AS the weather was now so fine, I thought it best to begin the gathering of calabashes, before going regularly to the work of rope-making. I should need an immense quantity of these gourds, and they must be as dry as possible and perfectly sound, or they would be unserviceable for my purpose. The collection and transportation of these gourds would have proved an immense task but for a happy thought which occurred to me; that was to make the stream do the major part of the labor. With this view I drove a row of stakes across the creek just above where the boats were moored. These stakes were placed close enough together to catch every gourd that floated down stream. After this precaution was taken I went with my axe to the calabash grove and began the work of gathering the gourds, throwing them into the water of the stream. Soon they were bobbing along down stream in a steady procession. I worked faithfully at this for more than half a day, and until I had just time to get home before supper. When I arrived I found that Alice Millward had been busy fishing out the floating gourds, and had a huge pile on the sand, and that the creek was still literally filled with them for several rods above the row of detaining stakes. In coming home I had followed down the stream, wading, with a pole to dislodge all that had caught on the way.
Wet and tired and hungry though I was, I went immediately to work throwing the gourds out on the bank where they might begin drying and hardening, and it was long after sunset before I finished this disagreeable labor. I was very glad to change my wet clothing and to sit down to the cheerful supper-table which the patient Alice had kept waiting for me.
“You must have worked very steadily, Mr. Morgan,” said she; “there has been a constant stream of those great calabashes coming down all the afternoon.”
“I see that you also were not idle,” said I. “The great heap of gourds I found taken out must have kept you pretty busy.”
“Oh, indeed, I was very busy, and kept the creek clear for quite a while,” said she; “but then they began to arrive like a marching army, and soon overwhelmed me. I suppose you have enough of them collected now, have you not?”
“No, Miss Millward, perhaps there is half enough. I shall go again to-morrow.”
“The sight of that immense number of calabashes makes me better able to realize the magnitude of the task we have undertaken,” remarked the old gentleman, in a thoughtful tone.
“But that should not trouble us,” I said; “we have plenty of time before us, and a little done every day makes a great deal. Now I roughly calculate that we must have a pile of gourds as large as the Spanish galleon, if you can imagine it lying on the beach; for the floating capacity of these round gourds in a heap would not represent, owing to the interstices between the individual gourds, more than half that of a single, great gourd of the size of the heap. Or to put it in another way, let us say we want a sufficient number of gourds to hold half the air that the galleon would hold if emptyof water. Such a capacity would require, I imagine, a pile of gourds as great as the galleon. At any rate we will offer that for as good a guess as we are able now to make. I suppose we might estimate the cubical contents of the galleon, and so determine mathematically with reasonable accuracy just how many gourds would do the work of lifting it,—that is to say, of equalling its displacement or sufficiently approaching it. But I think we shall be near enough with our guess without that trouble.
The next day, starting earlier, I finished collecting the gourds by noon, and had them all out of the creek before two o’clock in the afternoon. As the wind was light and favorable, I proposed that we spend the remainder of the day in a voyage to the plantation, stay there all night, and return in the morning. This was heartily agreed to, and we speedily loaded the few things we were likely to need on board the “Alice,” including an armchair and Mr. Millward’s couch. When all was ready for the embarkation I carried him down and seated him, well braced, just aft of the centre-board.
We now hoisted sail and passed out over the bar. As we came into the neighborhood of the sunken galleon it was just three o’clock by Mr. Millward’s watch, the sun was shining brightly, and the water was clear. If I could pick up the submerged buoy I could now with the water-glass show my companions the wreck. My sight poles on shore were down, and I could only guess at the locality. However, with Miss Millward standing on the fore deck keeping a bright lookout for the bunch of submerged gourds, I cruised about as near as I could guess to the neighborhood. In a few minutes she caught sight of them, and we were speedily made fast. We hauled up directly above the wreck and put theglass over the side; then all, including Mr. Millward, who managed to do so by our joint assistance, took a good look at the venerable hulk.
As the old man was looking I explained to him, “You see, Mr. Millward, the ship’s forefoot sticks up a little clear of the sand.”
“Yes, yes, that is true.”
“And you will see that there is plenty of room there to drag the bight of a hawser well under the keel.”
“Yes, I see.”
“Now look at the stern, and you will notice that it overhangs very much, and that the rudder has broken away and become detached.”
“Yes, quite true,” said the old man; “and you could easily drag the bight of your second hawser under the projecting stern.”
“Exactly,” I replied; “and then we shall have the old relic swung securely from two points, and come up she must if only her old ribs and bones are strong enough to stand the strain. She must float or break in two.”
“Mr. Morgan, we must and will succeed,” said the old man, excitedly. “That craft is to all appearance sound and strong. I have heard that wood when under water completely does not decay as when exposed to the air. We shall find her still strong enough to be raised.”
“I trust so and believe so,” I replied.
When the fair Alice came to look at the wonders of the deep through the glass her delight was extravagant.
“Why,” she cried, “I can see the old cannon all covered with sea-weed. And what a strange, old-fashioned ship! Two cabins built one on top of the other, and in front a sort of house. I can even see the doorway in the cabin, and the funny little windows, and afish swimming in at one of them as though he lived there. Shells are growing all over the whole vessel like lichens on a rock. What a lovely, horrible sight!”
When we had spent an hour at this sight-seeing we cast off from the buoy and made sail for Plantation Cove, and very soon came abreast of it. From the sea, except for the break in the beach, the opening into the cove was scarcely distinguishable in the wall of the cliff, which here came out in a sort of cape or headland. Just in this headland was the cleft. I wore round and ran straight in for the mouth of the cove, and found water enough easily to cross the bar. We glided swiftly through the rocky gate with the momentum, and floated out on the deep, quiet waters of the cove, the breeze being entirely cut off by the cliff, except a faint, uncertain gust now and then, which found its way in as a draught will sometimes blow down a chimney. There was just enough motion to carry us alongside the pier, which now at low tide stood high above us, so high that it would be impossible to get Mr. Millward on shore by its aid. For this reason I pulled the boat along until her nose was against the rocky shore at the side of the pier and made her temporarily fast, while I carried Mr. Millward on shore, and landed his daughter. I then pulled back to a place where a rude ladder led from the pier down to the water, and moored the boat securely, head and stern, with sufficient line so that she might ride safely at all tides, then I overhauled the sail we had brought along for a tent, carried it ashore and set it up, built a rousing fire, and gathered a quantity of fern for bedding. As soon as the fire was started Alice set about warming up a bean porridge for supper, that we might have it early enough to visit the plantation before dark.
We hurried through the supper, and then leaving Mr.Millward comfortably seated in the armchair, I started with Alice for a little walk up to the rising ground to show her a view of the orange grove and plantation buildings which could be seen from this side. Along the old road, a great part of which was overgrown with weeds and straggling volunteer plants from the various crops that had formerly been cultivated here: Indian-corn, tall, tasselled sugar-cane, pink-blossomed tobacco, with great, velvety leaves and up-shooting stalk, an occasional dried cotton plant with shreds of cotton still clinging to the brown bolls, yams run wild and growing in broad green bands of fleshy vine across the path in tropical luxuriance,—these and countless wild weeds and plants not only filled the fields but trenched upon the road.
Before we reached a point at which the groves and houses could well be seen Miss Millward had already gathered a great armful of samples to carry back to the tent that her father might see them. We went along up the road until we came to the remains of a gate,—two upright stones roughly resembling pillars, and having iron hinge-pieces let into one of them. The gate itself had been thrown down at one side. Here we were in full sight of all the buildings, and of the grove of fruit trees. I left her here a few moments while I waded through the weeds to gather a bunch of bananas, some of which were ripe and red. As I came back I saw her beckon to me to hasten; and I ran as fast as I could, until I reached her side.
“Listen,” said she, “I thought just now I heard a cry.”
We listened a moment, and then I heard distinctly, from the direction of the cove, her father’s voice as though calling for help.
“It is father calling us,” she cried, and immediately began running down the road.
I threw down my bunch of bananas and soon passed her, impeded as she was with her skirts and the weeds. I plunged through the last heavy growth of weeds and canes that separated me from a clear view of the tent, and was thunderstruck to behold a man coming toward us from that direction. At first I thought of the pearl-fishers, and feared that violence had perhaps already been done to the helpless Mr. Millward, whose voice we had just heard calling for assistance. My first impulse was to turn back and stop Miss Millward, whom I could hear struggling through the weeds behind me. But in a moment I was still more astonished to recognize in the approaching figure Mr. Millward himself! I do not believe I should have been more surprised to have seen a dead man rise and walk. I had never seen him, you will remember, otherwise than helpless, and my mind was completely habituated so to regard him. Now here he was, upright and walking with apparent firmness toward me. I was inexpressibly astonished, and for the moment quite speechless. I stood there with open mouth staring at him when Miss Millward came panting through the weeds to my side.
“Father! oh, father!” she cried, and without a moment’s pause hurried on as fast as she could to meet him. Collecting my own wits I speedily followed her. When they met she fell upon the old man’s breast and began to sob out, “Oh, what is the matter? Oh, why did you call?”
She had evidently forgotten, or failed to comprehend for the moment, that there was anything surprising in the fact that he was up and walking about. This oversight was doubtless due to the fact that, unlike myself, she had been long accustomed to see him walk, and the helpless condition was the one she was least accustomed to. However, without endeavoring to analyze our relative feelings of surprise, let us listen to the curious account given by Mr. Millward of his sudden recovery of the use of his lower limbs.
“After you had left me,” he said, “I was sitting comfortably in the armchair looking at you until you disappeared among the vegetation. Presently I became aware that a little breeze had risen and was driving the smoke of the fire toward me. This was disagreeable, but as it could not be helped I quietly endured it, thinking it would not be for long, and that you would be back soon. But very soon thereafter I found the dry fern all around me on fire, and fearing I should roast to death I twice called as loudly as I could, hoping you would hear me in time. The flames, however, came very fast, my chair caught fire, my hands were slightly scorched, and I was at the same time smothering with the smoke. I sprang up and put out the fire with the blanket which you had wrapped around my limbs. Then finding I could walk, I started to meet you. That is all. God in his merciful providence has restored me.”
That was all. But it was quite enough. We turned back and walked together to the tent I could not get used to it. That this man whom I left helpless in his chair less than half an hour before, should now be actually standing firm on his feet, and walking about, as though nothing had been the matter with him, was entirely too much for my practical, matter-of-fact mind. Mr. Millward evidently noticed my bewildered air, and laughing said: “Rest easy, Mr. Morgan, I believe this recovery will be permanent. The excitement of the sudden danger must have roused my torpid nerves, and did suddenly for me what doubtless would have taken place a few weeks later in a slower way. Now let us thank God with all our hearts for this mercy.”
The delight of the daughter, when she realized the pleasant truth was very touching indeed; she wept, embraced him, and patted him with her hands, cooing and sobbing and laughing all at once, while the old man in silence passed his hand gently from time to time over her beautiful hair.
From the scattered embers I rebuilt the fire, and after the sun went down, we all three sat in front of it talking over this strange occurrence. Intervals of silence would now and then fall upon us unbroken for several minutes. It was very hard indeed to realize the remarkable change. Perhaps the most curious thing was the effect produced upon Duke. The dog eyed Mr. Millward with an air of such ludicrous doubt, edging away from him, and then coming back wagging his tail to be patted, that we could not refrain from laughing heartily at his conduct. He resented our merriment with a sheepish, tail-between-legs air that only made us laugh the more.
Leaving the father and daughter to sleep in the tent, Duke and I went down to the boat. There, gently rocked by the incoming tide, I slumbered peacefully through the night until long after dawn, and was then awakened by the old man’s hand laid gently on my shoulder. It was time for breakfast, which we made of oranges and plantains, the latter baked in the hot ashes. Mr. Millward had already been clear to the plantation buildings and returned with this spoil. He was still weak and feeble. That after his long inactivity his muscles should have strength enough for him to walk about at all, was, in truth, matter of surprise, even not considering the recent paralysis. The possession of so much physical vigor was doubtless due to the continued and regular rubbing and massage treatment he had received.
It was thought best, now that we were here with the boat, to collect and take back with us as much as we could conveniently carry of the produce of the groves and plantations. One thing Mr. Millward was specially desirous of getting was a good supply of coffee-berries, which we might cure in the usual manner by drying them in the shade, and thus finally get the kernels for use. Oranges would also keep well; and bananas and plantains would ripen even better in the bunch hung up at home than upon the tree. So, too, there was needed sweet-potatoes and yams, and a good supply of tobacco for curing. With shovel and hoe and improvised baskets made of huge plantain leaves we went to work, digging and gathering and carrying,—Miss Alice and I doing the chief part of the work, while Mr. Millward, feeling somewhat feeble and exhausted, was content to stroll about a little or to rest in the shade. Wandering about among the outhouses he came across a setting hen on a nest of fifteen eggs, and brought in hen, nest, and eggs all together, the devoted bird courageously allowing herself to be captured rather than leave the nest. This prize we stowed in the cuddy-hole of the boat, shutting her and her beloved nest in safety together.
I found an old, dilapidated fanning-mill, and a small grindstone mounted in a frame with a crank to turn it. Anything of this sort I thought might be useful to me in contriving my rope machinery; so I loaded it on the boat.
About the middle of the afternoon we got on board, and after sculling the boat out over the bar set sail for Home Creek, where we arrived safely about five o’clock. While supper was being made ready I built a safe coop for the old hen, with sticks driven into the ground, and put her with her nest into it, giving her corn and a gourdof water, and left her to hatch her brood if she chose. We were all very tired that night and went early to bed.
The next day Mr. Millward and I went to work to contrive some sort of device for spinning the cocoa-husk fibre into rope-yarn. The old fanning-mill came very handily into play in this job. The fan was geared to run at a high rate of speed, and by disconnecting the sieves and shakers and taking off the fan blades, this final piece of shafting could be made to revolve at a rattling gait by a comparatively slow motion of the crank, and with very little expenditure of force. We turned the old machine up on one end and mounted it on stilts to bring the final or fan shaft into convenient position. Then on the end of the fan shaft we mounted the spinning device, whittled out of hard wood and pieces of cane. This consisted primarily of a spool about a foot in length mounted in a framework so that its axis would be at right angles to the fan shaft. The revolution of the fan shaft would now cause the spool to revolve with an end-over-end movement; so that a piece of cord, if one end were tied or wound upon the spool, would be twisted. The next thing was to contrive some method for causing the spool to rotate automatically on its own axis at a slower rate, so as to wind up the cord as fast as it was twisted by the other motion of the spool at a high rate of speed.
This movement cost us an almost indescribable amount of the closest and hardest thought. To complete the machine up to this point took only two days. Then we stuck fast for a whole week debating the matter and trying contrivances which would not work, and which, when they came to trial it seemed as though we should have known would not work, so complete and humiliating was their failure. Finally we changed the whole structure by mounting the spool loosely onthe end of the fan shaft itself with its axis coincident with the axis of the shaft, fitting the spool to run by friction on the shaft, while the frame which led the yarn to the spool was rigidly fixed on the same shaft. Now the rapid motion of the frame would do the twisting and the cord would wind only as fast as it was freely fed, the spool slipping at a commensurate rate on the shaft. This worked all right with a piece of cord already made; but whether it would make the yarn out of unformed fibre was a matter to be determined by trial. This trial we could not make until we had built a feeding-table on which to pile the mass of fibre, fitted with a tube of cane to guide the forming yarn to the twister-frame. When this was done the machine proved satisfactory and did the work it was designed to do rapidly and well. It required two to work it,—one to turn the crank and thus furnish the power, and the other to feed up and manipulate the fibre so that it would be smoothly and properly interwoven with the twisting end of the forming filament.
The construction of this rude machine took us ten days of hard study and work. But when it was done we had taken a long step in advance. When we learned it would work we celebrated the occasion by twisting a spoolful of yarn, about a hundred yards,—I turning the crank, with the sweat of honest toil dripping from me, while Mr. Millward fed in the fibre. This yarn, which was quite firmly spun, we doubled, and allowed it to twist together upon itself making a stout cord nearly fifty yards in length and of the size of signal halyard stuff. It was strong and firm, and as we judged would easily stand a strain of fifty pounds without breaking. That it was not absolutely smooth and even, was a matter of comparatively small consequence, the vital thing being strength and compactness.
To say that we were both delighted with the result of our labors, is only faintly to express the real condition of mind with which we hailed it.
Alice Millward had come down to see the trial of the machine, and was a witness of the making of the first piece of cord, and we all joined together in the rejoicing.
Now began a period of steady, hard work, manufacturing rope. We first rigged up the machine under the shed, so that we might have protection from the sun and the rain, and then set to work, regularly each day, excepting of course on the sabbath day, during which we always rested and held divine service at least once. We divided the working day as follows: from breakfast until nine o’clock we spent gathering husks enough for the whole day’s work, bringing them to the shed and pounding up and separating sufficient of the fibre for a run of half an hour. Promptly at nine o’clock I took the crank and began a steady half-hour’s grind; then to give my muscles a change we would go again at pounding and separating fibre for half an hour; then came another half-hour at the crank, and so on until the blessed hour of noon arrived, when we would take dinner and rest until one o’clock; then hard at it again, rain or shine, until five o’clock.
Mr. Millward could sit at his feeding work and was thus able to endure it; but it was doubtless very hard for him, though he never uttered a complaint and seemed to thrive on it. My work at the crank was very hard indeed, and at first when night came every bone and muscle in my whole body would ache with the strain. As the days went by, however, the work grew easier and easier day by day, until I felt it no longer as a strain upon me.
At five o’clock we set to work getting up the necessary fuel and doing the chores about the house, and such little things as Alice wanted attended to. Exactly at six o’clock Alice, who carried the watch, would come out and call us in for supper, to which two tired men were sure to do justice, especially to the hot coffee which we now had at each meal in plenty. After supper we generally sat on the porch talking over various matters of interest. Mr. Millward, who when a younger man had spent ten years as a missionary in India and South Africa, related many interesting reminiscences of his life in those strange countries: of desperate fights with savages in resisting forays; of hunts for game and encounters with wild beasts; of the rude forms of worship and superstitions of the African tribes, and the complex religion of the Hindoos. His memory was wonderfully accurate and stored with countless incidents, curious, strange, and interesting.
IN about two weeks a brood of twelve chickens was hatched out, and the old hen fastened in the coop made no end of clucking and feather-ruffling in her anxiety that the fluffy, yellow-feathered little innocents should come to no harm. They ran in and out between the bars at pleasure, and very soon made friends with their mistress Alice, who could, or thought she could, distinctly recognize each of the little brothers and sisters, and distinguish one from another. In proof of this she named one after each of the twelve months of the year. By feeding them every day she soon got the whole brood so that it would come at call, and some of the chicks would frequently jump into her lap, or eat from her hand in a perfectly fearless manner. It was pleasant to hear her talk to her little pets and call them by name. The one she called April was a feeble little yellow chick, much put upon and driven about by the others, especially by the stout-legged, fluffy, brown ball named October, which seemed to be ever on the watch to snatch a bug or worm from the weakling.
“Now you bad, bad October,” I one time overheard her say, “I shall certainly have to lock you up, if you do not let April’s bugs alone. You selfish little creature, you drop a nice, fat worm of your own to snatch a bitter little bug away from poor April, and when you get it you don’t like it. Serves you quite right, and April has got your worm and run away with it, too. Why, December, I do believe you are losing the beautiful stripes on your back. Come, June; come, September, and you too, August. There, there,—no fighting; brethren should dwell together in unity.” Her father called the brood her Sunday-school class, and remarked with a smile, “Girls are all alike; they must have something to love and pet, and the more helpless it is the better they like it.”
The work of rope-yarn-making went steadily on day by day, the pile of the product of our labor growing by slow accretion, until it was a great heap. This was such very tedious work that you may be sure I kept up a steady thinking all the while how to lessen and lighten it. I thought of two schemes before long that would very materially diminish the amount of rope-yarn required. The first of these schemes to take form in my mind related to a substitute for the two great hawsers which we had thought would be required, one to go under the bow and one under the stern of the sunken galleon. I said nothing about this idea until it was fully matured in my mind. Then one day as I finished a half-hour’s grind, with the perspiration streaming from every pore and the breath about all gone from my body, I said:—
“Mr. Millward, what do you say to quitting for the day? It is now nearly noon. I feel as though I would like to go fishing.”
He looked at me a moment, and then replied, “I don’t wonder. I feel that way myself. If you are for a fishing excursion I am with you with all my heart. ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’”
Immediately after dinner we overhauled the fish lines—real ones with genuine hooks this time, which belonged to Mr. Millward’s stores—and collecting a supply of whelks, clams, and shrimps for bait, were all readyfor embarking by the time Alice came down to the boat. Just beyond the bar and the rollers we anchored the boat, and the sport very soon began by Mr. Millward pulling up a fine red-snapper, and continued until we had caught half a dozen fine fish. Then they ceased to bite for a long time, and the cause was made apparent by Miss Alice hauling up a three-foot spotted shark, which managed to break the line and get away. But though after that we sat patiently for an hour or two, there were no more fish to be had. The pirate was cruising about, and honest fish were not out in that neighborhood.
“Mr. Millward,” said I after a spell of silence, uninterrupted by bites, “I think we are done making rope, or nearly so at last.”
“Why, we are not half done, according to a liberal estimate,” replied he, looking up in surprise. “We have barely enough rope for the gourds, to say nothing of the much greater quantity needed for the two four-inch hawsers.”
“But,” said I, “suppose we don’t need the hawsers? I have an idea that it will be much easier to build a framework of beams strong enough to lift the hulk by, and thus dispense with the hawsers. At any rate even if it took almost the same amount of work—and it will not—I would favor a change of labor. The rope-making is getting very monotonous.”
“I most certainly agree with you in that,” he replied; “it does seem an endless task. But tell me how you propose to construct and attach your framework.”
Thereupon I laid it out in diagram on the seat of the boat with the point of my knife, and explained it until both understood the plan. They were intensely interested. Alice was leaning over with her hand upon my shoulder looking and listening, and as I felt herbreath fan my cheek I came to a dead stop. The old gentleman looked up from the rude diagram and said, “Well, go on, go on; I understand it thus far,—what next?”
This seemed to bring the situation to Alice’s mind, for she instinctively blushed, and gently drew away. My heart beat with a thump that I could almost hear; but the old man did not seem to notice my confusion nor the innocent action of the girl. He was bent intently on understanding the proposed plan which promised to shorten our dreary yarn-making task, and had no eyes or ears for anything else.
Recovering myself I went on with the explanation of the diagram. I showed how we might make two triangular frames of heavy beams or spars firmly joined, how these two frames might be connected together at the apex of each by a long beam or spar in such manner as to be distant from each other something less than the length of the galleon; how the connection between the long beam and the two triangles should be a flexible or jointed one, so that, as the whole structure, suitably weighted with stones, was lowered to the galleon the triangles could be held away, and then allowed to swing in toward the galleon and come under her head and stern, thus cradling the hulk in a support at each end which would become more secure when a strain was subsequently put upon the frame. The calabashes for lifting could be attached to the horizontal connecting beam and thus a proper distribution of the strain ensured without trouble. After careful consideration Mr. Millward said this scheme would do. We then discussed the amount of work required for the building, conveying and placing of such a framework, as compared with the work which would be required to make the two large hawsers; and after mature deliberationdecided in favor of the framework, as far the best and quickest method.
The fishing was over for the time. No more bites, and no prospect of any. So we pulled up anchor and went in to dress the fish and make preparation for a grand chowder, to be compounded of yams, fish, red pepper, and a clove of wild garlic. When this was in the kettle and the kettle over the fire (we all three took a hand in its preparation) Mr. Millward and I began to overhaul the rope-yarn, to make an estimate of how much, if any, more would be needed, in view of the recent change of plan. It was at this time that I conceived the second scheme. It occurred to me that a good deal of rope might be spared if we could enclose each calabash, or bunch of calabashes, in a wicker cage made of willow branches. I suggested this, and we went at once to the willows and cut some slender wands, and made such a cage as I had in mind, out of fine wands and tied with bark. This cage securely enclosed four calabashes; as the wires of a lantern-guard enclose the globe, and at the same time afforded a ready means for attaching the rope without wasting any of its length in loops and bends about the calabashes. This scheme would save at least one fourth to one third of the amount of rope needed.
We estimated that four of the large calabashes would lift in the water as much as the strength of the rope employed would permit, or at least would be as much as we cared to attempt to pull down at once into the water. The trees that furnished the wands were plentiful along the lower part of the creek, and there would be no lack of osiers. I have spoken of these trees as being “willows;” but, in truth, I believe they were some species of water-loving oleander. They were, however, quite like willow in appearance and growth,and furnished abundance of long, slender branches, pliable and strong, with a bark that easily came off and was itself quite strong enough to tie the joints with. I believe this tree is a better one for basket-makers’ use than the common osier willow, though I do not know if it is ever used for that purpose.
It was with heartfelt satisfaction that we could now believe that enough rope was made, and that the daily monotonous grind which had been going on for weeks was at last over. Nor was the basket-work in caging the gourds likely to be of a trying character, as it was light, easy work, in which we could all engage at any time, rain or shine, and enliven with talk.
The very day after this Mr. Millward and I began to cut the osiers. We tied them in bundles of a hundred or more, and put them into the water to keep from drying out until used. When we had quite a large stock on hand we began each evening after supper to make the cages, enclosing four of the gourds, now quite dry and hard, in each cage.
In the mean time, as regular work for each day, we began the construction of the framework. For this we needed seven great spars, which had to be cut on the upland from a species of pine which grew there, trimmed to the required shape on the ground, and from thence got down to the sea.
We selected the trees as near the creek as possible, and by means of levers rolled them into the water, which was barely deep enough to float such great sticks. The labor was a great deal for two men to accomplish, one being old and feeble. It took us every working day for three weeks to get these timbers down to the mouth of the creek. But it was finally done, and then commenced the framing together of the two triangles and their attachment to the beam. This we did with ties ofstrong inch and a half rope in several turns. At last, the complete structure lay floating in the creek ready to be towed out to the galleon.
While we were at work getting out the timbers on the upland it happened nearly every day that Alice Millward would either go with us in the morning or come out at noon bringing a lunch to us of hot baked yams and bacon, and so go home with us at night; or when I had wet work in the creek, following down a launched timber, she would return with her father in advance. We always went to this work quite early in the morning and returned home at least four hours before sunset, as the cage-making work demanded some of our time. On rainy days we did not go out at all, but kept busy with the basket-work.
One day it happened that at noon when we expected Alice with the lunch, she did not come promptly as usual, and after waiting nearly an hour over time, we both became quite anxious to know why she did not arrive. I told Mr. Millward to wait where he was, to receive her if she came, while I went back to the house with Duke to see if she was there. Hurrying along, the dog and I arrived in a little over half an hour at the house, going by the shortest cut and as rapidly as possible, running indeed part of the way where the nature of the ground permitted. As I had greatly feared, she was not there. Nothing indicated any disturbance; everything was as we had left it in the morning, and I concluded at once that she had started to come to us with the lunch, and had either lost her way in the dense growth, or had received some hurt on the road. The obvious thing to do under such circumstances was to follow up the regular path which we customarily took, and which in my haste to reach the house I had not pursued on my return, and to look for traces of her on the way.
When I came to a little glade where the candleberries grew plentifully I noted a place where I thought it possible for her to have mistaken the path. Two conspicuous bushes, separated from each other by a distance of perhaps five rods and covered with vivid scarlet blossoms in great masses, were on the opposite side of the glade. The way ran to the right hand side of the right hand bush. Now if she had taken a course to the right hand of the left hand bush, she would be travelling quite thirty degrees away from the true direction. This was brought to my mind by the circumstance that several times Miss Millward had come with these red blossoms in her hand, or decorated with them in hat or dress, probably gathered each time from the bush by the side of the route. I went over at once to the left hand bush, and found that a branch had been freshly broken off. It was probable, therefore, that here was the place of divergence from the true route. Without paying much attention at the moment, Miss Millward had doubtless been misled by this false guide, and in passing had broken off a branch of the flowers as usual.
That this surmise was correct was evidenced a few paces further along by fresh leaves and twigs of the bush which she had thrown down after securing the coveted blossoms from the branch; and finally by the branch itself partly denuded of its blossoms. But beyond this I could find no trace. Perhaps a skilled woodsman or tracker could have easily followed the trail that no doubt existed, plainly enough marked for those who could read it; but unfortunately I knew not how to read the subtle indications that are said to be so plain to those versed in that sort of writing. I then tried to start the dog on the trail by leading him to a point where I knew by inference it existed. But either hedid not choose to take up the scent, was unable to do so, or did not understand what I desired of him. At any rate he made no effort to follow the trail.
I then endeavored to reason out the probable course the girl had taken, by trying to conceive myself misled in the same manner. Suppose I had diverged thirty degrees unconsciously to the left of the route, when should I discover the error and what would be my course when I did discover it? By this method of imaginative analysis I was able to follow with reasonable certainty her probable course through the forest for about forty rods, which brought me to a dense jungle all interwoven with thorny bamboo and utterly impassable. There was nothing at all like this on the true route, and at this point, if not before, and most probably at this exact place Alice Millward must have become conscious that she had lost her way. Now the thing for me to determine was, what did she next do? Most probably, finding herself lost, she at once sought to retrace her steps until she could arrive at some familiar place from which to take a fresh departure. If she had gone back to the glade she would have found the blossoming bushes and probably from thence have been able to get a correct start. It was fair to infer, therefore, that she must have missed the glade, passing it either on the right hand or the left. But if she had passed it on the right hand the angle of such a course would have speedily brought her out into the open ground from which the sea and the beach, and possibly the house and shed were visible, and she would have had no difficulty in getting home. Therefore the inference was justifiable that in endeavoring to retrace her steps, the girl had veered to the left hand; this would lead her to the heavy timber that lines the creek in that direction.
As soon as I had reached this conclusion, I started immediately to tell her father of the situation. I soon reached him and found him very anxiously waiting my coming. I told him briefly where I thought she was now probably wandering, and my reasons for the conjecture. It considerably eased his mind to be able to think she was merely lost.
It was decided that he should return to the house at once and await me there, or after getting there come back up the creek to meet us, if I should find her.
Without delay I started for the thick woods where I hoped to find the girl. As soon as I was well into the heavy timber I began to shout at intervals every few minutes, and then listen for a reply; but none came, and I wandered in and about the forest in this manner for several hours, shouting until I was so hoarse that I could scarcely be heard ten rods away. Finally, when it was almost dark, I found her far up the creek, and almost to the cleft or chasm through which I had passed on the day I discovered the plantation. She was on the bank of the creek and coming down toward me through the tangled undergrowth. I tried to call, but was so hoarse from the long continued shouting that I was not heard, and so she did not see me until we were quite near each other.
“Oh, Mr. Morgan,” she cried, with a voice full of tears, “I am so glad to find you!” Instinctively I put my arm around her and took her hand in mine.
“Let us hurry on,” she resumed, “and find poor dear father, he must have been so anxious about me.”
I told her he was waiting near the creek, or at the house for us and we would soon be there, as it was not over an hour’s walk.
She was softly crying to herself, and apparently much shaken. She clung to my hand as though fearful oflosing her guide. We walked on in the rapidly gathering dusk, and she became gradually more quiet and assured, so that she soon began to talk freely of her adventure. It seemed that she had only just found the creek, and though, as she said, it seemed to run in the wrong direction entirely, she had reasoned that if followed down it would finally bring her home. She had just about determined to go into the water and wade down the stream itself if the tangled growth became too thick on the banks, as it seemed quite likely would happen soon, and as, indeed, was the case a little way on. I fancied the distress of mind and body that this would have caused in the darkness now fast coming on, and my heart grew soft and tender. I told her then of the way I came to find the route she had most probably taken, the incident of the red blossoms, and all the course of reasoning by which I was led in the search.
She then took out of her dress the bunch of blossoms, and said, “Then it is to these flowers I owe this meeting?”
“Yes,” said I, “to the gathering of those red blossoms. Don’t you think I have earned them as a reward?”
Without a word she handed me the bunch, glowing red as the sunset tints which yet marked the sky.
Somehow I felt, as we stumbled along the darkening way, her hand clasped in mine as it rested on my arm, that our hearts had come nearer together than I had ever dared before to hope might be the case, and my own heart was filled with a wild, new-born hope. She seemed to be mine as I lifted her over the fallen logs, and helped her past the rocks and obstacles. It very quickly grew quite dark, and it was no easy matter under such circumstances to keep the right course, sothat we could not talk even if either of us had felt a desire to do so. In silence we struggled along, until finally we came out into the open. The sea with its wonderful self-light was plainly visible before us, and the ceaseless murmur of the surf as it came to our ears was a most welcome sound. A bright fire built by her father to guide us shone like a beacon before us, reddening the palm-trees near the house. Soon we could see him standing near it on the watch. And in a few minutes she was clasped in his arms.
WHEN the lifting-frame was complete, there was no reason why it should not at once be floated out and secured in place at the sunken hulk as soon as possible, and as the weather was very fine at that particular time, and the water clear, we concluded to do it immediately. We took both boats, Mr. Millward and Alice in his boat, and I alone in the “Mohawk.” With a line from the floating frame to each boat we towed it along so easily and rapidly that in a couple of hours we were over the wreck. We anchored the two boats one at the bow and one at the stern of the galleon, and pulling the floating frame between the two, fastened it safely by a line at each end to the boat anchors. The next task was to get some heavy rocks with which to sink it, and attach them to the frame in such manner that when the latter was down in position to engage the wreck bow and stern, the rocks could be released to permit the frame to rise by its own power of flotation. It would then, we thought, be secure against displacement, as there was evidently very little, if any, movement of the water at the depth the galleon lay. Leaving the frame attached to the anchor-lines we went to the north cape with the boats, and loaded on twelve stones of considerable weight, which we carried out and secured to the frame by slip-knots in such manner that by a pull from above on a rope each might be released.
When the stones were attached we found that ten of them were just enough to sink the frame slowly. Bymeans of a couple of ropes, one at each end of the frame, paid out from the two boats by Mr. Millward and me, we guided the contrivance in its descent until it landed exactly in place. Alice Millward with the water-glass watched the frame, and indicated to us how to manipulate the ropes. Thus she would call out, “Slowly, Mr. Morgan, a little more forward; a little more aft, father; now you are going right,” until it was in proper position. We then pulled the ropes attached to the stones, releasing the slip-knots two at a time to keep the balance properly, and when relieved of this weight the frame floated up, enclosing and grasping the wreck at each end. This part of the work was therefore successfully and easily completed.
The frame was in position, and it now only remained to attach the calabashes, one cage of them at a time, and we hoped the galleon would be lifted. In preparation for this work,—which we would not be ready to undertake for some time, or until all the calabashes were caged and fitted with attaching ropes,—we had, before sinking the frame-work, passed over the spar that connected the two triangles the bight of an endless rope, for use as a down-haul with which the calabash cages might be pulled down. This endless down-haul line we proposed to hitch to a buoy when we left, so that it might be supported within reach until wanted.
Being very anxious to test the working of my plan for pulling down and attaching the calabashes, I had brought along a single cage of them for the purpose of trying the experiment of pulling it down and attaching it to the longitudinal spar. This scheme was a very simple one, and I sincerely hoped it would prove successful, as it had given me considerable study in its contrivance, and was, I thought, the best and easiest way to accomplish the result. The following description will make it clear. To the cage holding the calabashes was attached a rope four feet long. On the free end of this attaching rope was a hook made of a stout forked branch. Secured to the endless down-haul rope was a similar hook. By catching these hooks together, the cage could be pulled down until the two hooks passed under the spar and came up on the other side. Now by crossing the down-haul rope the hook on the attaching rope, I thought, could be made to hook over that part of its own rope which was on the other side of the spar. Then by reversing the pull on the down-haul its hook would be released and the calabash cage be left attached to the spar by the stout rope passing around the spar and hooked to itself.
The experiment, to our great delight, was entirely successful and satisfactory; and when we had fixed the down-haul rope securely to a buoy we set sail and returned feeling highly encouraged at the outlook for our labors.
As this business of pulling down and affixing the calabashes was likely to be a long and tedious job, to be successfully prosecuted only in good weather, we determined to begin it as soon as we could get a sufficient number of cages ready for a start; and thus we could work in suitable weather at the wreck attaching the cages, and in unsuitable weather at home in preparing them for attachment. It would be only at the very last that we need watch for the wreck to rise, and prepare for towing her in to shore. Until enough calabashes to float her had been sent down, such as were attached would of course be simply anchored to the wreck.
It was oppressively warm that evening after we had returned home, and we all brought our chairs down to the shed to better enjoy the slight breeze which breathed in from the sea. We sat thus, watching the breakersroll in through the dim light, and crash on the sand with a long, running sound that passed from left to right along the beach, slow but regular as heart-beats in their constant reiteration. Mr. Millward was seated at a little distance from Alice and me enjoying his pipe, the fire in the bowl of which shone at intervals with a red glow, as though in rhythmic sympathy with the sound of the surf. The stars were bright and sprinkled all over the clear, dark sky, which was lit now and then by the long, fiery thread of a meteor ruled rapidly across the azure dome, and lingering as an impression on the retina long enough so that by turning the eye away the line of fire was transported to another quarter,—fading out, however, too fast for us to locate it distinctly.
It was a peaceful, quiet summer night, and we sat silent, enjoying together the restfulness of it. I looked at the dim outlines of Alice as she sat by my side leaning her cheek upon one hand, and my heart was filled with conscious depths of love and tenderness; then past her at the shadowy figure of the old man and the intermittent glow of his pipe. A great peace seemed to possess my soul, a wonderful content of spirit, and I said to myself, “This is the peace of pure content and happiness.” Often since have I recalled that night, and felt that man, born to trouble and sorrow on this earth,—beautiful though it be,—can hope for no greater bliss than such hours afford him. Happy hours come not at call, nor often, nor long remain. Satisfied ambition brings them not, nor gratified pride, nor gathered wealth; but they come only when there is united this trinity of conditions: rest from labor done, the healthy body, the presence of those we love. When these three things are united, the peaceful, happy hour will come. And when this sweet angel of peace shall hover over you, drive it not away, my friend, bytaking troubled thought of the morrow, nor by grieving over the past, nor regretting opportunities missed. Enjoy it in contented silence while you may, and with little thought of past or future.
An unusually brilliant meteor shot in a long diagonal line from the zenith nearly to the horizon, and there burst in a ball of fire like a rocket. Alice laid her hand on my arm as though to call my attention, but without a word. The touch was light; the little hand remained but a moment on my arm, and was then as gently withdrawn. But, light and momentary, it thrilled me through and through; the angel of peace took instant flight, and thought came back with a rush. The restless fear that we might be parted; that she could never love me; the instinctive wish to know with certainty her heart; a thousand contending emotions stirred me. With all my will I strove to calm myself and still the wild beating of my heart. What strange power was this which the girl had acquired over me, that a mere touch of her hand sufficed to banish quiet, fill my brain with teeming fancies and my breast with longing and unrest? The quiet stars still shone as before, the surf still fell in measured cadence, the gentle, rustling breeze still fanned my cheek with its soft, cool breath; but peace and quiet and rest had departed. My soul was fevered, and anxiety preyed once more upon my heart.
The night-blooming cereus had unfolded its waxen, white flowers, and the warm air was laden with its strange, sweet perfume mingling with the fragrance of the dew-moistened foliage. Now there stole up out of the verge of the sea the thin, pale crescent of the young moon, a mere rounded line of silver tilted back as though reclining in its new feebleness, and giving but little more light than the brilliant lamp of Venus that hung, a point of corruscating splendor, near it.
Again, as the silver horn emerged from the dim horizon line, I felt the soft touch of her hand upon my arm, and in low tones she said, “Is it not beautiful?”
For answer I took the hand in mine. Cool and soft it felt to my fevered grasp. She withdrew it not, but, passive, let it lie for a few minutes. Some say that souls while still embodied do and can communicate with each other in some occult and mysterious way. If that be true, then surely my soul must then and there have greeted Alice Millward’s.
Mr. Millward, who had once or twice nodded over his pipe, now rose and knocking out the ashes reminded us that it was time to go to bed; and he and Alice retired to the house. As I had no fancy to be shut up in-doors on such a night, I brought my hammock down to the shed and swung it there where the sound of the sea would lull me to sleep, while the breeze fanned by with its cool breath.
The next morning we went diligently to work caging the calabashes in sets of four, rigging each cage with its short attaching rope and hook. The hooks I cut with axe and knife from the bushes of the nearest jungle. The work was congenial and light. Under the shed we arranged some tussocks of dried grass so that we could be seated low down; and thus ranged in a sociable triangle we worked, chatted, laughed, and joked; the old gentleman revived his experiences of former years; and altogether it was a very pleasant time. Whenever the weather was favorable we would load the completed cages of calabashes on board Mr. Millward’s boat, and all three of us would sail to the galleon and sink and attach them one at a time, in the manner already indicated.
Little by little the great pile of calabashes near the shed diminished until it was nearly gone. We had attached literally thousands of the gourds to the framework which grasped the wreck, until now when we looked through the water-glass the hull was no longer visible, by reason of the mass of caged gourds sunk far under water, each one of course pulling upwards to the full extent of its buoyancy. Still we kept on. I began to think that I should have to make another trip to the calabash trees. But it was not to be so.
One morning we arrived at the galleon with a huge load in both boats which we had got ready during the two preceding days. We had not pulled half of them down when I felt the hauling-line slacken in my hand. Now I had fully expected this very thing sometime to take place; but when it did occur I thought for the moment that the line had frayed and parted, and did not realize that the hull was rising. Then as suddenly I understood, and shouted to Mr. Millward to cast off his boat from the buoy, as the wreck was rising, and suiting the action to the word did the same for my boat. We had no sooner cast loose than slowly the gourds lifted their heads in a confused mass to the surface, rattling and knocking together in the swell. The water all about became dark with ooze and sand and fragments of weed stirred up from the ocean’s bed. I felt sure that the old hull was floating beneath in the frame, because, though I could not see it on account of the condition of the water, I knew that had the framework let go, its beams would have floated up and would now be in view among the floating gourds.
At the sight Mr. Millward jumped upon the gunwale of his little schooner and waving his hat began a cheer, in which we all joined. The old hulk floated at last! Its long rest was broken and a new voyage begun.
By a piece of sheer good-luck it so happened that the tide was coming in and nearly at the flood, the swell was setting to the land, and moreover the littlebreeze there was came from the right quarter to drift the wreck in to the point of rocks. Everything was favorable to success in beaching the galleon there.
In the greatest imaginable excitement we hastened to get the hauling-line on board the schooner, and securing both boats to it made all sail and endeavored thus to help the old hulk along by towing. It was sluggish business. The boats would rise and fall with the swell and lean down to the breeze, then come up, the sails empty, and then down again, and so on. But we moved, and in the right direction, though slowly, very slowly at first, and then a little faster as the rattling mass of gourds and the heavy load beneath it got fairly under way.
I never saw Mr. Millward so wrought up with excitement as at this time. And indeed we were all in something of the same condition. For here was the result of long labor culminating before our eyes. Small wonder, then, that there should be much hilarity. The galleon was afloat, and our ship was coming in! Halfway to the beach Mr. Millward, in a sweet and powerful voice, rolled out that good old hymn, “We are going home,” and back from the rocks came the echo of the last word, “to-morrow.” We all joined heartily in the chorus, with the best of good-will.
In about an hour, and as near as could be at high tide the Spanish galleon grounded between two rocks on a sandy bottom just at the north cape of the island, and we beached my boat near by in a sheltered place to the southwest of the cape. The other boat we sailed down to the creek, got something to eat, put the axe and some other things on board, and came back to the cape, where we anchored to await the falling of the tide.
As we sat in the boat lifted by the swell, and watchedeach wave wash through between the rocks where lay the galleon, I began to realize that Mr. Millward’s spirited song about “going home to-morrow” was not very likely to come true for a good many to-morrows. There was a regular tide-way through this passage, and I began to doubt whether the sea had not played us a sad trick in bringing the galleon to such a port.
That the situation of affairs may be better understood, it will be necessary to describe precisely the lay of the land. The two rocks were separated from each other by a narrow passage about thirty feet in width at the end where the galleon entered, and narrowed to perhaps ten feet at the other end in a length of a hundred and fifty feet. Through this passage the swell washed with great force. Indeed, the galleon and its supporting mass of gourds had been carried in on the heave of the swell and the hull dropped there with a crash on the bottom. The frame-work and cages had been at once torn loose, and the spars and gourds lay jammed in the narrow exit beyond, the water churned to foam by the obstruction they offered, dashing continually against them and tearing them one by one loose from one another until the sea all beyond was littered with the fragments.
Even as we watched, this débris little by little washed out and away. The hull of the galleon, it is true, lying on the bottom and well under water where at high tide it was full five and twenty feet in depth, would suffer no such damage probably in the present state of the weather. But on the other hand the fall of the tide would most likely not be great enough to leave her above water, and there was no telling what might happen if a gale of wind should come along, especially with a low tide. Indeed I speedily made up my mind that there was not only going to be great danger of the wreck breaking up and getting away from us entirelyby washing piecemeal out through the exit into the sea, but also, if this dire misfortune should be long delayed, that we should not be able to get at the cargo for the racing of the water, even when at its lowest. I must confess that when this fully dawned on me I felt greatly discouraged.
At last after a weary wait the tide reached its lowest, and as I feared, we found that we dared not go into the race-way with the boat. Each swell swept through it with a great rush, breaking into foam in the narrower part, so that a boat would have been dashed to pieces unless fortunate enough to swim fairly out through the exit, and would then be extremely liable to be overwhelmed. We drew up to the rock which lay adjoining the beach and landed, so that we might look down on the galleon from above. There she lay with the deck just awash at the water’s surface, except when a green sea came whelming through, and then she was buried to the depth of several feet. The old hulk was a most venerable and curious sight; shells of various kinds grown fast all over her ancient deck and sides; long streamers of sea-weed floating from her like hair; coral branches, sand, ooze, mud,—a thousand reminiscences of her long sleep on the bottom were now plainly observable in the light of day.
We all three stood looking down upon this curious sight in silence, which was finally broken by Mr. Millward, saying,—
“I am afraid we are as far away from the treasure that lies in that old ship as we were before we raised her.”
I did not feel like talking about it, and therefore said nothing, but stood with hands in pockets looking at this exhibition of what I regarded as the perversity of inanimate matter. That the bewitched old galleon shouldhave run her nose exactly into this place of all others, when there were miles of fair sloping beach on which she might have stranded, seemed like a deadly stab in the back by a treacherous adverse fate. It was enough to make a man swear, if that would have done any good. And possibly it might have eased my feelings temporarily if I had possessed talent enough in that direction to have done full justice to the subject.
This would have been a good time to give up the whole project,—to wash my hands of all Spanish galleons in general and this perverse one in particular. But I must say that no such thought entered my mind. I was disgusted, and very much disappointed, and not a little angry; but as for giving up, that was simply impossible. The situation stunned me, and there seemed no way out of it; but I could not entertain the thought that the recovery of the treasure was impossible.
Alice Millward came up and drew me away by the arm. “Do not look so downcast,” said she. “Surely we need not grieve over this failure. If we cannot get the treasure we are no worse off than we were yesterday.”
“But you do not know,” said I, fiercely, “what it means to me. I have been working to save my birthplace.”
“Never mind, never mind, Mr. Morgan,” replied she, gently, “let us go home to the house now and think it all over there, where the hateful thing will be out of sight.”
“We can do no more here and we might as well be starting,” added the old man. Between them they led me to the boat, the old man saying various things about not putting your trust in things of this earth; that riches are not enduring; and other like remarks, all of which fell on my ear without at all penetratingto my understanding. To tell the truth, I was utterly dazed and unable to give the thing any sort of consecutive thought.
We made the run quickly to Home Creek, and all went early to bed, a most disheartened lot of mortals. Contrary to my expectation, I soon fell asleep and slept soundly all night long.