That night George Burke went off his watch at twelve o'clock, and a few minutes after he had been relieved, he did something he had never done before—he deserted his ship. With his shoes and a little bundle of clothes on his head, he very quietly slipped down a line he had fastened astern. It was a very dark night, and he reached the water unseen, and as quietly as if he had been an otter going fishing. First swimming, and then wading, he reached the shore. As soon as he was on land, he dressed, and then went for a lantern, a hammer, and a cold-chisel, which he had left at a convenient spot.
Without lighting the lantern, he proceeded as rapidly as possible to the caves. His path was almost invisible, but having travelled that way so often, he knew it as well as he knew his alphabet. Not until he was inside the entrance to the caves did he light his lantern. Then he proceeded, without loss of time, to the stone mound. He knew that the ladder had been left there, and, with a little trouble, he found it, where Shirley had put it, behind some rocks on the floor of the cave. By the aid of this he quickly descended into the mound, and then, moving the foot of the ladder out of the way, he vigorously began to brush away the dust from the stone pavement. When this was done, he held up the lantern and carefully examined the central portion of the floor, and very soon he discovered what he had come to look for. A space about three feet square was marked off on the pavement of the mound by a very perceptible crevice. The other stones of the pavement were placed rather irregularly, but some of them had been cut to allow this single square stone to be set in the centre.
"That's a trap-door," said Burke. "There can't be any doubt about that."And immediately he set to work to get it open.
There was no ring, nor anything by which he could lift it; but if he could get his heavy chisel under it, he was sure he could raise it until he could get hold of it with his hands. So he began to drive his chisel vigorously down into the cracks at various places. This was not difficult to do, and, trying one side after another, he got the chisel down so far that he could use it as a lever. But with all his strength he could not raise the stone.
At last, while working at one corner, he broke out a large piece of the pavement, eight or nine inches long, and found that it had covered a metal bar about an inch in diameter. With his lantern he carefully examined this rod, and found that it was not iron, but appeared to be made of some sort of bronze.
"Now, what is this?" said Burke to himself. "It's either a hinge or a bolt. It doesn't look like a hinge, for it wouldn't be any use for it to run so far into the rest of the pavement, and if it is a bolt, I don't see how they got at it to move it. I'll see where it goes to." And he began to cut away more of the pavement toward the wall of the dome. The pieces of stone came up without much trouble, and as far as he cut he found the metal rod.
"By George!" said he, "I believe it goes outside of the mound! They worked it from outside!"
Putting the ladder in place, he ran up with his lantern and tools, and descended to the outside floor. Then he examined the floor of the cave where the rod must run if it came outside the mound. He found a line of flat stones, each about a foot square, extending from the mound toward the western side of the cave.
"Oh, ho!" he cried, and on his knees he went to work, soon forcing up one of these stones, and under it was the metal rod, lying in a groove considerably larger than itself. Burke now followed the line of stones to the western side of the cave, where the roof was so low he could scarcely stand up under it. To make sure, he took up another stone, and still found the rod.
"I see what this means," said he. "That bolt is worked from clean outside, and I've got to find the handle of it. If I can't do that, I'll go back and cut through that bolt, if my chisel will do it."
He now went back to a point on the line of stones about midway between the side of the cave and the mound, and then, walking forward as nearly as possible in a straight line, which would be at right angles with the metal rod, he proceeded until he had reached the entrance to the passageway which led to the outer caves, carefully counting his steps as he went. Then he turned squarely about, entered the passage, and walked along it until he came to the door of the room which had once been occupied by Captain Horn.
"I'll try it inside first," said Burke to himself, "and then I'll go outside."
He walked through the rooms, turning to the right about ten feet when he came to the middle apartment,—for the door here was not opposite to the others,—but coming back again to his line of march as soon as he was on the other side. He proceeded until he reached the large cave, open at the top, which was the last of these compartments. This was an extensive cavern, the back part being, however, so much impeded by rocks that had fallen from the roof that it was difficult for him to make any progress, and the numbering of his steps depended very much upon calculation. But when he reached the farthest wall, Burke believed that he had gone about as great a distance as he had stepped off in the cave of the lake.
"But how in the mischief," thought he, "am I to find anything here?" He held up his lantern and looked about. "I can't move these rocks to see what is under them."
As he gazed around, he noticed that the southeast corner seemed to be more regular than the rest of the wall of the cave. In fact, it was almost a right-angled corner, and seemed to have been roughly cut into that shape. Instantly Burke was in the corner. He found the eastern wall quite smooth for a space about a foot wide and extending about two yards from the floor. In this he perceived lines of crevice marking out a rectangular space some six inches wide and four feet in height.
"Ha, ha!" cried Burke. "The handle is on the other side of that slab,I'll bet my head!" And putting down the lantern, he went to work.
With his hammer and chisel he had forced the top of the slab in less than two minutes, and soon he pulled it outward and let it drop on the floor. Inside the narrow, perpendicular cavity which was now before him, he saw an upright metal bar.
"The handle of the bolt!" cried Burke. "Now I can unfasten the trap-door." And taking hold of the top of the bar, he pulled back with all his force. At first he could not move it, but suddenly the resistance ceased, and he pulled the bar forward until it stood at an angle of forty-five degrees from the wall. Further than this Burke could not move it, although he tugged and bore down on it with all his weight.
"All right," said he, at last. "I guess that's as far as she'll come. Anyway, I'm off to see if I've drawn that bolt. If I have, I'll have that trap-door open, if I have to break my back lifting it."
With his best speed Burke ran through the caves to the mound, and, mounting by means of the stone projections, he was about to descend by the ladder, when, to his utter amazement, he saw no ladder. He had left it projecting at least two feet through the opening in the top of the mound, and now he could see nothing of it.
What could this mean? Going up a little higher, he held up his lantern and looked within, but saw no signs of the ladder.
"By George!" he cried, "has anybody followed me and pulled out that ladder?"
Lowering the lantern farther into the mound, he peered in. Below, and immediately under him, was a black hole, about three feet square. Burke was so startled that he almost dropped the lantern. But he was a man of tough nerve, and maintained his clutch upon it. But he drew back. It required some seconds to catch his breath. Presently he looked down again.
"I see," said he. "That trap-door was made to fall down, and not to lift up, and when I pulled the bolt, down it went, and the ladder, being on top of it, slipped into that hole. Heavens!" he said, as a cold sweat burst out over him at the thought, "suppose I had made up my mind to cut that bolt! Where would I have gone to?"
It was not easy to frighten Burke, but now he trembled, and his back was chilled. But he soon recovered sufficiently to do something, and going down to the floor of the cave, he picked up a piece of loose stone, and returning to the top of the mound, he looked carefully over the edge of the opening, and let the stone drop into the black hole beneath. With all the powers of his brain he listened, and it seemed to him like half a minute before he heard a faint sound, far, far below. At this moment he was worse frightened than he had ever been in his life. He clambered down to the foot of the mound, and sat down on the floor.
"What in the name of all the devils does it mean?" said he; and he set himself to work to think about it, and found this a great deal harder labor than cutting stone.
"There was only one thing," he said to himself, at last, "that they could have had that for. The captain says that those ancient fellows put their gold there keep it from the Spaniards, and they must have rigged up this devilish contrivance to work if they found the Spaniards had got on the track of their treasure. Even if the Spaniards had let off the water and gone to work to get the gold out, one of the Incas' men in the corner of that other cave, which most likely was all shut up and not discoverable, would have got hold of that bar, given it a good pull, and let down all the gold, and what Spaniards might happen to be inside, to the very bottom of that black hole. By George! it would have been a pretty trick! The bottom of that mound is just like a funnel, and every stick of gold would have gone down. But, what is more likely, they would have let it out before the Spaniards had a chance to open the top, and then, if the ancients had happened to lick the Spaniards, they could have got all that gold up again. It might have taken ten or twenty years, but then, the ancients had all the time they wanted."
After these reflections, Burke sat for a few moments, staring at the lantern. "But, by George!" said he again, speaking aloud, though in low tones, "it makes my blood run cold to think of the captain working day after day, as hard as he could, right over that horrible trap-door. Suppose he had moved the bolt in some way! Suppose somebody outside had found that slab in the wall and had fooled with the bar! Then, there is another thing. Suppose, while they were living here, he or the boy had found that bar before he found the dome, and had pulled out the concern to see what it was! Bless me! in that case we should all be as poor as rats! Bat I must not stop here, or the next watch will be called before I get back. But one thing I'll do before I go. I'll put back that lid. Somebody might find the dome in the dark, and tumble into it. Why, if a wandering rat should make a slip, and go down into that black hole, it would be enough to make a fellow's blood run cold if he knew of it."
Without much trouble Burke replaced the lid, and then, without further delay, he left the caves. As he hurried along the beach, he debated within himself whether or not he should tell Captain Horn what he had discovered.
"It will be mighty hard on his nerves," said he, "if he comes to know how he squatted and worked for days and weeks over that diabolical trap that opens downward. He's a strong man, but he's got enough on his nerves as it is. No, I won't tell him. He is going to do the handsome thing by us, and it would be mean for me to do the unhandsome thing by him. By George! I don't believe he could sleep for two or three nights if he knew what I know! No, sir! You just keep your mouth shut until we are safe and sound in some civilized spot, with the whole business settled, and Shirley and me discharged. Then I will tell the captain about it, so that nobody need ever trouble his mind about coming back to look for gold rings and royal mummies. If I don't get back before my watch is called, I'll brazen it out somehow. We've got to twist discipline a little when we are all hard at work at a job like this."
He left his shoes on the sand of the cove, and swam to the ship without taking time to undress. He slipped over the taffrail, and had scarcely time to get below and change his clothes before his watch was called.
On the afternoon of the next day, the Miranda, having taken in water, set sail, and began her long voyage to Rio Janeiro, and thence to France.
Now that his labors were over, and the treasure of the Incas safely stored in the hold of the brig, where it was ignominiously acting as ballast, Captain Horn seated himself comfortably in the shade of a sail and lighted his pipe. He was tired of working, tired of thinking, tired of planning—tired in mind, body, and even soul; and the thought that his work was done, and that he was actually sailing away with his great prize, came to him like a breeze from the sea after a burning day. He was not as happy as he should have been. He knew that he was too tired to be as happy as his circumstances demanded, but after a while he would attend better to that business. Now he was content to smoke his pipe, and wait, and listen to the distant music from all the different kinds of enjoyment which, in thought, were marching toward him. It was true he was only beginning his long voyage to the land where he hoped to turn his gold into available property. It was true that he might be murdered that night, or some other night, and that when the brig, with its golden cargo, reached port, he might not be in command of her. It was true that a hundred things might happen to prevent the advancing enjoyments from ever reaching him. But ill-omened chances threaten everything that man is doing, or ever can do, and he would not let the thought of them disturb him now.
Everybody on board the Miranda was glad to rest and be happy, according to his methods and his powers of anticipation. As to any present advantage from their success, there was none. The stones and sand they had thrown out had ballasted the brig quite as well as did the gold they now carried. This trite reflection forced itself upon the mind of Burke.
"Captain," said he, "don't you think it would be a good idea to touch somewhere and lay in a store of fancy groceries and saloon-cabin grog? If we can afford to be as jolly as we please, I don't see why we shouldn't begin now."
But the captain shook his head. "It would be a dangerous thing," he said, "to put into any port on the west coast of South America with our present cargo on board. We can't make it look like ballast, as I expected we could, for all that bagging gives it a big bulk, and if the custom-house officers came on board, it would not do any good to tell them we are sailing in ballast, if they happened to want to look below."
"Well, that may be so," said Burke. "But what I'd like would be to meet a first-class, double-quick steamer, and buy her, put our treasure on board, and then clap on all steam for France."
"All right," said the captain, "but we'll talk about that when we meet a steamer for sale."
After a week had passed, and he had begun to feel the advantages of rest and relief from anxiety, Captain Horn regretted nothing so much as that theMirandawas not a steamer, ploughing her swift way over the seas. It must be a long, long time before he could reach those whom he supposed and hoped were waiting for him in France. It had already been a long, long time since they had heard from him. He did not fear that they would suffer because he did not come. He had left them money enough to prevent anything of that sort. He did not know whether or not they were longing to hear from him, but he did know that he wanted them to hear from him. He must yet sail about three thousand miles in the Pacific Ocean, and then about two thousand more in the Atlantic, before he reached Rio Janeiro, the port for which he had cleared. From there it would be nearly five thousand miles to France, and he did not dare to calculate how long it would take the brig to reach her final destination.
This course of thought determined him to send a letter, which would reach Paris long before he could arrive there. If they should know that he was on his way home, all might be well, or, at least, better than if they knew nothing about him. It might be a hazardous thing to touch at a port on this coast, but he believed that, if he managed matters properly, he might get a letter ashore without making it necessary for any meddlesome custom-house officers to come aboard and ask questions. Accordingly, he decided to stop at Valparaiso. He thought it likely that if he did not meet a vessel going into port which would lay to and take his letter, he might find some merchantman, anchored in the roadstead, to which he could send a boat, and on which he was sure to find some one who would willingly post his letter.
He wrote a long letter to Edna—a straightforward, business-like missive, as his letters had always been, in which, in language which she could understand, but would carry no intelligible idea to any unauthorized person who might open the letter, he gave her an account of what he had done, and which was calculated to relieve all apprehensions, should it be yet a long time before he reached her. He promised to write again whenever there was an opportunity of sending her a letter, and wrote in such a friendly and encouraging manner that he felt sure there would be no reason for any disappointment or anxiety regarding him and the treasure.
Burke and Shirley were a little surprised when they found that the captain had determined to stop at Valparaiso, a plan so decidedly opposed to what he had before said on the subject. But when they found it was for the purpose of sending a letter to his wife, and that he intended, if possible, barely to touch and go, they said nothing more, nor did Burke make any further allusions to improvement in their store of provisions.
When, at last, the captain found himself off Valparaiso, it was on a dark, cloudy evening and nothing could be done until the next morning, and they dropped anchor to wait until dawn.
As soon as it was light, the captain saw that a British steamer was anchored about a mile from theMiranda, and he immediately sent a boat, with Shirley and two of the negroes, to ask the officer on duty to post his letter when he sent on shore. In a little more than an hour Shirley returned, with the report that the first mate of the steamer knew Captain Horn and would gladly take charge of his letter.
The boat was quickly hauled to the davits, and all hands were called to weigh anchor and set sail. But all hands did not respond to the call. One of the negroes, a big, good-natured fellow, who, on account of his unpronounceable African name, had been dubbed "Inkspot," was not to be found. This was a very depressing thing, under the circumstances, and it, almost counterbalanced the pleasure the captain felt in having started a letter on its way to his party in France.
It seemed strange that Inkspot should have deserted the vessel, for it was a long way to the shore, and, besides, what possible reason could he have for leaving his fellow-Africans and taking up his lot among absolute strangers? The crew had all worked together so earnestly and faithfully that the captain had come to believe in them and trust them to an extent to which he had never before trusted seamen.
The officers held a consultation as to what was to be done, and they very quickly arrived at a decision. To remain at anchor, to send a boat on shore to look for the missing negro, would be dangerous and useless. Inquiries about the deserter would provoke inquiries about the brig, and if Inkspot really wished to run away from the vessel, it would take a long time to find him and bring him back. The right course was quite plain to every one. Having finished the business which brought them there, they must up anchor and sail away as soon as possible. As for the loss of the man, they must bear that as well as they could. Whether he had been drowned, eaten by a shark, or had safely reached the shore, he was certainly lost to them.
At the best, their crew had been small enough, but six men had sailed a brig, and six men could do it again.
So the anchor was weighed, the sails were set, and before a northeast wind theMirandawent out to sea as gayly as the nature of her build permitted, which is not saying much. It was a good wind, however, and when the log had been thrown, the captain remarked that the brig was making better time than she had made since they left Acapulco.
When the brigMirandawas lying at anchor in the Rackbirds' cove, and Mr. George Burke had silently left her in order to go on shore and pursue some investigations in which he was interested, his departure from the brig had not been, as he supposed, unnoticed. The big, good-natured African, known as Inkspot, had been on watch, and, being himself so very black that he was not generally noticeable in the dark, was standing on a part of the deck from which, without being noticed himself, he saw a person get over the taffrail and slip into the water. He knew this person to be the second mate, and having a high respect and some fear of his superiors, he did not consider it his business to interfere with him. He saw a head above the water, moving toward the shore, but it soon disappeared in the darkness. Toward the end of his watch, he had seen Mr. Burke climb up the vessel's side as silently as he had gone down it, and disappear below.
When Inkspot went to his hammock, which he did very shortly afterwards, he reflected to the best of his ability upon what he had seen. Why did Mr. Burke slip away from the ship so silently, and come back in the same way? He must have gone ashore, and why did he want no one to know that he had gone? He must have gone to do something he ought not to do, and Inkspot could think of nothing wrong that Mr. Burke would like to do, except to drink whiskey. Captain Horn was very particular about using spirits on board, and perhaps Mr. Burke liked whiskey, and could not get it. Inkspot knew about the storehouse of the Rackbirds, but he did not know what it had contained, or what had been left there. Maka had said something about the whiskey having been poured out on the sand, but that might have been said just to keep people away from the place. If there were no whiskey there, why did Mr. Burke go on shore?
Now, it so happened that Inkspot knew a good deal about whiskey. Before he had gone into the service of the Rackbirds, he had, at different times, been drunk, and he had the liveliest and most pleasant recollections of these experiences. It had been a long time since he had had enough whiskey to make him feel happy. This had probably been the case with Mr. Burke, and he had gone on shore, and most likely had had some very happy hours, and had come back without any one knowing where he had gone. The consequence of this train of thought was that Inkspot determined that he would go on shore, the next night, and hunt for whiskey. He could do it quite as well as Mr. Burke had done it, perhaps even better. But theMirandadid not remain in the cove the next night, and poor Inkspot looked with longing eyes upon the slowly departing spot on the sands where he knew the Rackbirds' storehouse was located.
The days and nights went on, and in the course of time theMirandaanchored in the harbor of Valparaiso; and, when this happened, Inkspot determined that now would be his chance to go on shore and get a good drink of whiskey—he had money enough for that. He could see the lights of El Puerto, or the Old Town, glittering and beckoning, and they did not appear to be very far off. It would be nothing for him to swim as far as that.
Inkspot went off his watch at midnight, and he went into the water at fifty minutes to one. He wore nothing but a dark-gray shirt and a pair of thin trousers, and if any one had seen his head and shoulders, it is not likely, unless a good light had been turned on them, that they would have been supposed to be portions of a human form.
Inkspot was very much at home in the water, and he could swim like a dog or a deer. But it was a long, long swim to those glittering and beckoning lights. At last, however, he reached a pier, and having rested himself on the timbers under it, he cautiously climbed to the top. The pier was deserted, and he walked to the end of it, and entered the town. He knew nothing of Valparaiso, except that it was a large city where sailors went, and he was quite sure he could find a shop where they sold whiskey. Then he would have a glass—perhaps two—perhaps three—after which he would return to the brig, as Mr. Burke had done. Of course, he would have to do much more swimming than had been necessary for the second mate, but then, he believed himself to be a better swimmer than that gentleman, and he expected to get back a great deal easier than he came, because the whiskey would make him strong and happy, and he could play with the waves.
Inkspot did find a shop, and a dirty one it was—but they sold whiskey inside, and that was enough for him. With the exception of Maka, he was the most intelligent negro among the captain's crew, and he had picked up some words of English and some of Spanish. But it was difficult for him to express an idea with these words. Among these words, however, was one which he pronounced better than any of the others, and which had always been understood whenever he used it,—whether in English or Spanish, no matter what the nationality might be of the person addressed,—and that word was "whiskey."
Inkspot had one glass, and then another, a third, and a fourth, and then his money gave out—at least, the man who kept the shop insisted, in words that any one could understand, that the silver the big negro had fished out of his dripping pockets would pay for no more drinks. But Inkspot had had enough to make him happy. His heart was warm, and his clothes were getting drier. He went out into the glorious night. It was dark and windy, and the sky was cloudy, but to him all things were glorious. He sat down on the pavement in the cosey corner of two walls, and there he slept luxuriously until a policeman came along and arrested him for being drunk in the street.
It was two days before Inkspot got out of the hands of the police. Then he was discharged because the authorities did not desire to further trouble themselves with a stupid fellow who could give no account of himself, and had probably wandered from a vessel in port. The first thing he did was to go out to the water's edge and look out over the harbor, but although he saw many ships, his sharp eyes told him that not one of them was the brig he had left.
After an hour or two of wandering up and down the waterside, he became sure that there was no vessel in that harbor waiting for him to swim to her. Then he became equally certain that he was very hungry. It was not long, however, before a good, strong negro like Inkspot found employment. It was not necessary for him to speak very much Spanish, or any other language, to get a job at carrying things up a gang-plank, and, in pay for this labor, he willingly took whatever was given him.
That night, with very little money in his pocket, Inkspot entered a tavern, a low place, but not so low as the one he had patronized on his arrival in Valparaiso. He had had a meagre supper, and now possessed but money enough to pay for one glass of whiskey, and having procured this, he seated himself on a stool in a corner, determined to protract his enjoyment as long as possible. Where he would sleep that night he knew not, but it was not yet bedtime, and he did not concern himself with the question.
Near by, at a table, were seated four men, drinking, smoking, and talking. Two of these were sailors. Another, a tall, dark man with a large nose, thin at the bridge and somewhat crooked below, was dressed in very decent shore clothes, but had a maritime air about him, notwithstanding. The fourth man, as would have been evident to any one who understood Spanish, was a horse-dealer, and the conversation, when Inkspot entered the place, was entirely about horses. But Inkspot did not know this, as he understood so few of the words that he heard, and he would not have been interested if he had understood them. The horse-dealer was the principal spokesman, but he would have been a poor representative of the shrewdness of his class, had he been trying to sell horses to sailors. He was endeavoring to do nothing of the kind. These men were his friends, and he was speaking to them, not of the good qualities of his animals, but of the credulous natures of his customers. To illustrate this, he drew from his pocket a small object which he had received a few days before for some horses which might possibly be worth their keep, although he would not be willing to guarantee this to any one at the table. The little object which he placed on the table was a piece of gold about two inches long, and shaped like an irregular prism.
This, he said, he had received in trade from a man in Santiago, who had recently come down from Lima. The man had bought it from a jeweller, who had others, and who said he understood they had come from California. The jeweller had owed the man money, and the latter had taken this, not as a curiosity, for it was not much of a curiosity, as they could all see, but because the jeweller told him exactly how much it was worth, and because it was safer than money to carry, and could be changed into current coin in any part of the world. The point of the horse-dealer's remarks was, however, the fact that not only had he sold his horses to the man from Lima for very much more than they were worth, but he had made him believe that this lump of gold was not worth as much as he had been led to suppose, that the jeweller had cheated him, and that Californian gold was not easily disposed of in Chili or Peru, for it was of a very inferior quality to the gold of South America. So he had made his trade, and also a profit, not only on the animals he delivered, but on the pay he received. He had had the little lump weighed and tested, and knew exactly how much it was worth.
When the horse-dealer had finished this pleasant tale, he laughed loudly, and the three other men laughed also because they had keen wits and appreciated a good story of real life. But their laughter was changed to astonishment—almost fright—when a big black negro bounded out of a dark corner and stood by the table, one outstretched ebony finger pointing to the piece of gold. Instantly the horse dealer snatched his treasure and thrust it into his pocket, and almost at the same moment each man sprung to his feet and put his hand on his favorite weapon. But the negro made no attempt to snatch the gold, nor did there seem to be any reason to apprehend an attack from him. He stood slapping his thighs with his hands, his mouth in a wide grin, and his eyes sparkling in apparent delight.
"What is the matter with you?" shouted the horse-dealer. "What do you want?"
Inkspot did not understand what had been said to him, nor could he have told what he wanted, for he did not know. At that moment he knew nothing, he comprehended nothing, but he felt as a stranger in a foreign land would feel should he hear some words in his native tongue. The sight of that piece of gold had given to Inkspot, by one quick flash, a view of his negro friends and companions, of Captain Horn and his two white men, of the brig he had left, of the hammock in which he had slept—of all, in fact, that he now cared for on earth.
He had seen pieces of gold like that. Before all the treasure had been carried from the caves to theMiranda, the supply of coffee-bags had given out, and during the last days of the loading it had been necessary to tie up the gold in pieces of sail-cloth, after the fashion of a wayfarer's bundle. Before these had been put on board, their fastening had been carefully examined, and some of them had been opened and retied. Thus all the negroes had seen the little bars, for, as they knew the bags contained gold, there was no need of concealing from them the shape and size of the contents.
So, when, sitting in his gloomy corner, his spirits slowly rising under the influence of his refreshment, which he had just finished, he saw before him an object which recalled to him the life and friends of which he had bereft himself, Inkspot's nature took entire possession of him, and he bounded to the table in ecstatic recognition of the bit of metal.
The men now swore at Inkspot, but as they saw he was unarmed, and not inclined to violence, they were not afraid of him, but they wondered at him. The horse-dealer took the piece of gold out of his pocket and held it in his hand.
"Did you ever see anything like that before?" he asked. He was a shrewd man, the horse-dealer, and really wanted to know what was the matter with the negro.
Inkspot did not answer, but jabbered in African.
"Try him in English," suggested the thin-nosed man, and this the horse-dealer did.
Many of the English words Inkspot understood. He had seen things like that. Yes, yes! Great heaps! Heaps! Bags! Bags! He carried them! Throwing an imaginary package over his shoulder, he staggered under it across the floor. Heaps! Piles! Bags! Days and days and days he carried many bags! Then, in a state of exalted mental action, produced by his recollections and his whiskey, he suddenly conceived a scorn for a man who prized so highly just one of these lumps, and who was nearly frightened out of his wits if a person merely pointed to it. He shrugged his shoulders, he spread out the palms of his hands toward the piece of gold, he turned away his head and walked off sniffing. Then he came back and pointed to it, and, saying "One!" he laughed, and then he said "One!" and laughed again. Suddenly he became possessed with a new idea. His contemptuous manner dropped from him, and in eager excitement he leaned forward and exclaimed:
"Cap' 'Or?"
The four men looked at each other and at him in wonder, and asked what, in the name of his satanic majesty, the fellow was driving at. This apparent question, now repeated over and over again in turn to each of them, they did not understand at all. But they could comprehend that the negro had carried bags of lumps like that. This was very interesting.
The subject of the labors of an African Hercules, mythical as these labors might be, was so interesting to the four men who had been drinking and smoking in the tavern, that they determined to pursue it as far as their ignorance of the African's language, and his ignorance of English and Spanish, would permit. In the first place, they made him sit down with them, and offered him something to drink. It was not whiskey, but Inkspot liked it very much, and felt all sorts of good effects from it. In fact, it gave him a power of expressing himself by gestures and single words in a manner wonderful. After a time, the men gave him something to eat, for they imagined he might be hungry, and this also helped him very much, and his heart went out to these new friends. Then he had a little more to drink, but only a little, for the horse-dealer and the thin-nosed man, who superintended the entertainment, were very sagacious, and did not want him to drink too much.
In the course of an hour, these four men, listening and watching keenly and earnestly, had become convinced that this black man had been on a ship which carried bags of gold similar to the rude prism possessed by the horse-dealer, that he had left that vessel for the purpose of obtaining refreshments on shore and had not been able to get back to it, thereby indicating that the vessel had not stopped long at the place where he had left it, and which place must have been, of course, Valparaiso. Moreover, they found out to their full satisfaction where that vessel was going to; for Maka had talked a great deal about Paris, which he pronounced in English fashion, where Cheditafa and Mok were, and the negroes had looked forward to this unknown spot as a heavenly port, and Inkspot could pronounce the word "Paris" almost as plainly as if it were a drink to which he was accustomed.
But where the vessel was loaded with the gold, they could not find out. No grimace that Inkspot could make, nor word that he could say, gave them an idea worth dwelling upon. He said some words which made them believe that the vessel had cleared from Acapulco, but it was foolish to suppose that any vessel had been loaded there with bags of gold carried on men's shoulders. The ship most probably came from California, and had touched at the Mexican port. And she was now bound for Paris. That was natural enough. Paris was a very good place to which to take gold. Moreover, she had probably touched at some South American port, Callao perhaps, and this was the way the little pieces of gold had been brought into the country, the Californians probably having changed them for stores.
The words "Cap' 'Or," often repeated by the negro, and always in a questioning tone, puzzled them very much. They gave up its solution, and went to work to try to make out the name of the vessel upon which the bags had been loaded. But here Inkspot could not help them. They could not make him understand what it was they wanted him to say. At last, the horse-dealer proposed to the others, who, he said, knew more about such things than he did, that they should repeat the name of every sailing-vessel on that coast of which they had ever heard—for Inkspot had made them understand that his ship had sails, and no steam. This they did, and presently one of the sailors mentioned the nameMiranda, which belonged to a brig he knew of which plied on the coast. At this, Inkspot sprang to his feet and clapped his hands.
"Miran'a! Miran'a.'"he cried. And then followed the words, "Cap' 'Or! Cap' 'Or!" in eagerly excited tones.
Suddenly the thin-nosed man, whom the others called Cardatas, leaned forward.
"Cap'n Horn?" said he.
Inkspot clapped his hands again, and exclaimed:
"Ay, ay! Cap' 'Or! Cap' 'Or!"
He shouted the words so loudly that the barkeeper, at the other end of the room, called out gruffly that they'd better keep quiet, or they would have somebody coming in.
"There you have it!" exclaimed Cardatas, in Spanish. "It's Cap'n Horn that the fool's been trying to say. Cap'n Horn of the brigMiranda. We are getting on finely."
"I have heard of a Cap'n Horn," said one of the sailors. "He's a Yankee skipper from California. He has sailed from this port, I know."
"And he touched here three days ago, according to the negro," saidCardatas, addressing the horse-dealer. "What do you say to that, Nunez?From what we know, I don't think it will be hard to find out more."
Nunez agreed with him, and thought it might pay to find out more. Soon after this, being informed that it was time to shut up the place, the four men went out, taking Inkspot with them. They would not neglect this poor fellow. They would give him a place to sleep, and in the morning he should have something to eat. It would be very unwise to let him go from them at present.
The next morning Inkspot strolled about the wharves of Valparaiso, in company with the two sailors, who never lost sight of him, and he had rather a pleasant time, for they gave him as much to eat and drink as was good for him, and made him understand as well as they could that it would not be long before they would help him to return to the brigMirandacommanded by Captain Horn.
In the meantime, the horse-dealer, Nunez, went to a newspaper office, and there procured a file of a Mexican paper, for the negro had convinced them that his vessel had sailed from Acapulco. Turning over the back numbers week after week, and week after week, Nunez searched in the maritime news for the information that theMirandahad cleared from a Mexican port. He had gone back so far that he had begun to consider it useless to make further search, when suddenly he caught the nameMiranda. There it was. The brigMirandahad cleared from Acapulco September 16, bound for Rio Janeiro in ballast. Nunez counted the months on his fingers.
"Five months ago!" he said to himself. "That's not this trip, surely. But I will talk to Cardatas about that." And taking from his pocket a little note-book in which he recorded his benefactions in the line of horse trades, he carefully copied the paragraph concerning theMiranda.
When Nunez met Cardatas in the afternoon, the latter also had news. He had discovered that the arrival of theMirandahad not been registered, but he had been up and down the piers, asking questions, and he had found a mate of a British steamer, then discharging her cargo, who told him that theMiranda, commanded by Captain Horn, had anchored in the harbor three days back, during the night, and that early the next morning Captain Horn had sent him a letter which he wished posted, and that very soon afterwards the brig had put out to sea. Cardatas wished to know much more, but the mate, who had had but little conversation with Shirley, could only tell him that the brig was then bound from Acapulco to Rio Janeiro in ballast, which he thought rather odd, but all he could add was that he knew Captain Horn, and he was a good man, and that if he were sailing in ballast, he supposed he knew what he was about.
Nunez then showed Cardatas the note he had made, and remarked that, of course, it could not refer to the present voyage of the brig, for it could not take her five months to come from Acapulco to this port.
"No," said the other, musing, "it oughtn't to, but, on the other hand, it is not likely she is on her second voyage to Rio, and both times in ballast. That's all stuff about ballast. No man would be such a fool as to sail pretty nigh all around this continent in ballast. He could find some cargo in Mexico that he could sell when he got to port. Besides, if that black fellow don't lie,—and he don't know enough to lie,—she's bound for Paris. It's more likely she means to touch at Rio and take over some cargo. But why, in the devil's name, should she sail from Acapulco in ballast? It looks to me as if bags of gold might make very good ballast."
"That's just what I was thinking," said Nunez.
"And what's more," said the other, "I'll bet she brought it down from California with her when she arrived at Acapulco. I don't believe she originally cleared from there."
"It looks that way," said Nunez, "but how do you account for such a long voyage?"
"I've been talking to Sanchez about thatMiranda," said Cardatas. "He has heard that she is an old tub, and a poor sailer, and in that case five months is not such a very slow voyage. I have known of slower voyages than that."
"And now what are you going to do about it?" asked Nunez.
"The first thing I want to do is to pump that black fellow a little more."
"A good idea," said Nunez, "and we'll go and do it."
Poor Inkspot was pumped for nearly an hour, but not much was got out of him. The only feature of his information that was worth anything was the idea that he managed to convey that ballast, consisting of stones and bags of sand, had been taken out of the brig and thrown away, and bags of gold put in their places. Where this transfer had taken place, the negro could not make his questioners understand, and he was at last remanded to the care of Sanchez and the other sailor.
"The black fellow can't tell us much," said Cardatas to Nunez, as they walked away together, "but he has stuck to his story well, and there can't be any use of his lying about it. And there is another thing. What made the brig touch here just long enough to leave a letter, and that after a voyage of five months? That looks as if they were afraid some of their people would go on shore and talk."
"In that case," said Nunez, "I should say there is something shady about the business. Perhaps this captain has slipped away from his partners up there in California, or somebody who has been up to a trick has hired him to take the gold out of the country. If he does carry treasure, it isn't a fair and square thing. If it had been fair, the gold would have been sent in the regular way, by a steamer. It's no crime to send gold from California to France, or any other place."
"I agree with you," said Cardatas, as he lighted his twenty-seventh cigarette.
Nunez did not smoke, but he mused as he walked along.
"If she has gold on board," said he, presently, "it must be a good deal."
"Yes," said the other. "They wouldn't take so much trouble for a small lot. Of course, there can't be enough of it to take the place of all the ballast, but it must weigh considerable."
Here the two men were joined by an acquaintance, and their special conversation ceased. That night they met again.
"What are you going to do about this?" asked Nunez. "We can't keep on supporting that negro."
"What is to be done?" asked the other, his sharp eyes fixed upon his companion's face.
"Would it pay to go over to Rio and meet that brig when she arrives there? If we could get on board and have a talk with her captain, he might be willing to act handsomely when he found out we know something about him and his ship. And if he won't do that, we might give information, and have his vessel held until the authorities in California can be communicated with. Then I should say we ought to make something."
"I don't think much of that plan," said Cardatas. "I don't believe she's going to touch at Rio. If she's afraid to go into port here, why shouldn't she be afraid to go into port there? No. It would be stupid for us to go to Rio and sit down and wait for her."
"Then," answered the other, a little angrily, "what can be done?"
"We can go after her," said Cardatas.
The other sneered. "That would be more stupid than the other," said he. "She left here four days ago, and we could never catch up with her, even if we could find such a pin-point of a vessel on the great Pacific."
Cardatas laughed. "You don't know much about navigation," said he, "but that's not to be expected. With a good sailing-vessel I could go after her, and overhaul her somewhere in the Straits of Magellan. With such a cargo, I am sure she would make for the Straits. That Captain Horn is said to be a good sailor, and the fact that he is in command of such a tub as theMirandais a proof that there is something underhand about his business."
"And if we should overhaul her?" said the other.
"Well," was the reply, "we might take along a dozen good fellows, and as theMirandahas only three men on board,—I don't count negroes worth anything,—I don't see why we couldn't induce the captain to talk reasonably to us. As for a vessel, there's theArato."
"Your vessel?" said the other.
"Yes, I own a small share in her, and she's here in port now, waiting for a cargo."
"I forget what sort of a craft she is," said Nunez.
"She's a schooner," said the other, "and she can sail two miles to theMiranda'sone in any kind of weather. If I had money enough, I could get theArato, put a good crew on board, and be at sea and on the wake of that brig in twenty-four hours."
"And how much money would be needed?" asked the other.
"That remains to be calculated," replied Cardatas. Then the two went to work to calculate, and spent an hour or two at it.
When they parted, Nunez had not made up his mind that the plan of Cardatas was a good one, but he told him to go ahead and see what could be done about getting theAratoand a reliable crew, and that he would talk further to him about the matter.
That night Nunez took a train for Santiago, and on his arrival there, the next morning, he went straight to the shop of the jeweller of whom had been obtained the piece of gold in his possession. Here he made some cautious inquiries, and found the jeweller very ready to talk about the piece of gold that Nunez showed him. The jeweller said that he had had four pieces of the gold in his possession, and that he had bought them in Lima to use in his business. They had originally come from California, and were very fine gold. He had been a little curious about it on account of the shape of the pieces, and had been told that they had been brought into the country by an American sea-captain, who had seemed to have a good many of them. The jeweller thought it very likely that these pieces of gold passed for currency in California, for he had heard that at one time the people there had had to make their own currency, and that they often paid for merchandise in so many penny-weights and ounces of gold instead of using coin. The jeweller was himself very glad to do business in this way, for he liked the feel of a lump of gold.
After explaining that his reason for making these inquiries was his fear that the piece of gold he had accepted in trade because he also liked the feel of lumps of gold, might not be worth what he had given for it, Nunez thanked the jeweller, left him, and returned to Valparaiso. He went straight to his friend Cardatas, and said that he would furnish the capital to fit out theAratofor the projected trip.
It was not in twenty-four hours, but in forty-eight, that the schoonerAratocleared from Valparaiso for Callao in ballast. She had a good set of sails, and a crew of ten men besides the captain. She also had on board a passenger, Nunez by name, and a tall negro, who doubtless could turn his hand to some sort of work on board, and whom it would have been very indiscreet to leave behind.
Once outside the harbor, theAratochanged her mind about going toCallao, and sailed southward.
For about ten days after the brigMirandaleft Valparaiso she had good winds and fair weather, and her progress was satisfactory to all on board, but at the end of that time she entered upon a season of head winds and bad weather. The vessel behaved very well in the stormy days that followed, but she made very little headway. Her course was now laid toward the Gulf of Penas, after reaching which she would sail along the protected waterways between the chain of islands which lie along the coast and the mainland, and which lead into the Straits of Magellan.
When the weather at last changed and the sea became smoother, it was found that the working and straining of the masts during the violent weather had opened some of the seams of the brig, and that she was taking in water. She was a good vessel, but she was an old one, and she had had a rough time of it. The captain thanked his stars that she had not begun to leak before the storm.
The short-handed crew went to work at the pumps, but, after two days' hard labor, it was found that the water in the hold steadily gained upon the pumps, and there was no doubt that theMirandawas badly strained. According to a report from Burke, the water came in forward, aft, and midships. Matters were now getting very serious, and the captain and his two mates consulted together, while the three negroes pumped. It was plain to all of them that if the water kept on gaining, it would not be long before the brig must go to the bottom. To keep her afloat until they reached a port would be impossible. To reach the shore in the boats was quite possible, for they were not a hundred miles from land. But to carry their treasure to land in two small boats was a thing which need not even be considered.
All agreed that there was but one thing to be done. The brig must be headed to land, and if she could be kept afloat until she neared one of the great islands which lie along the Patagonian coast, she might be run into some bay or protected cove, where she could be beached, or where, if she should sink, it might be in water so shallow that all hope of getting at her treasure would not have to be abandoned. In any case, the sooner they got to the shore, the better for them. So the brig's bow was turned eastward, and the pumps were worked harder than ever. There was a good wind, and, considering that theMirandawas steadily settling deeper and deeper, she made very fair progress, and in less than two days after she had changed her course, land was sighted. Not long after, Captain Horn began to hope that if the wind held, and the brig could keep above water for an hour or so, he could double a small headland which now showed itself plainly a couple of miles away, and might be able to beach his vessel.
What a dreary, depressing hope it was that now possessed the souls of Captain Horn, of Burke and Shirley, and of even the three negroes! After all the hardships, the labor, and the anxieties, after all the joy of success and escape from danger, after all happy chances which had come in various ways and from various directions, after the sweet delights of rest, after the super-exultation of anticipation which no one on board had been able to banish from his mind, there was nothing left to them now but the eager desire that their vessel might keep afloat until she could find some friendly sands on which she might be run, or some shallow water in which she might sink and rest there on the wild Patagonian coast, leaving them far from human beings of any kind, far from help, far, perhaps, from rescue and even safety.
To this one object each man gave his entire energy, his mind, and his body. Steadily went the pumps, steadily the captain kept his eyes fixed upon the approaching headland, and upon the waters beyond, and steadily, little by little, theMirandasunk lower and lower into the sea.
At last the headland was reached, and on its ocean side the surf beat high. Keeping well away to avoid shoals or a bar, theMirandapassed the southern point of the headland, and slowly sailed into a little bay. To the left lay the rocky ridge which formed the headland, and less than half a mile away could be seen the shining sands of the smooth beach. Toward this beach theMirandawas now headed, every sail upon her set, and every nerve upon her strung to its tightest. They went in upon a flood-tide. If he had believed that the brig would float so long, Captain Horn would have waited an hour until the tide was high, so that he might run his vessel farther up upon the beach, but he could not wait, and with a strong west wind he steered straight for the sands.
There was a hissing under the bows, and a shock which ran through the vessel from stem to stern, and then grinding and grinding and grinding until all motion ceased, and a gentle surf began to curl itself against the stern of the brig.
Every halliard was let go, and down came every sail by the run, and then the brigMirandaended this voyage, and all others, upon the shore of a desolate Patagonian island.
Between the vessel and dry land there was about a hundred feet of water, but this would be much less when the tide went out. Beyond the beach was a stretch of sandy hillocks, or dunes, and back of these was a mass of scrubby thicket, with here and there a low tree, and still farther back was seen the beginning of what might be a forest. It was a different coast from the desolate shores of Peru.
Burke came aft to the captain.
"Here we are, sir," said he, "and what's to happen next?"
"Happen!" exclaimed the captain. "We must not wait for things to happen! What we've got to do is to step around lively, and get the gold out of this brig before the wind changes and drives her out into deep water."
Burke put his hands into his pockets. "Is there any good of it, captain?" said he. "Will we be any better off with the bags on that shore than we would be if they were sunk in this bay?"
"Good of it!" exclaimed the captain. "Don't talk that way, Burke. If we can get it on shore, there is a chance for us. But if it goes to the bottom, out in deep water, there is none. There is no time to talk now. What we must do is to go to work."
"Yes," said Burke, "whatever happens, it is always work. But I'm in for it, as long as I hold together. But we've got to look out that some of those black fellows don't drop over the bow, and give us the slip."
"They'll starve if they do," said the captain, "for not a biscuit, or a drop of water, goes ashore until the gold is out of the hold."
Burke shook his head. "We'll do what we can, captain," said he, "but that hold's a regular fishpond, and we'll have to dive for the bags."
"All right," said the captain, "dive let it be."
The work of removing the gold began immediately. Tackle was rigged. The negroes went below to get out the bags, which were hauled up to the deck in a tub. When a moderate boat-load had been taken out, a boat was lowered and manned, and the bags passed down to it.
In the first boat the captain went ashore. He considered it wise to land the treasure as fast as it could be taken out of the hold, for no one could know at what time, whether on account of wind from shore or waves from the sea, the vessel might slip out into deep water. This was a slower method than if everybody had worked at getting the gold on deck, and then everybody had worked at getting it ashore, but it was a safer plan than the other, for if an accident should occur, if the brig should be driven off the sand, they would have whatever they had already landed. As this thought passed through the mind of the captain, he could not help a dismal smile.
"Have!" said he to himself. "It may be that we shall have it as that poor fellow had his bag of gold, when he lay down on his back to die there in the wild desert."
But no one would have imagined that such an idea had come into the captain's mind. He worked as earnestly, and as steadily, as if he had been landing an ordinary cargo at an ordinary dock.
The captain and the men in the boat carried the bags high up on the beach, out of any danger from tide or surf, and laid them in a line along the sand. The captain ordered this because it would be easier to handle them afterwards—if it should ever be necessary to handle them—than if they had been thrown into piles. If they should conclude to bury them, it would be easier and quicker to dig a trench along the line, and tumble them in, than to make the deep holes that would otherwise be necessary.
Until dark that day, and even after dark, they worked, stopping only for necessary eating and drinking. The line of bags upon the shore had grown into a double one, and it became necessary for the men, sometimes the white and sometimes the black, to stoop deeper and deeper into the water of the hold to reach the bags. But they worked on bravely. In the early dawn of the next morning they went to work again. Not a negro had given the ship the slip, nor were there any signs that one of them had thought of such a thing.
Backward and forward through the low surf went the boat, and longer and wider and higher grew the mass of bags upon the beach.
It was the third day after they had reached shore that the work was finished. Every dripping bag had been taken out of the hold, and the captain had counted them all as they had been put ashore, and verified the number by the record in his pocket-book.
When the lower tiers of bags had been reached, they had tried pumping out the water, but this was of little use. The brig had keeled over on her starboard side, and early in the morning of the third day, when the tide was running out, a hole had been cut in that side of the vessel, out of which a great portion of the water she contained had run. It would all come in again, and more of it, when the tide rose, but they were sure they could get through their work before that, and they were right. The bags now lay upon the beach in the shape of a long mound, not more than three feet high, and about four rows wide at the bottom and two at the top. The captain had superintended the arrangement of the bags, and had so shaped the mass that it somewhat resembled in form the dunes of sand which lay behind it. No matter what might be their next step, it would probably be advisable to conceal the bags, and the captain had thought that the best way to do this would be to throw sand over the long mound, in which work the prevailing western winds would be likely to assist, and thus make it look like a natural sand-hill. Burke and Shirley were in favor of burial, but the consideration of this matter was deferred, for there was more work to be done, which must be attended to immediately.
Now provisions, water, and everything else that might be of value was taken out of the brig and carried to shore. Two tents were constructed out of sails and spars, and the little party established themselves upon the beach. What would be their next work they knew not, but they must first rest from their long season of heavy labor. The last days had been harder even than the days of storm and the days of pumping. They had eaten hurriedly and slept but little. Regular watches and irregular watches had been kept—watches against storm, which might sweep the brig with all on board out to sea, watches against desertion, watches against they knew not what. As chief watcher, the captain had scarcely slept at all.
It had been dreary work, unrelieved by hope, uncheered by prospect of success; for not one of them, from the captain down, had any definite idea as to what was to be done after they had rested enough to act.
But they rested, and they went so far as to fill their pipes and stretch themselves upon the sand. When night came on, chilly and dark, they gathered driftwood and dead branches from the thicket and built a camp-fire. They sat around it, and smoked their pipes, but they did not tell stories, nor did they talk very much. They were glad to rest, they were glad to keep warm, but that was all. The only really cheerful thing upon the beach was the fire, which leaped high and blazed merrily as the dried wood was heaped upon it.