Chapter Sixteen.Sam Jedfoot’s Yarn.“Ho-ho-ho! I shall die a-laughing!” exclaimed another voice at this juncture, interrupting Sam’s terrified appeal to the spiritual powers. “Ho-ho-ho! I shall die a-laughing!”The voice sounded like that of Tom Bullover; but, before I could look up to see if it were really he, Sam and I, the negro cook still clutching me tightly in his frantic grasp as we rolled down the little declivity on to the beach below the entrance to the cave, fetched up against Hiram; who, only just recovering from the shock he had received, was then in the act of rising from the ground, where he had dropped at the sight of Sam and his banjo—still dazed with the fright, and hardly yet knowing where he was or what had happened.“My golly!” cried Sam, thinking him another ghost. “Lor’ sakes! Massa Duppy, do forgib me! I’ll nebbah do so moah, I’se swarr I’ll nebbah do so no moah!”“Wa-all, I’m jiggered!” ejaculated Hiram, on the two of us coming against him with a thump, nearly knocking him again off his legs, as we scrambled to ours. “What in thunder dew this air muss mean? Jee-rusalem—it beats creation, it dew!”Neither Sam nor I could get out a word; but, while we all stared, out of breath and speechless with astonishment, at each other, another wild shout of laughter came right over our heads from within the cave above, and I heard Tom’s voice exclaiming, as before—“Ho-ho-ho! you’ll be the death o’ me sure, sonnies! I never seed sich a go in my life! Hang it all—Charley and Hiram, and you, Sambo—why, it’s only me! Ho-ho-ho! I shall bust meself, if you go staring round and wool-gathering like that any longer! Ho-ho-ho! this is a game, and no mistake!”With that, the three of us looked up, and now saw Tom Bullover standing on top of the plateau in front of the cave, with a sort of long white sheet like a piece of sailcloth round him, and Sam’s banjo in one hand.Then, the real facts of the case flashed on my mind in a moment, and I could not help joining in the carpenter’s hearty merriment at the way in which he had humbugged us all.“Oh, Tom!” I cried; “so it was you, after all?”“Yes; ho-ho! Charley; yes, my lad. Ho-ho-ho!”“Guess I don’t see nuthin’ to snigger over!” growled Hiram, shamefaced at being so readily imposed on; but he was too good a sailor to mind a joke against himself, and the comicality of the situation striking him, too, like me, he was soon laughing as loudly as Tom and I.Sam only needed this further secession likewise to set him off, his negro nature possessing the hysterical features of his race, and going readily from one extreme to the other.A second before he had been paralysed with fright; now he was as instantly convulsed with glee.“My gosh!” he yelled, showing his ivories as his whole face expanded into one big guffaw that utterly eclipsed all our attempts at merriment. “Hoo-hoo, yah-yah! Dat am prime, Cholly—black ghost fo’ whitey! Hoo-hoo, yah-yah! I’se die a-laffin’, like Tom! Black ghost fo’ whitey!—Hoo-hoo, yah-yah, hoo-hoo! Golly! Dat am prime, fo’ suah!”Sam’s negro abandon and queer gestures, as he danced about and doubled himself up in his wild convulsions of mirth, were absolutely irresistible; and so we all roared in concert, like a party of lunatics, laughing until the tears actually ran down our cheeks.“An’ how did yer fix the hull thing so smartly?” inquired the American, presently when he was able to speak. “Ye took me in finely, I guess; ye did thet so!”“Lor’, old ship! that were easy enough, when you comes to think of it.”“But, how?” persisted Hiram, as Tom broke off his explanation to indulge in another laugh. “Hyar’s Sam, what was ded, alive agen an’ kickin’, ez my shins ken tell, I reckon! How about his hauntin’ the shep, an’ all thet?”“Yes, Tom,” I put in here; “how was it that he wasn’t killed?”“Oh, Sam ’ll explain all about his bizness,” replied Tom, laughing again, the ridiculous nature of the whole thing appealing strongly to his risible faculties. “I’ve got enough to do to tell you about my own ghost—the sperrit, that is, of the black man that our second-mate spun that yarn about yesterday arternoon!”“A–ah!” drawled out Hiram; “I begins to smell a rat, I dew.”“But, suah dat ’perrit wasn’t reel, hey, Mass’ Tom?” interposed Sam, his eyeballs starting again out of his head, as he recollected all the mysterious occurrences in the cave. “Dat ’perrit wasn’t reel, hey? I’se take um fo’ duppy, suah?”“No, ye durned fule!” exclaimed Hiram, quite indignantly; “don’t ye know thet?”“Some people weren’t so wise just now,” said Tom Bullover dryly; “eh, Hiram?”“Nary mind ’bout thet,” growled the American, giving Tom a dig in the ribs playfully. “Heave ahead with yer yarn, or we’ll never git in the slack of it ’fore nightfall!”“Well then, here’s the long and short of it,” said Tom, sitting down on the top of the little cliff-mound, so as to make himself as comfortable as possible, while we stood grouped around him. “You see, now, our Dutch mate’s story about the nigger that the buccaneers used to bury with their treasure put me up to taking a rise out of our friend Sambo here, who, though he was artful enough to play at being a ghost and haunt the ship, as you fellows thought all through the v’yage, was yet mortal ’fraid of them same ghostesses hisself, as I well knowed!”“Oh, Lor’, Mass’ Tom, dunno say dat,” interrupted Sam reproachfully. “Speak fo’ true, an’ shame de debble!”“That’s just what I’m doing, darkey. You know I’m speaking the truth; and I’m sure Charley and Hiram here can judge for theirselves, from what they saw not long ago!”“Bully for ye!” cried Hiram, confirming Tom Bullover’s reference to himself. “Why, ye durned nigger, ye wer a’most yeller with frit jest now, when ye kinder thought ye seed one o’ them blessed ghostesses thet Tom wer a-talkin’ on!”This effectually shut up Sam; and my friend the carpenter then went on with his account of the phenomenon we had seen.“I knew,” said he, “that the darkey would be up here this arternoon, for I showed him the cave myself this mornin’, afore any of you beggars aboard the ship were up or stirring. I thought it would be just a good place for him to hide in, besides preventing the skipper and that brute Flinders, or any of the other hands, from coming spying round and interfering with our diskevery, which, as you know—I means you Charley and Hiram—we wished for to keep to ourselves.”“Ay, bo,” assented Hiram approvingly; “true enuff; ye acted rightly, shipmet.”“So I tells Sam to rig hisself up here as comf’ably as he could; and if he should hear any footsteps comin’ nigh the place he was to strike up a tune on his banjo and frighten them away, makin’ any inquisitive folk think the place was haunted by the same old ghost they knew aboard the ship.”“What a capital idea!” said I; “how did you come to think of it?”“I thought of more than that, Charley,” replied Tom, with a broad grin. “It wasn’t long arter I brought Sam here that I thought of makin’ the second ghost out of the proper black man belonging to the cave, that Jan Steenbock had told us on, and which you, Hiram, said you wouldn’t be frightened at nohow.”“Stow thet,” growled Hiram, shaking his fist at Tom. “Carry on with yer yarn, an’ don’t mind me, old stick-in-the-mud!”“I’m carryin’ on, if you’ll only let a feller tell his story in his own way. You know we agreed to come up here together this arternoon, and make a reg’ler up-and-down search for the buried treasure; and you told me, you rec’lect, to bring a port fire, such as we had aboard, for to light up the place.”“Thet’s right enuff,” said Hiram, “thet’s right enuff; but, durn it all, heave ahead, bo! Heave ahead!”“Well then,” continued Tom, “I gets this blessed jigmaree of a port fire from the ship; and, having done my spell at digging out the dock, my gang finishing work at four bells, I com’d up here afore you and Charley. It were then that I thinks of having a bit of a game with old Sam, while I was waitin’ for you two to join company and look for the treasure together, as we agreed atween us when we first diskivered the place.”“And you didn’t intend to frighten us, Tom?” I asked him at this point; “mind, really?”“No, I’ll take my davy I didn’t—that is, not at first,” replied he, grinning in his usual way. “Arterwards, in course, I couldn’t help it, when you and our Chickopee friend here took the bait so finely.”“Ah! I’ll pay you out, bo, for it,” cried Hiram, interrupting Tom, as I had done, “never you fear. I’ll pay you out, my hearty, ’fore this time to-morrow come-never—both me and Cholly will tew, I guess, sirree!”“Threaten’d men live long,” observed Tom with a dry chuckle. “Still, that ain’t got nothin’ to do with this here yarn. I com’d up, as I were sayin’, a good half-hour afore you; and, to spin out the time, I goes round to the cave by the way where we first lighted on it t’other day, and gets inside by the hole through the broken old door where we entered it afore our reaching this end.”“And then?” I asked, on Tom’s pausing for a moment in his narrative—“and then?”“Why, then I saw poor Sam, with his back turned towards me, a-sittin’ down on that rock as we called ‘the ghost’s pulpit,’ and playin’ his blessed old banjo as sweetly as you please, without thinkin’ that I or any one else were within miles of him! So, seein’ this were a good chance for finding whether Master Sammy, as was thought a ghost hisself aboard, liked ghosts as he didn’t know of, I catches up a bit o’ sailcloth that was lying on the ground, which he’d taken up there to sarve for his bed, and, I claps this over my head and shoulders, like a picter my mother had in the parlour at home of ‘Samuel and the Witch of Endor.’ Then, I lights the port fire and gives a yell to rouse up the darkey, and arter that—ho-ho! my hearties, you knows what happened. Ho-ho! it was as good as a play!”“Golly! Me taut yer one duppy, fo’ suah, Massa Tom!” said Sam, after another chorus of laughter from all of us all round. “Me taut yer was de debble!”“Not quite so bad as that, my hearty,” mildly suggested Tom, grinning at the compliment. “Still, I don’t think I made such a bad ghost altogether for a green hand!”“Don’t ye kinder think ye frit me, bo!” declaimed Hiram vehemently. “It wer the sight o’ thet durned nigger thaar, a-sottin’ an playin’ his banjo—him ez we all thought ez ded ez a coffin nail, an’ buried fathoms below the sea, an’ which all on us hed b’leeved ter hev haunted the shep fur the hull v’y’ge. Ay, thet it wer, streenger, what ez frit me an’ made me fall all of a heap, an’ thaar I lies till Cholly an’ the durned nigger riz me up agen by tumblin’ athwart my hawse!”“I think I was the most frightened of all,” I now frankly confessed, on Hiram thus bravely acknowledging his own terror. “I really for the moment believed that I was actually looking at two real, distinct ghosts, or spirits—the one that of Sam, which you, Tom and Hiram, know I already thought I had seen before on board the ship; and the second apparition that of the negro slave which Mr Steenbock told us of. But, how is it that Sam is here at all—how did he escape?”“Let him tell his yarn in his own way, the same as I have done mine,” replied Tom. “Ax him.”“Now Sam,” said I, “tell us all about it.”“Ay, dew,” chimed in Hiram; “fire away, ye old black son of a gun!”“All right, Mass’ Hiram an’ yer, too, Cholly. I’se tell you de trute, de hole trute, an’ nuffin’ but de trute, s’help me!”“Carry on, you blooming old crocodile, carry on!”Taking Tom Bullover’s words in the sense in which they were meant, as a sort of friendly encouragement to proceed, Sam, nothing loath to air his long-silent tongue, soon satisfied the eager curiosity of Hiram and myself—giving us a full account of his adventures from the time that we saw him drop from the rigging, when all the crew, with the solitary exception of his ally the carpenter, believed him to have been murdered and his body lost overboard.“I’se specks,” he commenced, “dat yer all ’members when de cap’en shake him billy-goat beard, an’ shoot dis pore niggah in de tumjon, an’ I’se drop inter de bottom ob de sea, hey?”“Yes,” replied Hiram; while I added: “But, how on earth did you manage to save your life and get on board again?”“Dis chile cleberer dan yer tinks,” replied Sam proudly. “When de cap’en shoot, I’se jump one side like de Bobolink bird, an’ de bullet, dat he tink go troo my tumjon, go in de air. I’se make one big miscalkerfation, dough, fo’ my han’ mis de riggin’ when I’se stretch up to catch him, an’ I’se tumble inter de water.”“Poor Sam!” said I. “Your heart must have come right into your mouth, eh?”“Inter my mout, sonny?” he repeated after me. “Bress yer, it come up inter my mout, an’ I’se swaller it agen, an’ him go right down to de pit ob my tumjon! Lor’, Cholly, I’se tink I wer drown, fo’ suah, an’ nebbah come up no moah, fo’ de wave come ober my head an’ ebberyting! Den, jest as I’se scrape along de side ob de ship an’ wash away aft in de wake astern, I’se catch holt ob de end ob de boom-sheet, dat was tow oberboard.”“Ye hev got thet durned lubber Jim Chowder to thank fur thet,” said Hiram, interrupting him to explain this fortunate circumstance, which I now recollected Captain Snaggs alluding to when I was waiting at table in the cabin the same evening, before the tragic occurrence happened. “It’s the fust time I ever recomembers ez how an unsailorlike act like thet ever did good to airy a soul!”“Nebbah yer min’ dat, Mas’ Hiram,” rejoined Sam, with much heartiness. “I’se allers tink afore dat Jim Chowder one pore cuss, but now I’se pray fo’ him ebbery day ob my life!”“Ay, bo,” said Tom, with affected gravity; “and for me to, eh?”“I will, suah,” answered Sam, in the same serious way in which he had previously spoken, not wishing to joke about the matter. “But, Jim Chowder or no Jim Chowder, who ebbah let dat rope tow oberboard was sabe my life! I’se catch holt ob him an’ climb on ter de rudder chain, where I’se hang wid my head out ob de water till it was come dark, an’ de night grow ober de sea. Den, when I’se tink de cap’en drink nuff rum to get drunk, an’ not fo’ see me come on board agen, I’se let my ole leg wash up wid de wave to de sill ob de stern port; an’ den, when I’se look an see dere was nobody in de cabin, I’se smash de glass ob de window an’ climb inside.”“And then it was, I suppose,” said I, taking up the burden of his story, “that I took your real self, as you crept through the cabin, for your ghost?”“Dat troo, Cholly. Yer see me, dough, by de light ob de moon, fo’ I’se take care blow out de swing lamp in cabin, dat nobody might see nuffin. I’se reel glad, dough, dat I’se able friten de cap’en an’ make him tink see um duppy!”“Wa-all, I guess ye come out o’ that smart enuff,” said Hiram, with a hearty thump of approval that doubled up poor Sam, more effectually than his convulsions of laughter had previously done. “But, whaar did ye manage ter stow yerself when ye comed out o’ the cabin?”“I’se creep along de deck, keepin’ under de lee ob de moonlight; an’ den when nobody was lookin’ I’se go forwards an’ crawl down into the forepeak. Den, it was dat Mass’ Tom hyar see me.”“And a pretty fine fright you gave me too!” said that worthy, bursting out into another laugh at the recollection. “It was the next mornin’, as I went down into the sail room under the forepeak, to fetch up a spare tops’le, when I comes across my joker here. I caught hold at first of his frizzy head, thinking it were a mop one of the hands had forgotten below; but when I turned my lantern there I seed Sam, who I thought miles astern, safe and snug in old Davy Jones’ locker. Lord! shipmates, you could ha’ knocked me down with a feather and club-hauled me for a nincompoop!”“Wer ye ez frit ez I wer jest now?” asked Hiram quizzingly. “Mind, quite ez much ez I wer?”“Ay, bo,” replied Tom, “I dessay I were, if the truth be told.”This pleased Hiram immensely.“Then, I guess I don’t see whaar yer crow comes in, my joker!” he exclaimed, giving Tom a similar thump on the back to that which he had a short time before bestowed on Sam—a slight token of affection by no means to be sneezed at. “Why, ye wer cacklin’ like a durned old hen with one egg, ’bout Cholly an’ I bein’ frit jest now, thinkin’ we seed Sam’s ghostess, when hyar, ye sez now, ye wer frit yerself the same at the fust sight ye seed of him!”“Ay, bo; but I wern’t going to tell you that, nor ’bout another fright I next had, when the darkey and I were a-smoking down in the forepeak and nearly set the ship a-fire,” said Tom knowingly, with a shrewd, expressive wink to each of us respectively in turn, before he resumed his story. “But, to go on properly with my yarn from the beginning, when I found Sam’s head wasn’t a mop, but belonged to his real darkey self, and that he wasn’t drownded after all, why, I made him as snug as I could down below, thinking it were best for him to keep hid, for if the skipper saw him on dock and knew he were alive he would soon be shooting him again, or else ill-treating him in the way he had already done. Sam agreed to act by my advice on my promising to take him down grub and all he might want into the forepeak; but, bless you, the contrary darkey wouldn’t act up to this arrangement arter a day or two.”“Dat was ’cause yer hab forget to bring de grub,” interposed Sam, to explain this apparent breach of contract on his part. “I’se cook, an’ not used fo’ ter go widout my vittles fo’ nobody!”“How could I get below to you when we had bad weather and the hatches were battened down?” retorted Tom Bullover, in his turn. “Howsomdever, to stop arguefying, Master Sammy, finding himself hungry and knowing something of the stowage below from having been in the ship on a previous voyage, he manages to work a passage through the hold to the after part right under the cuddy; and from there my gentleman, if you please, makes his way on deck again through the hatchway in the captain’s cabin, not forgetting to rummage the steward’s pantry for provisions when he goes by!”“An’ mighty little grub was dere, suah,” put in the negro cook, with great dignity. “I’se feel mean as a pore white if yer was ebbah come to my galley an’ fin’ sich a scrubby lot tings! Dere was nuffin’ fit fo’ a decent culler’d pusson ter eat—dat feller Morris Jones one big skunk!”“I guess ye air ’bout right,” agreed Hiram; while Tom and I signified our assent likewise by nodding our heads with great unction. “He’s the biggest skunk I ever wer shipmets with afore!”“Let him slide, for he don’t consarn us now,” said Tom, continuing the narrative of Sam’s story. “Well, you must know, our darkey friend here, having taken first to prowling about the ship for grub, keeps it up arterwards for pleesure and devarshun, thinking it a jolly lark to make the hands believe the old barquey was haunted. Then, one day he gets hold of his banjo from out of Hiram’s chest in the fo’c’s’le, where old Chicopee really did stow it away arter he bought it at the auction o’ Sam’s traps, as he thought he did, although I persuaded him and you Charley, too, if you remember, that the banjo had been left hanging up still in the galley in the place where Sam used to keep it. Once, indeed, when Sam forgot to put it back arter playing on it in the hold, where he had taken it, I brought it up and hung it on its old peg in the galley right afore your very eyes, Hiram!”“I recollect, Tom,” said I; “and so, Sam used to play on it in the hold below, then, when we heard the mysterious music coming from we knew not where?”“Yes, that’s so,” replied he. “At first, Sam touched the strings only now and then, ’specially when the wind was blowing high, and he thought that nobody would hear the sound from the rattling of the ship’s timbers and all; but, when I noticed how you above on deck could distinguish, not only the notes of the banjo, but also the very air that Sam played, and how the skipper was terrified and almost frightened out of his boots when he recognised the tune, which he had heard Sam chaunt often and often in the galley of an evening, why, then, I puts up the darkey to keep on the rig, so as to punish our brute of a skipper for his cold-blooded attempt at murdering poor Sam—which, but for the interposition of Providence, would have succeeded!”Before Tom could proceed any further, however, consternation fell upon us all, as if a bombshell had burst in our midst; for, Sam, who was looking the opposite way to us and could see over our heads, suddenly sprang upon his feet, his mouth open from ear to ear and his teeth chattering with fear, while his short, woolly hair seemed literally to crinkle up and stand on end.“O Lor’! O Lor’!” he exclaimed. “Look dere! Look dere!”And there, right before us, stood the skipper himself, snorting and sniffing and foaming with rage, his keen, ferrety eyes piercing us through and through—so close, that his long nose almost touched me, and his billy-goat beard seemed to bristle right into my face, I being the nearest to him.I felt a cold shiver run through me that froze the very marrow of my bones!Captain Snaggs had, no doubt, overheard all our conversation, listening quietly, hidden behind the bushes that grew up close to the entrance to the cave, until Tom’s last words proved too much for his equanimity, when his indignation forced him to come out from his retreat. He was certainly in an awful rage, for he was so angry that he could hardly speak at first, but fairly sputtered with wrath; and, if a look would have annihilated us, we mast all have been killed on the spot.He was a terrible sight!“Oh, thet’s yer little game, my jokers!” he yelled out convulsively, as soon as he could articulate his words, glaring at us each in turn. “So, thet durned nigger ain’t dead, arter all, hey? Snakes an’ alligators! Why, it’s a reg’ler con-spiracy all round—rank mutiny, by thunder! I guess I’ll hev ye all hung at the yard-arm, ev’ry man Jack of ye, fur it, ez sure ez my name’s Ephraim O Snaggs!”His passion was so intense that we were spellbound for the moment, not one of us venturing to speak or reply to his threats—he staring at us as if he could ‘eat us without salt,’ as the saying goes, while we remained stock-still and silent before him.As for Sam, he wallowed on the ground in terror, for the captain looked and acted like a madman.Hiram Bangs alone had the pluck to open his mouth and confront the skipper.
“Ho-ho-ho! I shall die a-laughing!” exclaimed another voice at this juncture, interrupting Sam’s terrified appeal to the spiritual powers. “Ho-ho-ho! I shall die a-laughing!”
The voice sounded like that of Tom Bullover; but, before I could look up to see if it were really he, Sam and I, the negro cook still clutching me tightly in his frantic grasp as we rolled down the little declivity on to the beach below the entrance to the cave, fetched up against Hiram; who, only just recovering from the shock he had received, was then in the act of rising from the ground, where he had dropped at the sight of Sam and his banjo—still dazed with the fright, and hardly yet knowing where he was or what had happened.
“My golly!” cried Sam, thinking him another ghost. “Lor’ sakes! Massa Duppy, do forgib me! I’ll nebbah do so moah, I’se swarr I’ll nebbah do so no moah!”
“Wa-all, I’m jiggered!” ejaculated Hiram, on the two of us coming against him with a thump, nearly knocking him again off his legs, as we scrambled to ours. “What in thunder dew this air muss mean? Jee-rusalem—it beats creation, it dew!”
Neither Sam nor I could get out a word; but, while we all stared, out of breath and speechless with astonishment, at each other, another wild shout of laughter came right over our heads from within the cave above, and I heard Tom’s voice exclaiming, as before—
“Ho-ho-ho! you’ll be the death o’ me sure, sonnies! I never seed sich a go in my life! Hang it all—Charley and Hiram, and you, Sambo—why, it’s only me! Ho-ho-ho! I shall bust meself, if you go staring round and wool-gathering like that any longer! Ho-ho-ho! this is a game, and no mistake!”
With that, the three of us looked up, and now saw Tom Bullover standing on top of the plateau in front of the cave, with a sort of long white sheet like a piece of sailcloth round him, and Sam’s banjo in one hand.
Then, the real facts of the case flashed on my mind in a moment, and I could not help joining in the carpenter’s hearty merriment at the way in which he had humbugged us all.
“Oh, Tom!” I cried; “so it was you, after all?”
“Yes; ho-ho! Charley; yes, my lad. Ho-ho-ho!”
“Guess I don’t see nuthin’ to snigger over!” growled Hiram, shamefaced at being so readily imposed on; but he was too good a sailor to mind a joke against himself, and the comicality of the situation striking him, too, like me, he was soon laughing as loudly as Tom and I.
Sam only needed this further secession likewise to set him off, his negro nature possessing the hysterical features of his race, and going readily from one extreme to the other.
A second before he had been paralysed with fright; now he was as instantly convulsed with glee.
“My gosh!” he yelled, showing his ivories as his whole face expanded into one big guffaw that utterly eclipsed all our attempts at merriment. “Hoo-hoo, yah-yah! Dat am prime, Cholly—black ghost fo’ whitey! Hoo-hoo, yah-yah! I’se die a-laffin’, like Tom! Black ghost fo’ whitey!—Hoo-hoo, yah-yah, hoo-hoo! Golly! Dat am prime, fo’ suah!”
Sam’s negro abandon and queer gestures, as he danced about and doubled himself up in his wild convulsions of mirth, were absolutely irresistible; and so we all roared in concert, like a party of lunatics, laughing until the tears actually ran down our cheeks.
“An’ how did yer fix the hull thing so smartly?” inquired the American, presently when he was able to speak. “Ye took me in finely, I guess; ye did thet so!”
“Lor’, old ship! that were easy enough, when you comes to think of it.”
“But, how?” persisted Hiram, as Tom broke off his explanation to indulge in another laugh. “Hyar’s Sam, what was ded, alive agen an’ kickin’, ez my shins ken tell, I reckon! How about his hauntin’ the shep, an’ all thet?”
“Yes, Tom,” I put in here; “how was it that he wasn’t killed?”
“Oh, Sam ’ll explain all about his bizness,” replied Tom, laughing again, the ridiculous nature of the whole thing appealing strongly to his risible faculties. “I’ve got enough to do to tell you about my own ghost—the sperrit, that is, of the black man that our second-mate spun that yarn about yesterday arternoon!”
“A–ah!” drawled out Hiram; “I begins to smell a rat, I dew.”
“But, suah dat ’perrit wasn’t reel, hey, Mass’ Tom?” interposed Sam, his eyeballs starting again out of his head, as he recollected all the mysterious occurrences in the cave. “Dat ’perrit wasn’t reel, hey? I’se take um fo’ duppy, suah?”
“No, ye durned fule!” exclaimed Hiram, quite indignantly; “don’t ye know thet?”
“Some people weren’t so wise just now,” said Tom Bullover dryly; “eh, Hiram?”
“Nary mind ’bout thet,” growled the American, giving Tom a dig in the ribs playfully. “Heave ahead with yer yarn, or we’ll never git in the slack of it ’fore nightfall!”
“Well then, here’s the long and short of it,” said Tom, sitting down on the top of the little cliff-mound, so as to make himself as comfortable as possible, while we stood grouped around him. “You see, now, our Dutch mate’s story about the nigger that the buccaneers used to bury with their treasure put me up to taking a rise out of our friend Sambo here, who, though he was artful enough to play at being a ghost and haunt the ship, as you fellows thought all through the v’yage, was yet mortal ’fraid of them same ghostesses hisself, as I well knowed!”
“Oh, Lor’, Mass’ Tom, dunno say dat,” interrupted Sam reproachfully. “Speak fo’ true, an’ shame de debble!”
“That’s just what I’m doing, darkey. You know I’m speaking the truth; and I’m sure Charley and Hiram here can judge for theirselves, from what they saw not long ago!”
“Bully for ye!” cried Hiram, confirming Tom Bullover’s reference to himself. “Why, ye durned nigger, ye wer a’most yeller with frit jest now, when ye kinder thought ye seed one o’ them blessed ghostesses thet Tom wer a-talkin’ on!”
This effectually shut up Sam; and my friend the carpenter then went on with his account of the phenomenon we had seen.
“I knew,” said he, “that the darkey would be up here this arternoon, for I showed him the cave myself this mornin’, afore any of you beggars aboard the ship were up or stirring. I thought it would be just a good place for him to hide in, besides preventing the skipper and that brute Flinders, or any of the other hands, from coming spying round and interfering with our diskevery, which, as you know—I means you Charley and Hiram—we wished for to keep to ourselves.”
“Ay, bo,” assented Hiram approvingly; “true enuff; ye acted rightly, shipmet.”
“So I tells Sam to rig hisself up here as comf’ably as he could; and if he should hear any footsteps comin’ nigh the place he was to strike up a tune on his banjo and frighten them away, makin’ any inquisitive folk think the place was haunted by the same old ghost they knew aboard the ship.”
“What a capital idea!” said I; “how did you come to think of it?”
“I thought of more than that, Charley,” replied Tom, with a broad grin. “It wasn’t long arter I brought Sam here that I thought of makin’ the second ghost out of the proper black man belonging to the cave, that Jan Steenbock had told us on, and which you, Hiram, said you wouldn’t be frightened at nohow.”
“Stow thet,” growled Hiram, shaking his fist at Tom. “Carry on with yer yarn, an’ don’t mind me, old stick-in-the-mud!”
“I’m carryin’ on, if you’ll only let a feller tell his story in his own way. You know we agreed to come up here together this arternoon, and make a reg’ler up-and-down search for the buried treasure; and you told me, you rec’lect, to bring a port fire, such as we had aboard, for to light up the place.”
“Thet’s right enuff,” said Hiram, “thet’s right enuff; but, durn it all, heave ahead, bo! Heave ahead!”
“Well then,” continued Tom, “I gets this blessed jigmaree of a port fire from the ship; and, having done my spell at digging out the dock, my gang finishing work at four bells, I com’d up here afore you and Charley. It were then that I thinks of having a bit of a game with old Sam, while I was waitin’ for you two to join company and look for the treasure together, as we agreed atween us when we first diskivered the place.”
“And you didn’t intend to frighten us, Tom?” I asked him at this point; “mind, really?”
“No, I’ll take my davy I didn’t—that is, not at first,” replied he, grinning in his usual way. “Arterwards, in course, I couldn’t help it, when you and our Chickopee friend here took the bait so finely.”
“Ah! I’ll pay you out, bo, for it,” cried Hiram, interrupting Tom, as I had done, “never you fear. I’ll pay you out, my hearty, ’fore this time to-morrow come-never—both me and Cholly will tew, I guess, sirree!”
“Threaten’d men live long,” observed Tom with a dry chuckle. “Still, that ain’t got nothin’ to do with this here yarn. I com’d up, as I were sayin’, a good half-hour afore you; and, to spin out the time, I goes round to the cave by the way where we first lighted on it t’other day, and gets inside by the hole through the broken old door where we entered it afore our reaching this end.”
“And then?” I asked, on Tom’s pausing for a moment in his narrative—“and then?”
“Why, then I saw poor Sam, with his back turned towards me, a-sittin’ down on that rock as we called ‘the ghost’s pulpit,’ and playin’ his blessed old banjo as sweetly as you please, without thinkin’ that I or any one else were within miles of him! So, seein’ this were a good chance for finding whether Master Sammy, as was thought a ghost hisself aboard, liked ghosts as he didn’t know of, I catches up a bit o’ sailcloth that was lying on the ground, which he’d taken up there to sarve for his bed, and, I claps this over my head and shoulders, like a picter my mother had in the parlour at home of ‘Samuel and the Witch of Endor.’ Then, I lights the port fire and gives a yell to rouse up the darkey, and arter that—ho-ho! my hearties, you knows what happened. Ho-ho! it was as good as a play!”
“Golly! Me taut yer one duppy, fo’ suah, Massa Tom!” said Sam, after another chorus of laughter from all of us all round. “Me taut yer was de debble!”
“Not quite so bad as that, my hearty,” mildly suggested Tom, grinning at the compliment. “Still, I don’t think I made such a bad ghost altogether for a green hand!”
“Don’t ye kinder think ye frit me, bo!” declaimed Hiram vehemently. “It wer the sight o’ thet durned nigger thaar, a-sottin’ an playin’ his banjo—him ez we all thought ez ded ez a coffin nail, an’ buried fathoms below the sea, an’ which all on us hed b’leeved ter hev haunted the shep fur the hull v’y’ge. Ay, thet it wer, streenger, what ez frit me an’ made me fall all of a heap, an’ thaar I lies till Cholly an’ the durned nigger riz me up agen by tumblin’ athwart my hawse!”
“I think I was the most frightened of all,” I now frankly confessed, on Hiram thus bravely acknowledging his own terror. “I really for the moment believed that I was actually looking at two real, distinct ghosts, or spirits—the one that of Sam, which you, Tom and Hiram, know I already thought I had seen before on board the ship; and the second apparition that of the negro slave which Mr Steenbock told us of. But, how is it that Sam is here at all—how did he escape?”
“Let him tell his yarn in his own way, the same as I have done mine,” replied Tom. “Ax him.”
“Now Sam,” said I, “tell us all about it.”
“Ay, dew,” chimed in Hiram; “fire away, ye old black son of a gun!”
“All right, Mass’ Hiram an’ yer, too, Cholly. I’se tell you de trute, de hole trute, an’ nuffin’ but de trute, s’help me!”
“Carry on, you blooming old crocodile, carry on!”
Taking Tom Bullover’s words in the sense in which they were meant, as a sort of friendly encouragement to proceed, Sam, nothing loath to air his long-silent tongue, soon satisfied the eager curiosity of Hiram and myself—giving us a full account of his adventures from the time that we saw him drop from the rigging, when all the crew, with the solitary exception of his ally the carpenter, believed him to have been murdered and his body lost overboard.
“I’se specks,” he commenced, “dat yer all ’members when de cap’en shake him billy-goat beard, an’ shoot dis pore niggah in de tumjon, an’ I’se drop inter de bottom ob de sea, hey?”
“Yes,” replied Hiram; while I added: “But, how on earth did you manage to save your life and get on board again?”
“Dis chile cleberer dan yer tinks,” replied Sam proudly. “When de cap’en shoot, I’se jump one side like de Bobolink bird, an’ de bullet, dat he tink go troo my tumjon, go in de air. I’se make one big miscalkerfation, dough, fo’ my han’ mis de riggin’ when I’se stretch up to catch him, an’ I’se tumble inter de water.”
“Poor Sam!” said I. “Your heart must have come right into your mouth, eh?”
“Inter my mout, sonny?” he repeated after me. “Bress yer, it come up inter my mout, an’ I’se swaller it agen, an’ him go right down to de pit ob my tumjon! Lor’, Cholly, I’se tink I wer drown, fo’ suah, an’ nebbah come up no moah, fo’ de wave come ober my head an’ ebberyting! Den, jest as I’se scrape along de side ob de ship an’ wash away aft in de wake astern, I’se catch holt ob de end ob de boom-sheet, dat was tow oberboard.”
“Ye hev got thet durned lubber Jim Chowder to thank fur thet,” said Hiram, interrupting him to explain this fortunate circumstance, which I now recollected Captain Snaggs alluding to when I was waiting at table in the cabin the same evening, before the tragic occurrence happened. “It’s the fust time I ever recomembers ez how an unsailorlike act like thet ever did good to airy a soul!”
“Nebbah yer min’ dat, Mas’ Hiram,” rejoined Sam, with much heartiness. “I’se allers tink afore dat Jim Chowder one pore cuss, but now I’se pray fo’ him ebbery day ob my life!”
“Ay, bo,” said Tom, with affected gravity; “and for me to, eh?”
“I will, suah,” answered Sam, in the same serious way in which he had previously spoken, not wishing to joke about the matter. “But, Jim Chowder or no Jim Chowder, who ebbah let dat rope tow oberboard was sabe my life! I’se catch holt ob him an’ climb on ter de rudder chain, where I’se hang wid my head out ob de water till it was come dark, an’ de night grow ober de sea. Den, when I’se tink de cap’en drink nuff rum to get drunk, an’ not fo’ see me come on board agen, I’se let my ole leg wash up wid de wave to de sill ob de stern port; an’ den, when I’se look an see dere was nobody in de cabin, I’se smash de glass ob de window an’ climb inside.”
“And then it was, I suppose,” said I, taking up the burden of his story, “that I took your real self, as you crept through the cabin, for your ghost?”
“Dat troo, Cholly. Yer see me, dough, by de light ob de moon, fo’ I’se take care blow out de swing lamp in cabin, dat nobody might see nuffin. I’se reel glad, dough, dat I’se able friten de cap’en an’ make him tink see um duppy!”
“Wa-all, I guess ye come out o’ that smart enuff,” said Hiram, with a hearty thump of approval that doubled up poor Sam, more effectually than his convulsions of laughter had previously done. “But, whaar did ye manage ter stow yerself when ye comed out o’ the cabin?”
“I’se creep along de deck, keepin’ under de lee ob de moonlight; an’ den when nobody was lookin’ I’se go forwards an’ crawl down into the forepeak. Den, it was dat Mass’ Tom hyar see me.”
“And a pretty fine fright you gave me too!” said that worthy, bursting out into another laugh at the recollection. “It was the next mornin’, as I went down into the sail room under the forepeak, to fetch up a spare tops’le, when I comes across my joker here. I caught hold at first of his frizzy head, thinking it were a mop one of the hands had forgotten below; but when I turned my lantern there I seed Sam, who I thought miles astern, safe and snug in old Davy Jones’ locker. Lord! shipmates, you could ha’ knocked me down with a feather and club-hauled me for a nincompoop!”
“Wer ye ez frit ez I wer jest now?” asked Hiram quizzingly. “Mind, quite ez much ez I wer?”
“Ay, bo,” replied Tom, “I dessay I were, if the truth be told.”
This pleased Hiram immensely.
“Then, I guess I don’t see whaar yer crow comes in, my joker!” he exclaimed, giving Tom a similar thump on the back to that which he had a short time before bestowed on Sam—a slight token of affection by no means to be sneezed at. “Why, ye wer cacklin’ like a durned old hen with one egg, ’bout Cholly an’ I bein’ frit jest now, thinkin’ we seed Sam’s ghostess, when hyar, ye sez now, ye wer frit yerself the same at the fust sight ye seed of him!”
“Ay, bo; but I wern’t going to tell you that, nor ’bout another fright I next had, when the darkey and I were a-smoking down in the forepeak and nearly set the ship a-fire,” said Tom knowingly, with a shrewd, expressive wink to each of us respectively in turn, before he resumed his story. “But, to go on properly with my yarn from the beginning, when I found Sam’s head wasn’t a mop, but belonged to his real darkey self, and that he wasn’t drownded after all, why, I made him as snug as I could down below, thinking it were best for him to keep hid, for if the skipper saw him on dock and knew he were alive he would soon be shooting him again, or else ill-treating him in the way he had already done. Sam agreed to act by my advice on my promising to take him down grub and all he might want into the forepeak; but, bless you, the contrary darkey wouldn’t act up to this arrangement arter a day or two.”
“Dat was ’cause yer hab forget to bring de grub,” interposed Sam, to explain this apparent breach of contract on his part. “I’se cook, an’ not used fo’ ter go widout my vittles fo’ nobody!”
“How could I get below to you when we had bad weather and the hatches were battened down?” retorted Tom Bullover, in his turn. “Howsomdever, to stop arguefying, Master Sammy, finding himself hungry and knowing something of the stowage below from having been in the ship on a previous voyage, he manages to work a passage through the hold to the after part right under the cuddy; and from there my gentleman, if you please, makes his way on deck again through the hatchway in the captain’s cabin, not forgetting to rummage the steward’s pantry for provisions when he goes by!”
“An’ mighty little grub was dere, suah,” put in the negro cook, with great dignity. “I’se feel mean as a pore white if yer was ebbah come to my galley an’ fin’ sich a scrubby lot tings! Dere was nuffin’ fit fo’ a decent culler’d pusson ter eat—dat feller Morris Jones one big skunk!”
“I guess ye air ’bout right,” agreed Hiram; while Tom and I signified our assent likewise by nodding our heads with great unction. “He’s the biggest skunk I ever wer shipmets with afore!”
“Let him slide, for he don’t consarn us now,” said Tom, continuing the narrative of Sam’s story. “Well, you must know, our darkey friend here, having taken first to prowling about the ship for grub, keeps it up arterwards for pleesure and devarshun, thinking it a jolly lark to make the hands believe the old barquey was haunted. Then, one day he gets hold of his banjo from out of Hiram’s chest in the fo’c’s’le, where old Chicopee really did stow it away arter he bought it at the auction o’ Sam’s traps, as he thought he did, although I persuaded him and you Charley, too, if you remember, that the banjo had been left hanging up still in the galley in the place where Sam used to keep it. Once, indeed, when Sam forgot to put it back arter playing on it in the hold, where he had taken it, I brought it up and hung it on its old peg in the galley right afore your very eyes, Hiram!”
“I recollect, Tom,” said I; “and so, Sam used to play on it in the hold below, then, when we heard the mysterious music coming from we knew not where?”
“Yes, that’s so,” replied he. “At first, Sam touched the strings only now and then, ’specially when the wind was blowing high, and he thought that nobody would hear the sound from the rattling of the ship’s timbers and all; but, when I noticed how you above on deck could distinguish, not only the notes of the banjo, but also the very air that Sam played, and how the skipper was terrified and almost frightened out of his boots when he recognised the tune, which he had heard Sam chaunt often and often in the galley of an evening, why, then, I puts up the darkey to keep on the rig, so as to punish our brute of a skipper for his cold-blooded attempt at murdering poor Sam—which, but for the interposition of Providence, would have succeeded!”
Before Tom could proceed any further, however, consternation fell upon us all, as if a bombshell had burst in our midst; for, Sam, who was looking the opposite way to us and could see over our heads, suddenly sprang upon his feet, his mouth open from ear to ear and his teeth chattering with fear, while his short, woolly hair seemed literally to crinkle up and stand on end.
“O Lor’! O Lor’!” he exclaimed. “Look dere! Look dere!”
And there, right before us, stood the skipper himself, snorting and sniffing and foaming with rage, his keen, ferrety eyes piercing us through and through—so close, that his long nose almost touched me, and his billy-goat beard seemed to bristle right into my face, I being the nearest to him.
I felt a cold shiver run through me that froze the very marrow of my bones!
Captain Snaggs had, no doubt, overheard all our conversation, listening quietly, hidden behind the bushes that grew up close to the entrance to the cave, until Tom’s last words proved too much for his equanimity, when his indignation forced him to come out from his retreat. He was certainly in an awful rage, for he was so angry that he could hardly speak at first, but fairly sputtered with wrath; and, if a look would have annihilated us, we mast all have been killed on the spot.
He was a terrible sight!
“Oh, thet’s yer little game, my jokers!” he yelled out convulsively, as soon as he could articulate his words, glaring at us each in turn. “So, thet durned nigger ain’t dead, arter all, hey? Snakes an’ alligators! Why, it’s a reg’ler con-spiracy all round—rank mutiny, by thunder! I guess I’ll hev ye all hung at the yard-arm, ev’ry man Jack of ye, fur it, ez sure ez my name’s Ephraim O Snaggs!”
His passion was so intense that we were spellbound for the moment, not one of us venturing to speak or reply to his threats—he staring at us as if he could ‘eat us without salt,’ as the saying goes, while we remained stock-still and silent before him.
As for Sam, he wallowed on the ground in terror, for the captain looked and acted like a madman.
Hiram Bangs alone had the pluck to open his mouth and confront the skipper.
Chapter Seventeen.Mr Flinders in a Fix.Before relating what next occurred, however, I must break off at this point and make a slight bend in my yarn here, in order to mention something that happened immediately before, and which, although I did not come to hear of it until afterwards, had to do with bringing the skipper so suddenly down upon us. Something, indeed, that tended to infuriate him all the more, with Tom Bullover and Sam; for, from his hearing, by their own confession, that they had planned and kept up the delusion about the cook’s ghost on purpose to deceive him, he was led to believe that these two had got the better of him in another matter, even more important still in his estimation.And so, as I am only a youngster and a poor hand at telling a story, though I find somehow or other I’m getting to the end of my yarn sooner than I expected when I first set to work writing it, I think I had best pat down everything that happened in its proper place and order, ‘in regular shipshape Bristol fashion,’ so that no hitch may occur by-and-by that might ‘bring me up with a round turn,’ when, perhaps, I could sail on with a free sheet and a fair wind to what you landfolk and longshoremen would call my ‘dénouement’—a sad one, though, it be, as you’ll learn later on, all in good time, as I spin my yarn in my free and easy way!Well, to go back a bit now, you must know that ever since the thrashing he got from our second-mate, Mr Flinders had kept himself very quiet; not interfering in any way with the work of dismantling and unloading the ship, but leaving the charge of all this in the hands of Jan Steenbock and Tom Bullover—under, of course, the immediate supervision of Captain Snaggs, who, was here, there, and everywhere, pretending to do an awful lot, although really only occupying his time when he wasn’t drinking in bullying those of the men, who being tame-spirited, put up with his bad language.It must be said, though, for the skipper, that he generally left the old hands alone, for they returned his choicest epithets in kind, always giving him quite as good in the rude vernacular as he gave—discipline being rather slack now the vessel was ashore, as in the merchant service a wreck is supposed by the crew to dissolve all contracts and annul whatever articles may have been signed. Such, at least, is my experience of the sea.During this interregnum of duty, the first-mate hardly ever left his bunk on board the ship save to go into the cabin and partake of what meals Morris Jones, the steward, provided him with just when that lazy beggar of a Welshman liked.Here he remained for over a week, nursing his damaged eyes and general injuries and, no doubt, brooding over the revenge which he contemplated taking at some future period on his late successful antagonist; for, his jealousy had been keenly aroused by the marked partiality Captain Snaggs had shown in favour of Jan Steenbock, although previously he had always chummed with him—and, indeed, even now, in spite of all that had passed, the captain still occasionally invited him to a friendly orgy in the cabin, when both, as usual, of course, got royally drunk together as of yore!But, since the finding of the golden Madonna and the development of the treasure-hunting craze amongst us, Mr Flinders had begun to come out from his temporary obscurity, while not at first actually pushing himself forward, or taking any prominent part in our daily routine.This modest diffidence was due to the fact that the men used to make audible remarks in reference to his ‘lovely black eyes,’ but as soon as the tint of these gradually merged from green to yellow and then buck to their normal tone, the first-mate grew bumptious and endeavoured to resume his old position of chief officer in the absence of the skipper, when the latter frequently went off alone, as it was his habit now, in solitary search of the buccaneers’ buried hoard like all the rest of us—notwithstanding that in public he utterly pooh-poohed its problematical existence and urged on the crew in digging out the dock under the ship, so as to get her afloat again, the only good, as he said, that we could expect from the island being the hope of leaving it behind us as quickly as possible.He was an artful hand, was Captain Snaggs!He thought that if he dissuaded the men from looking for the treasure he might have the greater chance of coming across it himself.Such being the case, the skipper would sometimes sneak off in the middle of the day when work used to grow rather slack at our excavating task, in consequence of the greater heat at that time; for, the sea-breeze which we used to have with us from the early morning then gradually died away, while the light airs that blew off the land during the afternoon and night-time did not usually spring up until nearly sunset.Then it was that Mr Flinders saw his opportunity; and, as regularly as the skipper would disappear in the distance over the lava field fronting the beach, saying, as he always did, that he was going up the cliff on our port hand ‘to see if he could sight any passing vessel’—although the sharpest eyes amongst our lookouts had never yet seen the captain’s lean and angular form on top of the said cliff—so, regularly, did the first-mate stealthily descend the side ladder that led from the poop of the ship down to the beach.Once arrived here, his delight was to overlook the men as they lazily dug out the concrete-like sand and shingle at the bottom of the trench, filling baskets with the débris below which their fellows above hoisted up none the more energetically; and the first-mate could not help noticing that while Jan Steenbock purred them on now and then for a brief spell, he let them, as a rule, take things easily; at this heated period of the day, for Jan was wise enough to see that by not overworking them then he got more labour out of his gang when the temperature grew cooler, and the men could dig with greater “go.”For a while, Mr Flinders did not interfere with Jan’s method of procedure, seeing, as any sensible man would, that the second-mate’s plan answered its purpose of getting the most out of the hands without making them grumble unduly at their unwonted task; but, soon his love of carping at others asserted itself, and this feeling, coupled with the desire to assert such petty authority as he still had, overcame his sense of prudence, as well as all recollection of the sharp lesson he had received from Jan not so very long before.The difference between the skipper and Mr Flinders was, that, although the former was essentially cruel and a bully of the first water, he was yet physically brave and a cute, cautious man, who, when sober, knew how far he might venture in his harsh treatment of those under him; while the first-mate, on the contrary, was an utter coward at heart, and of as malicious and spiteful a disposition as he was fond of tyrannising over such as he thought he could ill-treat with impunity.It never takes long for sailors to ‘reckon up’ their officers; so, it need hardly be said to which of the two the hands paid the most attention when he gave an order. As to liking either, that was out of the case; but where the men feared Captain Snaggs, the only feeling they had for Mr Flinders was one of contempt—paying back all his snarlings and bullyings in a way that the hands, well knew how to drive home to one of his temperament, as sensitive as it was mean!Consequently, when, after a bit, he commenced finding fault with this one and that, the men would shove their tongues in their cheek and shrug their shoulders. They did not pay the slightest regard to anything he said; while the more bolder spirits, perhaps, of the stamp of Jim Chowder, winked openly the one to the other, expressing an opinion in a sufficiently loud enough tone for him to hear that ‘if he didn’t look out,’ he would soon become possessed of a pair of eyes “blacker than he’d had afore!”Then, naturally, there would be a snigger all round, when Mr Flinders had to turn away with a scowl on his unpleasant, cross-grained face. He hated Jan Steenbock all the more, because when the jeering crew displayed their insubordination more strongly than usual, Jan would very properly recall them to their duty—an order which on being given by the second-mate was promptly obeyed, whilst they utterly disregarded even the most trivial command from him, just as they mocked at his reprimands.This was only noticeable at first, though; for, after a few days’ experience of this ‘playing second fiddle,’ Mr Flinders, waxing stronger as his injuries improved and the discoloration of his ‘lovely black eyes’ became less apparent, seemed to resolve on trying a fresh tack. Taking higher ground, instead of idly endeavouring to get the men to treat him with respect, he once more tackled his subordinate superior Jan, who, he thought, from his treating him civilly, was sorry for the ‘little misunderstanding’ that had occurred between them, and would readily ‘knuckle under’ now, the moment he assumed his legitimate rôle and ‘topped the officer’ over him.Mr Flinders never made a greater mistake in his life than in thus attempting to act up to the axiom of the old Latin adage, which teaches us that “necessity makes even cowards brave.”He had far better have remained content with his titular dignity; for, in seeking to resume the reins of power which he had once let fall, he only received another lesson from Jan Steenbock, teaching him that a placid man was not necessarily one who would quietly put up with insult and rough treatment, and proving that the tables of life are frequently turned in fact as they sometimes are in figure of speech!This is a long palaver; but I will soon come to the point of it all, and tell what subsequently happened.You must recollect, though, that I was not on the spot myself, and am only indebted to Jim Chowder for hearing of it—being indeed, at that very time, on my way with Hiram to the cave and the wonderful surprise that awaited us there, an account of which I have just related.Hiram and I had not long left the shore, said Jim, when the mate, who had his dinner rather late that day, on account of having been up with the skipper drinking all through the previous night, came down the ship’s side, looking very seedy and ill-tempered from the effects of his carouse, and with his face all blotchy and his nose red.He had already been swearing at the steward for keeping him waiting for his grub, and this appeared to have ‘got his hand in,’ for he had no sooner come up to where Jan Steenbock was at work with the port watch digging in the trench, the second-mate setting the men a good example by wielding a pick as manfully as the best of them, than Mr Flinders began at Jan in his old abusive fashion, such as all on board the ship had been familiar with before the wreck and prior to his thrashing, which certainly had quieted him down for a time.“Ye durned lop-handled coon!” cried out the cantankerous bully, looking down on Jan from the top of the plank that crossed the trench, and served as a sort of gangway between the foot of the side ladder and the firm ground beyond the excavation. “Why don’t ye put yer back into it? Ye’re a nice sort o’ skallywag to hev charge of a gang—ye’re only a-playin’ at workin’, ye an’ the hull pack on yer; fur the durned dock ain’t nary a sight deeper than it wer at four bells yester arternoon, I reckon!”Jan Steenbock was in no wise disturbed by this exordium.Dropping his pick, he looked up at the mate; while the rest of the men likewise stopped working, waiting to see what would happen, and grinning and nudging each other.“Mine goot mans,” said he in his deep voice, with unruffled composure, “vas you sbeak to mees?”Mr Flinders jumped up and down on the plank gangway, making it sway to and fro with his excitement.“Vas I sbeak to ye?” he screamed, mimicking in his shrill treble the Dane’s pronunciation. “Who else sh’ud I speak to, ye Dutch son of a gun? Stir yer stumps, d’ye haar, an’ let us see ye airnin’ yer keep, ye lazy hound!”“Mistaire Vlinders!”“Aye, thet’s me; I’m glad ye reck’lect I’ve a handle to my name.”“Mistaire Vlinders,” repeated Jan, paying no attention to the other’s interruption. “If you vas sbeak to me, you vas best be zee-vil.”“What d’ye mean?” cried the mate. “Durn yer imperence; what d’ye mean?”“I mean vat I zays,” returned Jan; “and eef you vas not zee-vil, I vas make yous.”“Make me!” shouted out Mr Flinders, dancing with rage on the plank, so that it swung about more than ever. “Make me, hey? I’d like to see ye, my hearty!”But, while the plank was yet oscillating beneath his feet, one of the men in the trench below, by a dexterous drive of his pick, loosened the earth on the side of the excavation; and, hardly had Mr Flinders got out his defiant words than he and the plank on which he was standing came tumbling down, the bully going plump into the pool of water that had accumulated at the open end of the trench forming a little lake over four feet deep.Of course, the hands all shouted with laughter, their mirth growing all the merrier when the mate presently emerged from his impromptu bath, all dripping and plastered over with mud.He was in a terrible rage, Jim Chowder said; and as Jan Steenbock came up to help him, he aimed a blow at him with a spade which he clutched hold of from one of the hands, almost splitting Jan’s head open, for the thick felt hat he wore only saved his life.“Thaar, ye durned Dutch dog!” he yelled out. “Take thet fur yer sass!”Jan fell to the bottom of the trench; whereupon, the men, thinking Mr Flinders had murdered him, at once rushed upon the mate in a body, thrusting him backwards into the water again and rolling him over in the mud and refuse, until he was pretty well battered about and nearly drowned.Indeed, he would, probably, have been settled altogether, but for Jan rising up, little the worse for the blow that he had received, saving that some blood was trickling down his face.“Shtop, my mans, shtop!” he exclaimed. “Let hims get oop, he vas not hoort me, aftaire all; and I vas vorgif hims, vor he vas not know vat he vas do!”But the hands were too much incensed to let the bully off so easily, for they hated him as much as they liked Jan and were indignant at the unprovoked assault Mr Flinders had made upon him. As luck would have it, while they were debating how they should pay him out properly, and whether to give him another ducking in the muddy water or no, a happy means presented itself to them for punishing him in a much more ignominious manner, and one which was as original as it was amusing.The big tortoises that inhabited the island used to come backwards and forwards past the beach on their passage up to the hills, utterly regardless of the ship and the men working, especially towards the evening, as now; and just as the fracas happened, one of these huge creatures waddled by the trench, making for its usual course inland.“Hullo, mates!” sung out the leading wag of the crew, “let’s give our friend a ride for to dry hisself; here’s a cock hoss handy!”This was thought a capital lark; and, the suggestion being acted upon immediately, the tortoise was summarily arrested in its onward career and Mr Flinders lashed across its shelly back, like Mazeppa was strapped upon the desert steed—the hands all roaring with laughter, Jim said, while the mate struggled in vain with his captors and the giant tortoise hissed its objections at the liberty taken with it in thus converting it into a beast of burden without leave or license!It must have been a comical sight according to Jim Chowder’s account.Even Jan Steenbock, he said, could not help grinning; for, although Mr Flinders screamed and yelled as if he were being murdered, Jan saw that the men were not really hurting him, and he thought there was no call for his interference, especially after the manner in which the mate had acted towards him previously—indeed, all along, arrant bully that he was.Consequently, he let matters take their course, his smile breaking into the general laugh that arose presently when, one of the men giving the tortoise a dig with his boot as soon as the mate was securely mounted, the unwieldy reptile waddled off into the bush with Mr Flinders, bawling, spread-eagled on its back and brandishing his arms and legs about, trying to free himself from his lashings.“Durn ye all for a pack o’ cowards, ten ag’in one!” screamed out the mate as he was lost to sight in the cactus grove, the prickles from which no doubt tore his legs, thus heightening the unpleasantness of his situation. “I’ll pay ye out for this, ye scallywags, I will, by thunder, when I get loose.”“All right,” shouted back the men between their bursts of laughter as he disappeared from view, howling and shrieking and swearing away to the end; the tortoise plodding on regardless of his struggles, which, indeed, accelerated its pace onwards to its retreat in the hills. “You can carry on, old flick, when you finds yourself free!”And, then, they raised one of their old sailor choruses with much spirit—“Oh, he’ll never come back no more, boys,He’ll never come back no more;For he’s sailed away to Botany Bay,And ’ll never come back no more!”While they were in the middle of this—Jim Chowder singing the solo of the shanty, and the others joining in with full lung power in the refrain—who should appear from the opposite direction to that in which the mate had disappeared on his strange steed, but, Captain Snaggs!The skipper looked very strange and excited.“Hillo, my jokers!” he exclaimed as soon as he got near enough to hail the men, “whaar’s Mister Flinders? I wants him at oncest.”
Before relating what next occurred, however, I must break off at this point and make a slight bend in my yarn here, in order to mention something that happened immediately before, and which, although I did not come to hear of it until afterwards, had to do with bringing the skipper so suddenly down upon us. Something, indeed, that tended to infuriate him all the more, with Tom Bullover and Sam; for, from his hearing, by their own confession, that they had planned and kept up the delusion about the cook’s ghost on purpose to deceive him, he was led to believe that these two had got the better of him in another matter, even more important still in his estimation.
And so, as I am only a youngster and a poor hand at telling a story, though I find somehow or other I’m getting to the end of my yarn sooner than I expected when I first set to work writing it, I think I had best pat down everything that happened in its proper place and order, ‘in regular shipshape Bristol fashion,’ so that no hitch may occur by-and-by that might ‘bring me up with a round turn,’ when, perhaps, I could sail on with a free sheet and a fair wind to what you landfolk and longshoremen would call my ‘dénouement’—a sad one, though, it be, as you’ll learn later on, all in good time, as I spin my yarn in my free and easy way!
Well, to go back a bit now, you must know that ever since the thrashing he got from our second-mate, Mr Flinders had kept himself very quiet; not interfering in any way with the work of dismantling and unloading the ship, but leaving the charge of all this in the hands of Jan Steenbock and Tom Bullover—under, of course, the immediate supervision of Captain Snaggs, who, was here, there, and everywhere, pretending to do an awful lot, although really only occupying his time when he wasn’t drinking in bullying those of the men, who being tame-spirited, put up with his bad language.
It must be said, though, for the skipper, that he generally left the old hands alone, for they returned his choicest epithets in kind, always giving him quite as good in the rude vernacular as he gave—discipline being rather slack now the vessel was ashore, as in the merchant service a wreck is supposed by the crew to dissolve all contracts and annul whatever articles may have been signed. Such, at least, is my experience of the sea.
During this interregnum of duty, the first-mate hardly ever left his bunk on board the ship save to go into the cabin and partake of what meals Morris Jones, the steward, provided him with just when that lazy beggar of a Welshman liked.
Here he remained for over a week, nursing his damaged eyes and general injuries and, no doubt, brooding over the revenge which he contemplated taking at some future period on his late successful antagonist; for, his jealousy had been keenly aroused by the marked partiality Captain Snaggs had shown in favour of Jan Steenbock, although previously he had always chummed with him—and, indeed, even now, in spite of all that had passed, the captain still occasionally invited him to a friendly orgy in the cabin, when both, as usual, of course, got royally drunk together as of yore!
But, since the finding of the golden Madonna and the development of the treasure-hunting craze amongst us, Mr Flinders had begun to come out from his temporary obscurity, while not at first actually pushing himself forward, or taking any prominent part in our daily routine.
This modest diffidence was due to the fact that the men used to make audible remarks in reference to his ‘lovely black eyes,’ but as soon as the tint of these gradually merged from green to yellow and then buck to their normal tone, the first-mate grew bumptious and endeavoured to resume his old position of chief officer in the absence of the skipper, when the latter frequently went off alone, as it was his habit now, in solitary search of the buccaneers’ buried hoard like all the rest of us—notwithstanding that in public he utterly pooh-poohed its problematical existence and urged on the crew in digging out the dock under the ship, so as to get her afloat again, the only good, as he said, that we could expect from the island being the hope of leaving it behind us as quickly as possible.
He was an artful hand, was Captain Snaggs!
He thought that if he dissuaded the men from looking for the treasure he might have the greater chance of coming across it himself.
Such being the case, the skipper would sometimes sneak off in the middle of the day when work used to grow rather slack at our excavating task, in consequence of the greater heat at that time; for, the sea-breeze which we used to have with us from the early morning then gradually died away, while the light airs that blew off the land during the afternoon and night-time did not usually spring up until nearly sunset.
Then it was that Mr Flinders saw his opportunity; and, as regularly as the skipper would disappear in the distance over the lava field fronting the beach, saying, as he always did, that he was going up the cliff on our port hand ‘to see if he could sight any passing vessel’—although the sharpest eyes amongst our lookouts had never yet seen the captain’s lean and angular form on top of the said cliff—so, regularly, did the first-mate stealthily descend the side ladder that led from the poop of the ship down to the beach.
Once arrived here, his delight was to overlook the men as they lazily dug out the concrete-like sand and shingle at the bottom of the trench, filling baskets with the débris below which their fellows above hoisted up none the more energetically; and the first-mate could not help noticing that while Jan Steenbock purred them on now and then for a brief spell, he let them, as a rule, take things easily; at this heated period of the day, for Jan was wise enough to see that by not overworking them then he got more labour out of his gang when the temperature grew cooler, and the men could dig with greater “go.”
For a while, Mr Flinders did not interfere with Jan’s method of procedure, seeing, as any sensible man would, that the second-mate’s plan answered its purpose of getting the most out of the hands without making them grumble unduly at their unwonted task; but, soon his love of carping at others asserted itself, and this feeling, coupled with the desire to assert such petty authority as he still had, overcame his sense of prudence, as well as all recollection of the sharp lesson he had received from Jan not so very long before.
The difference between the skipper and Mr Flinders was, that, although the former was essentially cruel and a bully of the first water, he was yet physically brave and a cute, cautious man, who, when sober, knew how far he might venture in his harsh treatment of those under him; while the first-mate, on the contrary, was an utter coward at heart, and of as malicious and spiteful a disposition as he was fond of tyrannising over such as he thought he could ill-treat with impunity.
It never takes long for sailors to ‘reckon up’ their officers; so, it need hardly be said to which of the two the hands paid the most attention when he gave an order. As to liking either, that was out of the case; but where the men feared Captain Snaggs, the only feeling they had for Mr Flinders was one of contempt—paying back all his snarlings and bullyings in a way that the hands, well knew how to drive home to one of his temperament, as sensitive as it was mean!
Consequently, when, after a bit, he commenced finding fault with this one and that, the men would shove their tongues in their cheek and shrug their shoulders. They did not pay the slightest regard to anything he said; while the more bolder spirits, perhaps, of the stamp of Jim Chowder, winked openly the one to the other, expressing an opinion in a sufficiently loud enough tone for him to hear that ‘if he didn’t look out,’ he would soon become possessed of a pair of eyes “blacker than he’d had afore!”
Then, naturally, there would be a snigger all round, when Mr Flinders had to turn away with a scowl on his unpleasant, cross-grained face. He hated Jan Steenbock all the more, because when the jeering crew displayed their insubordination more strongly than usual, Jan would very properly recall them to their duty—an order which on being given by the second-mate was promptly obeyed, whilst they utterly disregarded even the most trivial command from him, just as they mocked at his reprimands.
This was only noticeable at first, though; for, after a few days’ experience of this ‘playing second fiddle,’ Mr Flinders, waxing stronger as his injuries improved and the discoloration of his ‘lovely black eyes’ became less apparent, seemed to resolve on trying a fresh tack. Taking higher ground, instead of idly endeavouring to get the men to treat him with respect, he once more tackled his subordinate superior Jan, who, he thought, from his treating him civilly, was sorry for the ‘little misunderstanding’ that had occurred between them, and would readily ‘knuckle under’ now, the moment he assumed his legitimate rôle and ‘topped the officer’ over him.
Mr Flinders never made a greater mistake in his life than in thus attempting to act up to the axiom of the old Latin adage, which teaches us that “necessity makes even cowards brave.”
He had far better have remained content with his titular dignity; for, in seeking to resume the reins of power which he had once let fall, he only received another lesson from Jan Steenbock, teaching him that a placid man was not necessarily one who would quietly put up with insult and rough treatment, and proving that the tables of life are frequently turned in fact as they sometimes are in figure of speech!
This is a long palaver; but I will soon come to the point of it all, and tell what subsequently happened.
You must recollect, though, that I was not on the spot myself, and am only indebted to Jim Chowder for hearing of it—being indeed, at that very time, on my way with Hiram to the cave and the wonderful surprise that awaited us there, an account of which I have just related.
Hiram and I had not long left the shore, said Jim, when the mate, who had his dinner rather late that day, on account of having been up with the skipper drinking all through the previous night, came down the ship’s side, looking very seedy and ill-tempered from the effects of his carouse, and with his face all blotchy and his nose red.
He had already been swearing at the steward for keeping him waiting for his grub, and this appeared to have ‘got his hand in,’ for he had no sooner come up to where Jan Steenbock was at work with the port watch digging in the trench, the second-mate setting the men a good example by wielding a pick as manfully as the best of them, than Mr Flinders began at Jan in his old abusive fashion, such as all on board the ship had been familiar with before the wreck and prior to his thrashing, which certainly had quieted him down for a time.
“Ye durned lop-handled coon!” cried out the cantankerous bully, looking down on Jan from the top of the plank that crossed the trench, and served as a sort of gangway between the foot of the side ladder and the firm ground beyond the excavation. “Why don’t ye put yer back into it? Ye’re a nice sort o’ skallywag to hev charge of a gang—ye’re only a-playin’ at workin’, ye an’ the hull pack on yer; fur the durned dock ain’t nary a sight deeper than it wer at four bells yester arternoon, I reckon!”
Jan Steenbock was in no wise disturbed by this exordium.
Dropping his pick, he looked up at the mate; while the rest of the men likewise stopped working, waiting to see what would happen, and grinning and nudging each other.
“Mine goot mans,” said he in his deep voice, with unruffled composure, “vas you sbeak to mees?”
Mr Flinders jumped up and down on the plank gangway, making it sway to and fro with his excitement.
“Vas I sbeak to ye?” he screamed, mimicking in his shrill treble the Dane’s pronunciation. “Who else sh’ud I speak to, ye Dutch son of a gun? Stir yer stumps, d’ye haar, an’ let us see ye airnin’ yer keep, ye lazy hound!”
“Mistaire Vlinders!”
“Aye, thet’s me; I’m glad ye reck’lect I’ve a handle to my name.”
“Mistaire Vlinders,” repeated Jan, paying no attention to the other’s interruption. “If you vas sbeak to me, you vas best be zee-vil.”
“What d’ye mean?” cried the mate. “Durn yer imperence; what d’ye mean?”
“I mean vat I zays,” returned Jan; “and eef you vas not zee-vil, I vas make yous.”
“Make me!” shouted out Mr Flinders, dancing with rage on the plank, so that it swung about more than ever. “Make me, hey? I’d like to see ye, my hearty!”
But, while the plank was yet oscillating beneath his feet, one of the men in the trench below, by a dexterous drive of his pick, loosened the earth on the side of the excavation; and, hardly had Mr Flinders got out his defiant words than he and the plank on which he was standing came tumbling down, the bully going plump into the pool of water that had accumulated at the open end of the trench forming a little lake over four feet deep.
Of course, the hands all shouted with laughter, their mirth growing all the merrier when the mate presently emerged from his impromptu bath, all dripping and plastered over with mud.
He was in a terrible rage, Jim Chowder said; and as Jan Steenbock came up to help him, he aimed a blow at him with a spade which he clutched hold of from one of the hands, almost splitting Jan’s head open, for the thick felt hat he wore only saved his life.
“Thaar, ye durned Dutch dog!” he yelled out. “Take thet fur yer sass!”
Jan fell to the bottom of the trench; whereupon, the men, thinking Mr Flinders had murdered him, at once rushed upon the mate in a body, thrusting him backwards into the water again and rolling him over in the mud and refuse, until he was pretty well battered about and nearly drowned.
Indeed, he would, probably, have been settled altogether, but for Jan rising up, little the worse for the blow that he had received, saving that some blood was trickling down his face.
“Shtop, my mans, shtop!” he exclaimed. “Let hims get oop, he vas not hoort me, aftaire all; and I vas vorgif hims, vor he vas not know vat he vas do!”
But the hands were too much incensed to let the bully off so easily, for they hated him as much as they liked Jan and were indignant at the unprovoked assault Mr Flinders had made upon him. As luck would have it, while they were debating how they should pay him out properly, and whether to give him another ducking in the muddy water or no, a happy means presented itself to them for punishing him in a much more ignominious manner, and one which was as original as it was amusing.
The big tortoises that inhabited the island used to come backwards and forwards past the beach on their passage up to the hills, utterly regardless of the ship and the men working, especially towards the evening, as now; and just as the fracas happened, one of these huge creatures waddled by the trench, making for its usual course inland.
“Hullo, mates!” sung out the leading wag of the crew, “let’s give our friend a ride for to dry hisself; here’s a cock hoss handy!”
This was thought a capital lark; and, the suggestion being acted upon immediately, the tortoise was summarily arrested in its onward career and Mr Flinders lashed across its shelly back, like Mazeppa was strapped upon the desert steed—the hands all roaring with laughter, Jim said, while the mate struggled in vain with his captors and the giant tortoise hissed its objections at the liberty taken with it in thus converting it into a beast of burden without leave or license!
It must have been a comical sight according to Jim Chowder’s account.
Even Jan Steenbock, he said, could not help grinning; for, although Mr Flinders screamed and yelled as if he were being murdered, Jan saw that the men were not really hurting him, and he thought there was no call for his interference, especially after the manner in which the mate had acted towards him previously—indeed, all along, arrant bully that he was.
Consequently, he let matters take their course, his smile breaking into the general laugh that arose presently when, one of the men giving the tortoise a dig with his boot as soon as the mate was securely mounted, the unwieldy reptile waddled off into the bush with Mr Flinders, bawling, spread-eagled on its back and brandishing his arms and legs about, trying to free himself from his lashings.
“Durn ye all for a pack o’ cowards, ten ag’in one!” screamed out the mate as he was lost to sight in the cactus grove, the prickles from which no doubt tore his legs, thus heightening the unpleasantness of his situation. “I’ll pay ye out for this, ye scallywags, I will, by thunder, when I get loose.”
“All right,” shouted back the men between their bursts of laughter as he disappeared from view, howling and shrieking and swearing away to the end; the tortoise plodding on regardless of his struggles, which, indeed, accelerated its pace onwards to its retreat in the hills. “You can carry on, old flick, when you finds yourself free!”
And, then, they raised one of their old sailor choruses with much spirit—
“Oh, he’ll never come back no more, boys,He’ll never come back no more;For he’s sailed away to Botany Bay,And ’ll never come back no more!”
“Oh, he’ll never come back no more, boys,He’ll never come back no more;For he’s sailed away to Botany Bay,And ’ll never come back no more!”
While they were in the middle of this—Jim Chowder singing the solo of the shanty, and the others joining in with full lung power in the refrain—who should appear from the opposite direction to that in which the mate had disappeared on his strange steed, but, Captain Snaggs!
The skipper looked very strange and excited.
“Hillo, my jokers!” he exclaimed as soon as he got near enough to hail the men, “whaar’s Mister Flinders? I wants him at oncest.”
Chapter Eighteen.“Skeleton Valley.”“This wer a reg’ler sockdollager!” said Jim Chowder, when narrating the circumstances to us; for on this unexpected enquiry after the mate coming so suddenly after the men had treated him in so ignominious a fashion, they were “knocked all aback!”So, for the moment, no one answered the skipper’s question.Of course, this did not tend to allay his excitement. “Can’t nary a one o’ ye speak?” he cried angrily. “Whaar’s the fust-mate—ye ain’t made away with the coon, hev ye?”“He’s out fur a ride, cap,” at last said the wag of the party, whereat there was another outburst of laughter. “Mr Flinders wer a bit out o’ sorts an’ hez gone up theer fur a hairin’.”“Thaar!” echoed the skipper, looking to where the man pointed with his hand. “Whaar?”“Up in the hills,” replied the other grinning hugely at Captain Snaggs’ puzzled expression. “He’s gone fur a ride a-tortoise-back.”“Ye’re a durned fule!” shouted the skipper, thinking he was ‘taking a rise’ out of him. “Don’t ye try on bamboozlin’ me. What d’ye mean by his goin’ a-ridin’, an’ sich nonsense?”“He vas shbeak ze drooth, cap’en,” put in Jan Steenbock, who was still wiping the blood from his face as he got up to answer him. “I vas zee Mistaire Vlinders zail avays oop dere on ze back of von beeg toordle joost now.”“By thunder, ye’re all makin’ game of me, I guess!” yelled the skipper, seeing that Jan was grinning like the rest, “I s’pose ye’ve been hevin’ a muss ag’en. Now, I ain’t a-goin’ to stand no more bunkum. What hev ye done with Mr Flinders, I axes fur the last time?”“I vas not do nuzzin,” replied Jan quietly, continuing to wipe his face. “Ze mate vas shtrike me, but I vas not touch him meinselfs, I vas not lay von hand upon hims.”“Then what in thunder air becom’ of him?”“He wer gone a-ridin’, cap,” said the man who had previously spoken, proceeding to explain what had occurred. “He came down drunk out of the ship and went abusin’ Mr Steenbock as never sed a word to him, and then struck him with a spade, nigh killing him. So we tumbles him over in the water theer to stop his doin’ any more mischief, for he wer that mad as he looked to murder the lot of us.”“And then, boss,” went on Jim Chowder, as he told up, taking up the story, “ez he were pretty well wet with his ducking, we lashed him on to the back of a tortoise ez come by, an’ sent him up in the hills, fur to dry hisself, ‘ridin’ a cock horse to Banbury Cross’ like!”At this the hands laughed again, and the skipper, whom they now surmised must have been drinking again when away on his prospecting tour, became perfectly furious; for he turned quite white, while his billy-goat beard bristled up, as it always did when he was angry.“This air rank mutiny!” he shouted, drawing his revolver and pointing it at Jim Chowder; “but I’ll soon teach ye a lesson, ye skunks. Hyar goes fur one o’ ye!”Jan Steenbock, as on a previous occasion, however, was too quick for him; for he knocked the weapon out of his fist, and then gripping him in a tight grasp, threw his arms round the captain’s body.The skipper foamed at the mouth, and swore even worse than Mr Flinders had done just before; but, presently he calmed down a bit, and sat down on the ground—shaking all over, as soon as Jan had removed his grip, though keeping close to him, to be on the watch for his next move, as he expected him to have one of his old fits again.But the convulsions seemed to pass off very quickly; and the captain, looking like himself again after a few moments, jumped to his feet.He then stared round about him, as if searching for something or some one, evidently forgetting all that had just happened.Suddenly his eyes brightened.“Thaar he is!” he cried, “thaar he is!”“Who, sir?” asked Jan, seeing his gaze fixed in the direction of the cactus grove, behind which the mate had vanished on his tortoise—“Mistaire Vlinders?”“No, man, no,” impatiently cried the skipper; “I wanted him to come with me, but ez he’s not hyar, ye’ll do ez wa-all, I reckon. It’s the black buccaneer cap’en I mean, thet I met jest now, over thaar in the vall’y.”“Ze boocaneer cap’en,” repeated Jan, utterly flabbergasted—“ze boocaneer cap’en?”“Aye, ye durned fule; don’t ye reck’lect the coon ez ye told me ez burrit the treesure? Come on quick, or I guess we’ll lose him!”“And yous have zeen hims?”“Aye, I hev seed him, sure enuff,” replied Captain Snaggs, seizing Jan, and trying to drag him with him; “an’, what’s more, he an’ I’ve been drinkin’ together, me joker. We’ve hed a reg’ler high old time in the vall’y thaar, this arternoon, ye bet!”“In ze valleys?”“By thunder! ye’re that slow ye’d anger a saint, which I ain’t one,” returned Captain Snaggs, indignantly. “I mean the vall’y whaar the skeletons is crawlin’ about an’ the skulls grinning—thet air one belongin’ to the buccaneer cuss is a prime one, I ken tell ye. It beats creation, it dew, with the lizards a-creepin’ through the sockets, an’ a big snake in his teeth. Jeehosophat! how he did swaller down the licker!”Up to now the men could not understand that anything out of the common was the matter with the skipper beyond being drunk, perhaps, and in a passion—no, not even Jan; but, as soon as he got talking on this tack about snakes and skulls, then all saw what was the matter.So, now, on his darting off towards the hills in his delirium, Jan Steenbock and Jim Chowder, with a couple of the other hands, quickly followed in pursuit of the demented man.He had got a good minute’s start, however, before they recovered from their astonishment at his incoherent speech and were able to grasp the situation; so, he was almost out of sight by the time they went after him.It was a long chase, Jim said, for they went in and out between the thorny fleshy-handed cactus trees and over the lava field, tumbling into holes here and tearing themselves to pieces with the thorns there—the skipper all the while maintaining his lead in front and running along as freely and smoothly as if the track were an even path, instead of being through a desert waste like that they raced over.After a bit, they passed over all the intervening lava field and struck amongst the grass and trees; and then they came up to Mr Flinders, who was still lashed on the back of his tortoise, which had ‘brought up all standing’ by the side of a little water-spring, and was greedily gulping down long draughts of the limpid stream that rippled through the glade beneath the shade of a number of dwarf oaks and zafrau trees which had orchilla moss growing in profusion on their trunks—some of these being nearly three feet in diameter, and bigger, Jim said, than any trees he had previously seen on the island.Those in pursuit of the skipper thought he would have stopped on thus meeting the first-mate.But, no. He did not halt for an instant.“Come on, Flinders,” he only called out. “Come on, Flinders, we air arter the buccaneer cap’en an’ the treasure!”Then, plunging down the side of the hill he made for a bare space further down beyond the trees, waving his arms over his head and shouting and screaming at the pitch of his voice, like the raging madman that he had become.Arrived at the bottom of the declivity, the captain abruptly paused; and Jim Chowder and Jan, who were close behind, came up with him.There was no need to stop him; for the skipper flung himself on the ground at a spot where, to their wonder, they now observed three skeletons sitting up and arranged in a circle; while in the centre of the terrible group of bony figures was a cask on end, whose odour at once betrayed its contents.Rum!A pannikin was on the ground beside the hand of one of the remnants of mortality, and this the skipper took up, drawing a spigot from out of the cask and filling it.“Hyar’s to ye, my brave buccaneers!” he cried, tossing it off as if it had been water. “Hyar’s to ye all an’ the gold!”He was going to fill another pannikin and drain that; but Jan Steenbock kicked over the cask, preventing him.Captain Snaggs at once sprung to his feet again.As before, he took no notice of Jan’s action.It appeared as if his mind were suddenly bent on something else and that he now forgot everything anterior to the one thought that possessed him.“Come on now, my brave buccaneers, an’ show us the gold,” he cried. “Lead on, my beauties, an’ I’ll foller, by thunder, to the devil himself!”So saying, back he climbed up the hill, and down a little pathway along the top till he came to the entrance to the cave which Tom Bullover and Hiram and I had first discovered; and then, suddenly, before Jan Steenbock and Jim Chowder could see where he had gone, he disappeared within the opening.Jan and Jim alone had continued the pursuit, the other hands having remained behind to release the first-mate from his uncomfortable billet on board the tortoise; and Jim Chowder giving up the hunt at this point, and returning to rejoin his comrades, Jan Steenbock only remained, the latter telling us later on, when we all compared notes, that, after looking for the skipper over the cliff, where he at first believed him to have fallen, he finally traced him into the cave.
“This wer a reg’ler sockdollager!” said Jim Chowder, when narrating the circumstances to us; for on this unexpected enquiry after the mate coming so suddenly after the men had treated him in so ignominious a fashion, they were “knocked all aback!”
So, for the moment, no one answered the skipper’s question.
Of course, this did not tend to allay his excitement. “Can’t nary a one o’ ye speak?” he cried angrily. “Whaar’s the fust-mate—ye ain’t made away with the coon, hev ye?”
“He’s out fur a ride, cap,” at last said the wag of the party, whereat there was another outburst of laughter. “Mr Flinders wer a bit out o’ sorts an’ hez gone up theer fur a hairin’.”
“Thaar!” echoed the skipper, looking to where the man pointed with his hand. “Whaar?”
“Up in the hills,” replied the other grinning hugely at Captain Snaggs’ puzzled expression. “He’s gone fur a ride a-tortoise-back.”
“Ye’re a durned fule!” shouted the skipper, thinking he was ‘taking a rise’ out of him. “Don’t ye try on bamboozlin’ me. What d’ye mean by his goin’ a-ridin’, an’ sich nonsense?”
“He vas shbeak ze drooth, cap’en,” put in Jan Steenbock, who was still wiping the blood from his face as he got up to answer him. “I vas zee Mistaire Vlinders zail avays oop dere on ze back of von beeg toordle joost now.”
“By thunder, ye’re all makin’ game of me, I guess!” yelled the skipper, seeing that Jan was grinning like the rest, “I s’pose ye’ve been hevin’ a muss ag’en. Now, I ain’t a-goin’ to stand no more bunkum. What hev ye done with Mr Flinders, I axes fur the last time?”
“I vas not do nuzzin,” replied Jan quietly, continuing to wipe his face. “Ze mate vas shtrike me, but I vas not touch him meinselfs, I vas not lay von hand upon hims.”
“Then what in thunder air becom’ of him?”
“He wer gone a-ridin’, cap,” said the man who had previously spoken, proceeding to explain what had occurred. “He came down drunk out of the ship and went abusin’ Mr Steenbock as never sed a word to him, and then struck him with a spade, nigh killing him. So we tumbles him over in the water theer to stop his doin’ any more mischief, for he wer that mad as he looked to murder the lot of us.”
“And then, boss,” went on Jim Chowder, as he told up, taking up the story, “ez he were pretty well wet with his ducking, we lashed him on to the back of a tortoise ez come by, an’ sent him up in the hills, fur to dry hisself, ‘ridin’ a cock horse to Banbury Cross’ like!”
At this the hands laughed again, and the skipper, whom they now surmised must have been drinking again when away on his prospecting tour, became perfectly furious; for he turned quite white, while his billy-goat beard bristled up, as it always did when he was angry.
“This air rank mutiny!” he shouted, drawing his revolver and pointing it at Jim Chowder; “but I’ll soon teach ye a lesson, ye skunks. Hyar goes fur one o’ ye!”
Jan Steenbock, as on a previous occasion, however, was too quick for him; for he knocked the weapon out of his fist, and then gripping him in a tight grasp, threw his arms round the captain’s body.
The skipper foamed at the mouth, and swore even worse than Mr Flinders had done just before; but, presently he calmed down a bit, and sat down on the ground—shaking all over, as soon as Jan had removed his grip, though keeping close to him, to be on the watch for his next move, as he expected him to have one of his old fits again.
But the convulsions seemed to pass off very quickly; and the captain, looking like himself again after a few moments, jumped to his feet.
He then stared round about him, as if searching for something or some one, evidently forgetting all that had just happened.
Suddenly his eyes brightened.
“Thaar he is!” he cried, “thaar he is!”
“Who, sir?” asked Jan, seeing his gaze fixed in the direction of the cactus grove, behind which the mate had vanished on his tortoise—“Mistaire Vlinders?”
“No, man, no,” impatiently cried the skipper; “I wanted him to come with me, but ez he’s not hyar, ye’ll do ez wa-all, I reckon. It’s the black buccaneer cap’en I mean, thet I met jest now, over thaar in the vall’y.”
“Ze boocaneer cap’en,” repeated Jan, utterly flabbergasted—“ze boocaneer cap’en?”
“Aye, ye durned fule; don’t ye reck’lect the coon ez ye told me ez burrit the treesure? Come on quick, or I guess we’ll lose him!”
“And yous have zeen hims?”
“Aye, I hev seed him, sure enuff,” replied Captain Snaggs, seizing Jan, and trying to drag him with him; “an’, what’s more, he an’ I’ve been drinkin’ together, me joker. We’ve hed a reg’ler high old time in the vall’y thaar, this arternoon, ye bet!”
“In ze valleys?”
“By thunder! ye’re that slow ye’d anger a saint, which I ain’t one,” returned Captain Snaggs, indignantly. “I mean the vall’y whaar the skeletons is crawlin’ about an’ the skulls grinning—thet air one belongin’ to the buccaneer cuss is a prime one, I ken tell ye. It beats creation, it dew, with the lizards a-creepin’ through the sockets, an’ a big snake in his teeth. Jeehosophat! how he did swaller down the licker!”
Up to now the men could not understand that anything out of the common was the matter with the skipper beyond being drunk, perhaps, and in a passion—no, not even Jan; but, as soon as he got talking on this tack about snakes and skulls, then all saw what was the matter.
So, now, on his darting off towards the hills in his delirium, Jan Steenbock and Jim Chowder, with a couple of the other hands, quickly followed in pursuit of the demented man.
He had got a good minute’s start, however, before they recovered from their astonishment at his incoherent speech and were able to grasp the situation; so, he was almost out of sight by the time they went after him.
It was a long chase, Jim said, for they went in and out between the thorny fleshy-handed cactus trees and over the lava field, tumbling into holes here and tearing themselves to pieces with the thorns there—the skipper all the while maintaining his lead in front and running along as freely and smoothly as if the track were an even path, instead of being through a desert waste like that they raced over.
After a bit, they passed over all the intervening lava field and struck amongst the grass and trees; and then they came up to Mr Flinders, who was still lashed on the back of his tortoise, which had ‘brought up all standing’ by the side of a little water-spring, and was greedily gulping down long draughts of the limpid stream that rippled through the glade beneath the shade of a number of dwarf oaks and zafrau trees which had orchilla moss growing in profusion on their trunks—some of these being nearly three feet in diameter, and bigger, Jim said, than any trees he had previously seen on the island.
Those in pursuit of the skipper thought he would have stopped on thus meeting the first-mate.
But, no. He did not halt for an instant.
“Come on, Flinders,” he only called out. “Come on, Flinders, we air arter the buccaneer cap’en an’ the treasure!”
Then, plunging down the side of the hill he made for a bare space further down beyond the trees, waving his arms over his head and shouting and screaming at the pitch of his voice, like the raging madman that he had become.
Arrived at the bottom of the declivity, the captain abruptly paused; and Jim Chowder and Jan, who were close behind, came up with him.
There was no need to stop him; for the skipper flung himself on the ground at a spot where, to their wonder, they now observed three skeletons sitting up and arranged in a circle; while in the centre of the terrible group of bony figures was a cask on end, whose odour at once betrayed its contents.
Rum!
A pannikin was on the ground beside the hand of one of the remnants of mortality, and this the skipper took up, drawing a spigot from out of the cask and filling it.
“Hyar’s to ye, my brave buccaneers!” he cried, tossing it off as if it had been water. “Hyar’s to ye all an’ the gold!”
He was going to fill another pannikin and drain that; but Jan Steenbock kicked over the cask, preventing him.
Captain Snaggs at once sprung to his feet again.
As before, he took no notice of Jan’s action.
It appeared as if his mind were suddenly bent on something else and that he now forgot everything anterior to the one thought that possessed him.
“Come on now, my brave buccaneers, an’ show us the gold,” he cried. “Lead on, my beauties, an’ I’ll foller, by thunder, to the devil himself!”
So saying, back he climbed up the hill, and down a little pathway along the top till he came to the entrance to the cave which Tom Bullover and Hiram and I had first discovered; and then, suddenly, before Jan Steenbock and Jim Chowder could see where he had gone, he disappeared within the opening.
Jan and Jim alone had continued the pursuit, the other hands having remained behind to release the first-mate from his uncomfortable billet on board the tortoise; and Jim Chowder giving up the hunt at this point, and returning to rejoin his comrades, Jan Steenbock only remained, the latter telling us later on, when we all compared notes, that, after looking for the skipper over the cliff, where he at first believed him to have fallen, he finally traced him into the cave.