THE TREASURE HOLE
In about ten minutes I heard footsteps coming back along the Planter’s
Road, and Syd reappeared with Uncle Joe beside him.
“Well, well, Gay honey, what’s all this about a broken ankle?” Uncle
Joe demanded, as soon as he was within speaking distance.
He came over to me and kneeling down, slipped off my canvas pump very
gently, and began feeling my foot and ankle all over. But gentle as
his touch was, I couldn’t help wincing a little though I gritted my
teeth hard together and didn’t make a sound. At last he finished his
examination, and we each gave a little sigh of relief.
“No bones broken, young lady, for which you may be duly thankful,” he
told me cheerily. “It’s rather a bad sprain, I’m afraid, but rest and
bandaging will set that right in two or three weeks.”
“Two--or _three weeks_!” I gasped in dismay. “Oh, Uncle Joe! D’you mean
I’ll have to be quiet for three weeks? Why--why, I simply can’t! Syd
and I’ve just made the grandest discovery, and I’ve got to go back and
see it through.” I was babyishly near tears, but I fought them back
with all my might. Not for all the disappointments in the world would I
have let Uncle Joe and Syd see me cry.
Syd looked as dismayed as I, and Uncle Joe shook his head at us both,
pretending to be stern.
“That was a nasty wrench you gave your ankle, Gay my dear,” he said.
“It’s swelling pretty rapidly, you see.” It was. Now that I looked
at it, it was about twice as big as it ought to have been. “You’ve
probably torn some of the ligaments, if you haven’t actually fractured
a small bone. So, as we haven’t an X-Ray to make sure, we can’t take
chances. The boys and I will try to improvise a pair of crutches, and
you must keep off the foot as much as possible.
“Even three weeks,” he added with a twinkle, “will pass in time. Now
suppose I give you a seat on my shoulder, youngster--I don’t need Syd’s
help with a featherweight like you.”
Before I could answer, he bent over and swung me up to his broad
shoulder, as easily as if I were a baby.
Aunt Mollie, Madame Carreau and Andrée were on the terrace as we came
up the Planter’s Road.
“Nothing to worry about,” Uncle Joe called out reassuringly, before
they could even exclaim. “The girl’s twisted her ankle climbing over
some rocks somewhere. She’ll just have to play the fine lady for a few
weeks, and ‘sit on a cushion, and sew a fine seam’, while the rest of
us try our hands at entertaining.”
“But how did it happen, darling?” Aunt Mollie asked tenderly when we
were all in the big hall of the fountain, and Andy and Syd had run
upstairs for bandages, liniment and hot water.
“Call all the family,” I suggested, “and while Uncle Joe is putting
on the bandages--” he’d had to learn to be a pretty good doctor and
surgeon both, in his long sea voyages--“Sydney and I’ll tell you about
our big adventure.”
So Monsieur, Uncle Charles, Dan, little Reddy and Martin--whom we never
left out of any of our conferences now, because he had come to seem
just like one of the family--were summoned, and by the time they had
all assembled, Uncle Joe had finished bathing and massaging my ankle
and was putting on a sort of boot of narrow strips of adhesive tape,
with over this, tight strips of bandage that made me feel lots more
comfortable. When it was finished I was in a much better frame of mind
to enjoy the excitement and speculations Syd’s and my story produced.
Aunt Mollie and Madame could only see, at first, the possible danger
we had been in, when we went overboard in the cave. But the boys and
Uncle Joe were terribly worked up at the account of the overturned,
half-decayed ship’s boat.
“Of course we’ll have to go back and investigate it further,” Dan cried
eagerly. “Let’s start right off. Why, Uncle Joe, maybe the treasure’s
actually there waiting for us to find. Think! We’ll all be millionaires
several times over now!”
Little Reddy joined in with a shrill “Hurrah,” and even Andy was so
thrilled, she leaned forward with sparkling eyes, drinking in every
word.
“Yes, let’s get off right away,” Syd was agreeing with Dan
breathlessly. “The canoe’ll hold four--we’ll take Martin too--Dan and
Martin, and Uncle Joe and I--Like to go, wouldn’t you, Mart?”
“You _bet_!” Martin said emphatically, flushing all over his freckled
face with pleasure.
The most awful hollow sort of feeling struck me suddenly in the pit of
my stomach. Something like when you dream you’re falling off the top of
a high cliff, and there isn’t any bottom to anything. It choked me till
I couldn’t have uttered a single word of protest if I’d tried.
This was my discovery originally--_I’d_ found that lost “Dead Men’s
Inlet,” and led Syd to the place--_I’d_ helped paddle up that stream to
the cave with him. It was I who’d tripped over the old boat, so we’d
discovered it was there. And now, here they were all coolly proposing
to go off without me, to make the final search for the treasure! Just
because I’d hurt my wretched old ankle, that wasn’t any good reason for
leaving me out this way. The treasure wouldn’t run off, if they waited
till I was well enough to walk. But apparently no one had thought of
suggesting it. They hadn’t even said they were sorry I couldn’t go.
I was horribly ashamed of my silly resentment a second afterward,
because Uncle Joe turned to look at me, with those kind understanding
eyes of his, that I felt were reading me through and through like
a book, and at the same moment Syd and Dan cried together, in
conscience-stricken tones: “_Gay!_ We forgot Gay!”
And Uncle Joe said quietly, smiling at us all, “Yes, I thought you’d
forgotten Gay.”
Well, of course, when they turned to look at me, sort of guilty, and
ashamed and astonished at themselves, all together, I couldn’t feel
sorry for myself any longer,--I had to laugh at them instead. I felt
warm and happy again inside. They just hadn’t stopped to think. They
hadn’t meant to leave me out.
“Of course we’ll wait till Gay’s able to go along,” Dan said quickly.
“She can have my place then. This is Syd’s and her party. I’ll go next
trip. Think there’s any danger of octopus, Uncle?” he went on, changing
the subject, as I knew, so I wouldn’t have a chance to thank him.
Uncle Joe shook his head. “No--the stream up there in the cave must be
fresh water and it’s a long way from the sea. I don’t think there’s
any real chance of an octopus, children. But it’s just as well to go
prepared--you can’t always tell what you’ll run up against in these
tropical waters.”
I drew a long breath, and swallowed hard two or three times before I
could say what I meant to. But if they could be generous, why, so could
I, too!
“Uncle Joe, I don’t want you to wait for me,” I said then, steadily.
“The suspense would be too much for all of us. I’d rather know quickly
whether Morgan’s treasure is up in that cave, than wait three weeks to
help find out. Besides, I guess this is a man’s job. You’d all rather
feel you hadn’t a girl along, if you think there’s a chance of fighting
cuttlefish. Though,” I added, not willing to have them think me a
coward just because I was trying to do the fair thing all around, “I’d
honestly not be scared with Uncle Joe and Martin.”
Of course they protested a while, but I stuck to it that I wanted them
to go. And at last it was decided they should make the trip early the
next morning. Besides exploring that deep hole under the boat they
would push on farther into the cave on foot and see where it led. They
would take the machete, and Uncle Joe and Martin would have their
revolvers, and a lead and line for sounding that big hole, and of
course, things like a compass, and lantern, and a shovel in case they
had to dig. It would be a pretty big load for the canoe, but by being
careful they could manage.
Another reason for making the trip at once had to do with the
possibility of Captain Rawson and his rum-running pirates returning for
the same purpose. Of course we didn’t believe they’d attempt to force
their way in to the Island openly while the _Myra_ was in the lagoon,
but there was a bare chance they might try to sneak in, in a small boat
at night.
And if there was any finding of that treasure to be done, naturally we
were going to be the ones to do it if we could.
I think that Aunt Mollie was a little nervous over having the boys go,
after she’d heard about the possibility of some strange sea monster
lurking in the cave, but she’s the best little sport in the world, Aunt
Mollie is, and she wouldn’t say one word that might have spoiled even a
little bit of their pleasure in the expedition. Besides, she had such
faith in Uncle Joe, she knew he wouldn’t take them if he really thought
it dangerous.
That afternoon Uncle Joe rowed out to the _Myra_, and returned with a
pair of crutches he had found among the schooner’s hospital supplies.
Of course they were much too big for me, but he spent the whole evening
cutting them down to my size, and adjusting new, more comfortable
cushions on the tops.
The last thing before he carried me upstairs to bed, he gave me a
lesson in handling them, which to my surprise, proved a lot harder to
do than I’d supposed.
Aunt Mollie purposely didn’t wake me in the morning to see the
exploring party off. I guess she understood how I felt underneath my
efforts to appear unconcerned, and knew it would be easier if I didn’t
have to watch them bustling off, all high spirits and anticipation,
while I stayed behind, propped up between my two crutches.
When I did wake, it was to find the sun well up, and Andy coming into
my room with a daintily-set breakfast tray. My, but I felt grand and
luxurious having breakfast in bed! I sat up against the pillows with
the tray balanced on my knees, and ate every single thing Aunt Mollie
had sent me, while Andy perched on the foot of the bed, and in answer
to my questions told me how the boys and Uncle Joe had started out.
Suppressing a little sigh of envy, I pushed the tray aside, and with
Andy’s help, managed to get into my clothes. Then Uncle Charles
appeared and carried me downstairs picka-back, while Reddy trailed
behind us, much amused, carrying my crutches.
I had thought it would be a long day, waiting for the search party to
come back, and trying not to feel abused and sorry for myself. But
Madame Carreau had planned differently, bless her darling kind heart!
Instead of setting me down in the hall, or out on the terrace as I’d
expected, Uncle Charles carried me into the kitchen alcove, where I
found Madame, Aunt Mollie and Andy waiting, with all the material and
utensils for making candied orange peel on a large scale, spread out.
“We thought, _chérie_,” Madame explained, beaming at me, “that this
would be a most excellent time to set about making our samples of
_Orange Peel à la Josephine_ to send north on the schooner’s next trip.”
Of course, after that, there was no chance for any brooding or feeling
injured. I sat on a high chair by the table and cut the clean rind
into the proper size strips as fast as my fingers could fly, while the
other three measured, mixed, sugared, beat and boiled--all working so
smoothly under Madame’s orders, that there really didn’t seem to be a
single waste motion among the four of us.
We served Uncle Charles and Reddy a cold lunch, being far too busy and
interested to stop to cook our regular dinner, and when that was eaten
and the dishes washed the longest part of the day was over. Our orange
peel was safely past the first stage of candying, and we had time to
freshen ourselves up, put on clean dresses, and be waiting out in the
cool of the terrace for the return of our explorers.
They came just about sunset--four bedraggled, grimy, tattered looking
figures, but with grins on their faces.
“My--my,” Aunt Mollie greeted them, chuckling a little. “Do I see four
scare-crows coming to supper, or what? But I suppose that is how
proper explorers should look.”
“Did you find the treasure?” Andy and I shrieked wildly, in duet, while
Red broke in with,
“And was there an octopus _truly_?”
“No octopus,” Uncle Joe answered the last question cheerfully. “But as
for finding the treasure, well, we did--and we _didn’t_!”
He pulled up a chair and sank into it with a big sigh of satisfaction,
mopping his hot face vigorously.
We all stared doubtfully from him to the other three members of the
party.
“How could you find it, and _not_ find it?” Andy demanded practically.
“You mean--” I asked quickly, “that you haven’t actually found it, but
you know where it is?”
All four nodded at once, very emphatically.
“Something like that, Gay-girl,” Uncle Joe assented, lighting his
faithful pipe, which as we all knew by experience, was the prelude to a
story.
“If you know where it is, why didn’t you get it?” Reddy asked, his face
screwed up into a puzzled pucker.
“Well, it might have been like this--” Dan was beginning, his eyes
dancing tantalizingly.
I interrupted him impatiently, “Oh, Dan, please don’t tease! Let Uncle
Joe tell it!”
“I shouldn’t have said we really know where the treasure is,” Uncle Joe
began, slowly puffing at his lighted pipe. “We haven’t actual proof
Morgan ever saw those caves, but we pried up that old boat, and judging
by what’s left of it, and from what I know of boats of Morgan’s period,
it might easily have belonged to one of his ships.
“Then, when we’d settled that point to our satisfaction, we explored
further into the cave, on foot. And where do you suppose it came out?”
He glanced at our faces, and laughed. “No, it’s too bad to keep you
in suspense--I vow it is. That cave of the stream opens by a small
passageway, that was partly blocked by fallen rock, into Reddy’s caves,
where we camped the last night of our walking trip around the Island.
Remember? And we had worked out--remember this too--on that map of old
Morgan’s that the treasure should be located somewhere in those very
caves if it was anywhere on Sunset Island.”
“Perhaps,” put in Syd excitedly, “before the passage was blocked, the
pirates came by way of these other caves first. Found the stream, and
followed it back to the lagoon. Then, when they’d decided--or Morgan
had--that it was their best bet for a hiding place, they rowed up
from the Inlet--which wasn’t hidden by that sand bar then, and sunk
their treasure chests in that deep pool at the source of the stream,
overturned the boat, to mark the spot, and went back to the ship.
Or maybe,” he added darkly, “Morgan was the only one who went back.
Those old pirate captains thought nothing of three or four murders to
insure keeping the secret of their treasure. Maybe there are more than
doubloons down in that pool, if we could only see to the bottom.”
“Ughh,” Andy chattered, and I felt a sort of chilly creepy sensation
myself, prickling the back of my neck.
“Don’t scare the girls, Syd,” Uncle Joe laughed. “Those old robbers
would have been just as dead, anyhow, by now, if they lived to swing
from a gibbet--as they every man jack of them deserved. Don’t waste any
pity on them, girls. They were all as cruel, black-hearted ruffians as
the world has ever seen. Let’s just forget that side of it. It’s past
and gone these four hundred years or more.”
“Yes,” Aunt Mollie said hastily, “let’s forget it, children. Tell us
instead, Joe, why you think the treasure was sunk in that pool, not
buried farther in, in the caves?”
“Because it’s the logical, safest place,” Uncle Joe returned,
thoughtfully. “And we hunted those other caves over thoroughly, you
remember, and couldn’t find a trace of any possible hiding place. The
Carreaus hunted too, many times during their ownership of the Island.
Remember Rosemary’s diary. It’s mostly hard, volcanic rock anyhow,
that would have been almost impossible to dig into. Then, today with
the help of our lantern, we made just as exhaustive a search of the
stream-cave, and there literally isn’t another spot that’s possible.”
“But where are the chests, then?” I begged eagerly. “Couldn’t you fish
for them at the bottom of the pool, Uncle Joe?”
“My dear, that’s just the trouble,” he said. “The pool hasn’t any
bottom.”
We sat and stared at him unbelievingly, thinking it was only more of
his teasing. But his face was quite sober.
“Oh, I don’t mean it didn’t have a bottom when the pirates sank
their chests there,” he explained. “They must have made sure of that
before taking any such chances of not recovering their booty when
they wanted it. But that cave gives every evidence of fairly recent
volcanic disturbances--an earth-shock probably, that tumbled down
those rocks, blocking the passage to the other caves, and opened a
deep crevasse--perhaps clear down to the sea bottom, under the old
boat. That is my best deduction at any rate. There’s no way of proving
it. But if the treasure ever was there, it’s unreachable now. Another
thing--” he went on before anyone could speak. “That would explain also
the stream being so much shallower and narrower, that the sand could
silt across its mouth, and the water find some subterranean drainage
into the lagoon. Probably three-quarters of the original spring or
underground lake--whichever it was--that fed the stream, now flows down
that bottomless crevasse under the boat into the sea. The rest of it
finds the old way down the stream to the lagoon. We all noticed the
sound of falling water, though it was pretty muffled and faint, when we
were in the cave.”
Monsieur Carreau held up his hand with an authoritative gesture that
made us all turn to him.
“And the earth-shocks, to which Monsieur le Capitaine refers,” he said
solemnly, “occurred within the memory of all of us elders, at any rate.
Who has forgotten that awful disaster of Saint Pierre in Martinique, my
friends, when a whole city was hurled into ruins by volcano and tidal
wave combined? Here on Sunset Island we are so near Martinique, we
felt the shock severely. Rocks fell from that hill over there, and part
of the Planter’s House was wrecked.”
“I remember,” Madame murmured softly. “It was a terrible time. And to
think the treasure was so near us until then! If my Raoul had only
known!”