on the horizon—would that be the delectable beach we're invited to repair to?""That's it," said the First Lieutenant, stirring the leaves in his tea-pot with the spoon. He had just spent three-quarters of an hour on the forecastle, mooring ship in a cold, driving rain. "It's not more than three miles away, and it's only blowing about half a gale—there's a cutter to go ashore in; time some of you young bloods were climbing into your 'civvy'[#] suits."[#] Lowerdeckese = Civilian."So much for the joys of a big Fleet in the North Sea. I'd like to bring some of these fellows, who are always writing to the papers about it, for a little yachting trip," grumbled the Fleet Surgeon, who had just returned from two successively placid commissions in the West Indies. "Never anchor in sight of land—always blowing, always raining; never get ashore, and when you do, you wish you were on board again.... It's the limit.""Well, thank Heaven for a fire and an arm-chair, anyway," said the Paymaster, and drifted towards the smoking-room, filling his pipe as he went."Who'll make a four at Bridge?" asked the Major. "Come on, Number One," and so the Mess dispersed, some to arm-chairs round the fire, others to the Bridge-table, others again to write letters in their cabins.About half an hour before dinner, as was his wont, the Captain came down from his cabin and joined the group round the smoking-room fire. The occupants of the arm-chairs made room and smiled greetings."Hullo," said the Captain, "none of you ashore! Thought you all came into the Navy to see life!"The Commander laughed. "We're beginning to forget there is such a thing as the beach."The Captain lit a cigarette. "Not a bad principle either—saves your plain-clothes from wearing out." He settled down in an arm-chair somebody had vacated. "Like an old Gunner of a small ship I was in once in the West Indies; he only went ashore three times during the commission—once at Trinidad, and once at Bermuda, and each time when he returned he had to be hoisted on board in a bowline." There was a general laugh. "What about the third time, sir?" asked the Engineer Commander."Third time—ah, that was rather mysterious. We never discovered why he did go ashore that day. I don't know now." The Mess scented a yarn; thrice-blessed was their Captain in that he could tell a yarn."We were cruising round that fringe of islands, part of the Windward Group, showing the Flag, and the Skipper decided to look in at a place called ... h'm'm. Can't remember what it's called—Port des something ... Port des Reines, that's it,—what did you say, Selby?""Nothing, sir, go on...""The last place ever made, this Port des Reines, and it's not finished yet—just a mountain and the remains of an old French settlement. Well, we anchored off this God-forsaken hole, and as soon as the Skipper had had a look at it he decided to up killick and out of it; as far as I can remember he had to go and lunch with the Consul, but he was to come off in a couple of hours' time; so we banked fires, and off went the Captain in the galley."No sooner had he gone than the Gunner—this funny old boy I've been telling you about—came to my cabin (I was by way of being First Lieutenant of that ship—we'd no Commander) and asked for leave to go ashore."I was rather startled: couldn't imagine what on earth he wanted to do. I told him we were under sailing orders, and only staying a couple of hours, and that it was an awful hole: had he any friends staying there, I asked him. No, he said, he had no friends there, but he particularly wanted to land there for an hour or so on urgent private affairs, as he called it."Well, he seemed in rather a stew about something, so I gave him leave and lowered a boat. Off he went in his old bowler hat (he always went ashore in a bowler hat and a blue suit) armed with something wrapped up in paper; this turned out afterwards to be a sort of pick or jemmy he had got the blacksmith to make for him a couple of days before; that must have been when he heard the ship was going to Port des Reines; it was the only clue we ever had."Two hours later, at the expiration of his leave, he returned, looking very dusty and dejected, and reported himself. I chaffed him a bit about going ashore, but nothing could I get out of him, and he never volunteered an explanation to any one, as far as I know."A Lieutenant who had finished playing Bridge and had joined the group of listeners round the fire leaned forward suddenly."D'you remember his name, sir?""No," said the Captain, "can't say I do. Never can remember names.""Not a Mr Tyelake by any chance, sir?"The Captain threw away the end of his cigarette and turned towards the speaker. "Good Lord! Yes, that was it—Tyelake. But look here, Selby,——"The Lieutenant rose and walked towards the door. "If you'll wait a second, sir, I'll show you why he went ashore." He left the mess and returned with a soiled sheet of paper in his hand; it was creased by much folding and discoloured with age.The Captain turned it over and examined it. "But this doesn't explain much, does it? And how do you come to know old Tyelake? All this happened twelve—fifteen—nearly twenty years ago, and he was pensioned soon after. And anyhow, what's this got to do with it?""That," Selby turned the paper over, "that's the cemetery at Port des Reines, sir,"—and then he told them of a walking tour in the West Country (omitting the reason for it and other superfluous details) some two years before, and of the old man who had since solved, it is to be hoped to his satisfaction, his religious perplexities.The Assistant Paymaster removed his glasses and blinked excitedly, as was his habit when much moved. "But ... why couldn't he find it when he went ashore? And why didn't——""Because he went to the wrong cemetery; there were two, d'you see, and he dug up the wrong one and didn't find out there was another one till after they'd sailed. He never went there again.""No," said the Captain. "That's right, we didn't."The First Lieutenant laughed. "But just imagine him in that climate, tearing off the tombstones in his bowler hat and serge suit, with one eye on his watch all the time, and only finding coffins...!""And then hearing when it was too late that he'd backed the wrong horse," added the Major of Marines."But...." began the A.P. again, "Howmuch did you say? Seventy thousand pounds! My Aunt! Selby, haveyoubeen there yet?"Selby smiled and shook his head. "I? No, I've been 'Channel-groping' ever since; in fact, I'd forgotten all about it until the Captain mentioned Port des Reines. He was a very old man, and his wits were failing——"The Engineer Commander examined the plan. "But there may be something in the yarn, Selby. It seems almost worth while——""A treasure hunt!" broke in the A.P. "Let's all put in for a couple of months' half-pay, and go out there! Hire a schooner, like they do in books.""Schooner!" ejaculated the Major. "I can see myself setting sail for the Antilles in a schooner! Ugh! It makes me feel queer to think of it!""You'd look fine in a red smuggler's cap and thigh-boots, Major," said the First Lieutenant. "That's what treasure-hunters always wear.""With a black patch over one eye, and the skull and cross-bones embroidered on your brisket," supplemented an imaginative Watch-keeper. "'Yo! ho! and a bottle of rum!'—can't you see yourself, Major? Only you ought to have a wooden leg.""Has anybody in the Mess ever been there?" inquired the Commander."Why, the P.M.O.'s just come home from the West Indies; where is he?"At that moment the Fleet Surgeon entered, to be assailed by a volley of questions."P.M.O.! You're just the man! Where's Porte des Reines?""We're all going treasure-hunting in a schooner with the Major!""With the Jolly Roger at the fore!""P.M.O., have you ever been to Porte des Reines?""How many cemeteries are there there?""What's the law about digging up graves in the West Indies?""——And treasure trove?"The Fleet Surgeon looked a little bewildered. "What are you all talking about? Porte des Reines? Yes, I've been there. I don't know about the cemeteries, but I've got some photographs of the place, if you're all so anxious to see it—they're in my cabin."He left the Mess, and the storm of conjecture and speculation broke out afresh."I shall chuck the Service and buy a farm," said the First Lieutenant, "with my share.""S-sh! Don't make such a row! One of the Servants will hear, and we don't want it to get all over the ship! These things are much better kept quiet. If there's anything in it, the fewer——"The A.P.'s voice rose above the turmoil: "An' I shall buy a cycle-car ... and a split-cane, steel-centred grilse-rod ...andgo to Switzerland next winter—I——"The Fleet Surgeon reappeared with a bulky album under his arm; he laid it on the card-table and turned the pages. "Now—there's Port des Reines: what's left of it after the earthquake.""Earthquake!" The Mess gathered round and leaned breathlessly over the table."Yes; two years ago they had that awful earthquake, and the mountain shifted almost bodily; there's a million tons of rock on top of—well, you can see!"They scanned the scene of desolation in silence. "It swallowed the whole town," said some one in awestruck tones. The magnitude of a calamity had somehow never come home to them before quite so forcibly."Yes," replied the Fleet Surgeon calmly. "Town, such as it was, and church and cemeteries, mountain toppled down on top of them!"There was a long, tense silence. "But——" began the A.P., still clinging to his dreams of a split-cane grilse-rod with a steel centre."Dryup!" snapped the First Lieutenant irritably."Oh Death, where is thy sting!" murmured the Major of Marines. "Seventy thousand pounds buried under a mountain!"The Captain rang the bell and ordered a sherry and bitters. "Well," he said, "thank Heaven I know at last why the Gunner went ashore!"THE END.PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.* * * * * * * *BLACKWOODS' POPULAR SHILLING NOVELS.Bound in Cloth. With Coloured Illustration on Wrapper.A SAFETY MATCH. IAN HAYA MAN'S MAN. IAN HAY"PIP": A ROMANCE OF YOUTH. IAN HAYTHE RIGHT STUFF. IAN HAYHAPPY-GO-LUCKY. IAN HAYTHE MOON OF BATH. BETH ELLISFANCY FARM. NEIL MUNROTHE DAFT DAYS. NEIL MUNROCAPTAIN DESMOND, V.C. (Revised Edition.) MAUD DIVERTHE GREAT AMULET. MAUD DIVERCANDLES IN THE WIND. MAUD DIVERTHE GREEN CURVE. OLE LUK-OIEPARA HANDY. HUGH FOULISTHE VITAL SPARK. (Illustrated. Paper Cover.) HUGH FOULISTHE RED NEIGHBOUR. W. J. ECCOTTTHE WATCHER BY THE THRESHOLD. JOHN BUCHANTHE THIRTY-NINE STEPS. JOHN BUCHANNAVAL OCCASIONS. "BARTIMEUS"JOHN CHILCOTE, M.P. MRS THURSTONLORD JIM. JOSEPH CONRAD"No. 101." WYMOND CAREYTHE POWER OF THE KEYS. SYDNEY C. GRIERTHE ADVANCED-GUARD. SYDNEY C. GRIERTHE PATH TO HONOUR. SYDNEY C. GRIERTHE LUNATIC AT LARGE. J. STORER CLOUSTONSHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT. BEATRICE HARRADENTHE ALIAS. ALEXANDER CRAWFORDSARACINESCA. F. MARION CRAWFORDPRIVATE SPUD TAMSON. CAPT. R. W. CAMPBELLHOCKEN AND HUNKEN. "Q" (Sir A. T. QUILLER-COUCH)WM. BLACKWOOD & SONS, EDINBURGH AND LONDON.*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKNAVAL OCCASIONS***
II.
It was tea-time, and the Mess had gathered round the Wardroom table; a signalman came down from the upper deck and pinned a signal on the baize-covered notice-board.
"Hullo," said some one, "signal from the Flagship! What's the news?"
The Assistant Paymaster, who was sitting with his back to the notice-board, relinquished the jam-pot, and tilting up his chair, scrutinised the paper over his shoulder. "Flag-General: Let fires die out. Usual leave may be granted to Officers."
The Major of Marines, who had finished his tea, rose from the table and tucked the novel he had been reading under his arm. "Thanks very much," he said, "now we're all happy." He stared out through the rain-smeared scuttle at an angry grey sea and lowering sky. "I can see a faint blur on the horizon—would that be the delectable beach we're invited to repair to?"
"That's it," said the First Lieutenant, stirring the leaves in his tea-pot with the spoon. He had just spent three-quarters of an hour on the forecastle, mooring ship in a cold, driving rain. "It's not more than three miles away, and it's only blowing about half a gale—there's a cutter to go ashore in; time some of you young bloods were climbing into your 'civvy'[#] suits."
[#] Lowerdeckese = Civilian.
"So much for the joys of a big Fleet in the North Sea. I'd like to bring some of these fellows, who are always writing to the papers about it, for a little yachting trip," grumbled the Fleet Surgeon, who had just returned from two successively placid commissions in the West Indies. "Never anchor in sight of land—always blowing, always raining; never get ashore, and when you do, you wish you were on board again.... It's the limit."
"Well, thank Heaven for a fire and an arm-chair, anyway," said the Paymaster, and drifted towards the smoking-room, filling his pipe as he went.
"Who'll make a four at Bridge?" asked the Major. "Come on, Number One," and so the Mess dispersed, some to arm-chairs round the fire, others to the Bridge-table, others again to write letters in their cabins.
About half an hour before dinner, as was his wont, the Captain came down from his cabin and joined the group round the smoking-room fire. The occupants of the arm-chairs made room and smiled greetings.
"Hullo," said the Captain, "none of you ashore! Thought you all came into the Navy to see life!"
The Commander laughed. "We're beginning to forget there is such a thing as the beach."
The Captain lit a cigarette. "Not a bad principle either—saves your plain-clothes from wearing out." He settled down in an arm-chair somebody had vacated. "Like an old Gunner of a small ship I was in once in the West Indies; he only went ashore three times during the commission—once at Trinidad, and once at Bermuda, and each time when he returned he had to be hoisted on board in a bowline." There was a general laugh. "What about the third time, sir?" asked the Engineer Commander.
"Third time—ah, that was rather mysterious. We never discovered why he did go ashore that day. I don't know now." The Mess scented a yarn; thrice-blessed was their Captain in that he could tell a yarn.
"We were cruising round that fringe of islands, part of the Windward Group, showing the Flag, and the Skipper decided to look in at a place called ... h'm'm. Can't remember what it's called—Port des something ... Port des Reines, that's it,—what did you say, Selby?"
"Nothing, sir, go on..."
"The last place ever made, this Port des Reines, and it's not finished yet—just a mountain and the remains of an old French settlement. Well, we anchored off this God-forsaken hole, and as soon as the Skipper had had a look at it he decided to up killick and out of it; as far as I can remember he had to go and lunch with the Consul, but he was to come off in a couple of hours' time; so we banked fires, and off went the Captain in the galley.
"No sooner had he gone than the Gunner—this funny old boy I've been telling you about—came to my cabin (I was by way of being First Lieutenant of that ship—we'd no Commander) and asked for leave to go ashore.
"I was rather startled: couldn't imagine what on earth he wanted to do. I told him we were under sailing orders, and only staying a couple of hours, and that it was an awful hole: had he any friends staying there, I asked him. No, he said, he had no friends there, but he particularly wanted to land there for an hour or so on urgent private affairs, as he called it.
"Well, he seemed in rather a stew about something, so I gave him leave and lowered a boat. Off he went in his old bowler hat (he always went ashore in a bowler hat and a blue suit) armed with something wrapped up in paper; this turned out afterwards to be a sort of pick or jemmy he had got the blacksmith to make for him a couple of days before; that must have been when he heard the ship was going to Port des Reines; it was the only clue we ever had.
"Two hours later, at the expiration of his leave, he returned, looking very dusty and dejected, and reported himself. I chaffed him a bit about going ashore, but nothing could I get out of him, and he never volunteered an explanation to any one, as far as I know."
A Lieutenant who had finished playing Bridge and had joined the group of listeners round the fire leaned forward suddenly.
"D'you remember his name, sir?"
"No," said the Captain, "can't say I do. Never can remember names."
"Not a Mr Tyelake by any chance, sir?"
The Captain threw away the end of his cigarette and turned towards the speaker. "Good Lord! Yes, that was it—Tyelake. But look here, Selby,——"
The Lieutenant rose and walked towards the door. "If you'll wait a second, sir, I'll show you why he went ashore." He left the mess and returned with a soiled sheet of paper in his hand; it was creased by much folding and discoloured with age.
The Captain turned it over and examined it. "But this doesn't explain much, does it? And how do you come to know old Tyelake? All this happened twelve—fifteen—nearly twenty years ago, and he was pensioned soon after. And anyhow, what's this got to do with it?"
"That," Selby turned the paper over, "that's the cemetery at Port des Reines, sir,"—and then he told them of a walking tour in the West Country (omitting the reason for it and other superfluous details) some two years before, and of the old man who had since solved, it is to be hoped to his satisfaction, his religious perplexities.
The Assistant Paymaster removed his glasses and blinked excitedly, as was his habit when much moved. "But ... why couldn't he find it when he went ashore? And why didn't——"
"Because he went to the wrong cemetery; there were two, d'you see, and he dug up the wrong one and didn't find out there was another one till after they'd sailed. He never went there again."
"No," said the Captain. "That's right, we didn't."
The First Lieutenant laughed. "But just imagine him in that climate, tearing off the tombstones in his bowler hat and serge suit, with one eye on his watch all the time, and only finding coffins...!"
"And then hearing when it was too late that he'd backed the wrong horse," added the Major of Marines.
"But...." began the A.P. again, "Howmuch did you say? Seventy thousand pounds! My Aunt! Selby, haveyoubeen there yet?"
Selby smiled and shook his head. "I? No, I've been 'Channel-groping' ever since; in fact, I'd forgotten all about it until the Captain mentioned Port des Reines. He was a very old man, and his wits were failing——"
The Engineer Commander examined the plan. "But there may be something in the yarn, Selby. It seems almost worth while——"
"A treasure hunt!" broke in the A.P. "Let's all put in for a couple of months' half-pay, and go out there! Hire a schooner, like they do in books."
"Schooner!" ejaculated the Major. "I can see myself setting sail for the Antilles in a schooner! Ugh! It makes me feel queer to think of it!"
"You'd look fine in a red smuggler's cap and thigh-boots, Major," said the First Lieutenant. "That's what treasure-hunters always wear."
"With a black patch over one eye, and the skull and cross-bones embroidered on your brisket," supplemented an imaginative Watch-keeper. "'Yo! ho! and a bottle of rum!'—can't you see yourself, Major? Only you ought to have a wooden leg."
"Has anybody in the Mess ever been there?" inquired the Commander.
"Why, the P.M.O.'s just come home from the West Indies; where is he?"
At that moment the Fleet Surgeon entered, to be assailed by a volley of questions.
"P.M.O.! You're just the man! Where's Porte des Reines?"
"We're all going treasure-hunting in a schooner with the Major!"
"With the Jolly Roger at the fore!"
"P.M.O., have you ever been to Porte des Reines?"
"How many cemeteries are there there?"
"What's the law about digging up graves in the West Indies?"
"——And treasure trove?"
The Fleet Surgeon looked a little bewildered. "What are you all talking about? Porte des Reines? Yes, I've been there. I don't know about the cemeteries, but I've got some photographs of the place, if you're all so anxious to see it—they're in my cabin."
He left the Mess, and the storm of conjecture and speculation broke out afresh.
"I shall chuck the Service and buy a farm," said the First Lieutenant, "with my share."
"S-sh! Don't make such a row! One of the Servants will hear, and we don't want it to get all over the ship! These things are much better kept quiet. If there's anything in it, the fewer——"
The A.P.'s voice rose above the turmoil: "An' I shall buy a cycle-car ... and a split-cane, steel-centred grilse-rod ...andgo to Switzerland next winter—I——"
The Fleet Surgeon reappeared with a bulky album under his arm; he laid it on the card-table and turned the pages. "Now—there's Port des Reines: what's left of it after the earthquake."
"Earthquake!" The Mess gathered round and leaned breathlessly over the table.
"Yes; two years ago they had that awful earthquake, and the mountain shifted almost bodily; there's a million tons of rock on top of—well, you can see!"
They scanned the scene of desolation in silence. "It swallowed the whole town," said some one in awestruck tones. The magnitude of a calamity had somehow never come home to them before quite so forcibly.
"Yes," replied the Fleet Surgeon calmly. "Town, such as it was, and church and cemeteries, mountain toppled down on top of them!"
There was a long, tense silence. "But——" began the A.P., still clinging to his dreams of a split-cane grilse-rod with a steel centre.
"Dryup!" snapped the First Lieutenant irritably.
"Oh Death, where is thy sting!" murmured the Major of Marines. "Seventy thousand pounds buried under a mountain!"
The Captain rang the bell and ordered a sherry and bitters. "Well," he said, "thank Heaven I know at last why the Gunner went ashore!"
THE END.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.
* * * * * * * *
BLACKWOODS' POPULAR SHILLING NOVELS.
Bound in Cloth. With Coloured Illustration on Wrapper.
A SAFETY MATCH. IAN HAYA MAN'S MAN. IAN HAY"PIP": A ROMANCE OF YOUTH. IAN HAYTHE RIGHT STUFF. IAN HAYHAPPY-GO-LUCKY. IAN HAYTHE MOON OF BATH. BETH ELLISFANCY FARM. NEIL MUNROTHE DAFT DAYS. NEIL MUNROCAPTAIN DESMOND, V.C. (Revised Edition.) MAUD DIVERTHE GREAT AMULET. MAUD DIVERCANDLES IN THE WIND. MAUD DIVERTHE GREEN CURVE. OLE LUK-OIEPARA HANDY. HUGH FOULISTHE VITAL SPARK. (Illustrated. Paper Cover.) HUGH FOULISTHE RED NEIGHBOUR. W. J. ECCOTTTHE WATCHER BY THE THRESHOLD. JOHN BUCHANTHE THIRTY-NINE STEPS. JOHN BUCHANNAVAL OCCASIONS. "BARTIMEUS"JOHN CHILCOTE, M.P. MRS THURSTONLORD JIM. JOSEPH CONRAD"No. 101." WYMOND CAREYTHE POWER OF THE KEYS. SYDNEY C. GRIERTHE ADVANCED-GUARD. SYDNEY C. GRIERTHE PATH TO HONOUR. SYDNEY C. GRIERTHE LUNATIC AT LARGE. J. STORER CLOUSTONSHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT. BEATRICE HARRADENTHE ALIAS. ALEXANDER CRAWFORDSARACINESCA. F. MARION CRAWFORDPRIVATE SPUD TAMSON. CAPT. R. W. CAMPBELLHOCKEN AND HUNKEN. "Q" (Sir A. T. QUILLER-COUCH)
WM. BLACKWOOD & SONS, EDINBURGH AND LONDON.
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKNAVAL OCCASIONS***