HIS PRESENT SHARE
With four trips a day from the caves to the cove, taking time for rests,
for regular meals, and for sleep, and not working on Sundays,--for he
kept a diary and an account of days,--the captain succeeded in a little
over three weeks in loading his bags of guano, each with a package of
golden bars, some of which must have weighed as much as fifteen pounds.
When this work had been accomplished, he began to consider the return of
the schooner. But he had no reason to expect her yet, and he determined
to continue his work. Each day he brought eight canvas bags of gold from
the caves, and making them up into small bundles, he buried them in the
sand under his tent. When a full month had elapsed since the departure
of the schooner, he began to be very prudent, keeping a careful lookout
seaward, as he walked the beach, and never entering the caves without
mounting a high point of the rocks and thoroughly scanning the ocean.
If, when bearing his burden of gold, he should have seen a sail, he
would have instantly stopped and buried his bags in the sand, wherever
he might be.
Day after day passed, and larger and larger grew the treasure stored in
the sands under the tent, but no sail appeared. Sometimes the captain
could not prevent evil fancies coming to him. What if the ship should
never come back? What if no vessel should touch here for a year or two?
And why should a vessel ever touch? When the provisions he had brought
and those left in the Rackbirds' storehouse had been exhausted, what
could he do but lie down here and perish?--another victim added to the
millions who had already perished from the thirst of gold. He thought of
his little party in San Francisco. They surely would send in search of
him, if he did not appear in a reasonable time. But he felt this hope
was a vain one. In a letter to Edna, written from Lima, he had told her
she must not expect to hear from him for a long time, for, while he was
doing the work he contemplated, it would be impossible for him to
communicate with her.
She would have no reason to suppose that he would start on such an
expedition without making due arrangements for safety and support, and
so would hesitate long before she would commission a vessel to touch
at this point in search of him. If he should starve here, he would die
months before any reasonable person, who knew as much of his affairs
as did Edna, would think the time had arrived to send a relief
expedition for him.
But he did not starve. Ten days overdue, at last the Chilian
schooner appeared and anchored in the cove. She had now no white men
on board but the captain and his mate, for the negroes had improved
so much in seamanship that the economical captain had dispensed with
his Chilian crew.
Captain Horn was delighted to be able to speak again to a fellow-being,
and it pleased him far better to see Maka than any of the others.
"You no eat 'nough, cap'n," said the black man, as he anxiously scanned
the countenance of Captain Horn, which, although the captain was in
better physical condition than perhaps he had ever been in his life, was
thinner than when Maka had seen it last. "When I cook for you, you not so
long face," the negro continued. "Didn't us leave you 'nough to eat? Did
you eat 'em raw?"
The captain laughed. "I have had plenty to eat," he said, "and I never
felt better. If I had not taken exercise, you would have found me as fat
as a porpoise."
The interview with the Chilian captain was not so cordial, for Captain
Horn found that the Chilian had not brought him a full cargo of bags of
guano, and, by searching questions, he discovered that this was due
entirely to unnecessary delay in beginning to load the vessel. The
Chilian declared he would have taken on board all the guano which
Captain Horn had purchased at the smaller island, had he not begun to
fear that Captain Horn would suffer if he did not soon return to him,
and when he thought it was not safe to wait any longer, he had sailed
with a partial cargo.
Captain Horn was very angry, for every bag of guano properly packed with
gold bars meant, at a rough estimate, between two and three thousand
dollars if it safely reached a gold-market, and now he found himself with
at least one hundred bags less than he had expected to pack. There was no
time to repair this loss, for the English vessel, the _Finland,_ from
Callao to Acapulco, which the captain had engaged to stop at this point
on her next voyage northward, might be expected in two or three weeks,
certainly sooner than the Chilian could get back to the guano island and
return. In fact, there was barely time for that vessel to reach Callao
before the departure of the _Finland_, on board of which the captain
wished his negroes to be placed, that they might go home with him.
"If I had any men to work my vessel," said the Chilian, who had grown
surly in consequence of the fault-finding, "I'd leave your negroes here,
and cut loose from the whole business. I've had enough of it."
"That serves you right for discharging your own men in order that you
might work your vessel with mine," said Captain Horn. He had intended to
insist that the negroes should ship again with the Chilian, but he knew
that it would be more difficult to find reasons for this than on the
previous voyage, and he was really more than glad to find that the matter
had thus arranged itself.
Talking with Captain Horn, the Chilian mate, who had had no
responsibility in this affair, and who was, consequently, not out of
humor, proposed that he should go back with them, and take the English
vessel at Callao.
"I can't risk it," said Captain Horn. "If your schooner should meet
with head winds or any other bad luck, and the _Finland_ should leave
before I got there, there would be a pretty kettle of fish, and if she
touched here and found no one in charge, I don't believe she would take
away a bag."
"Do you think they will be sure to touch here?" asked the mate. "Have
they got the latitude and longitude? It didn't seem so bad before to
leave you behind, because we were coming back, but now it strikes me it
is rather a risky piece of business for you."
"No," said Captain Horn. "I am acquainted with the skipper of the
_Finland,_ and I left a letter for him telling him exactly how the matter
stood, and he knows that I trust him to pick me up. I do not suppose he
will expect to find me here all alone, but if he gives me the slip, I
would be just as likely to starve to death if I had some men with me as
if I were alone. The _Finland_ will stop--I am sure of that."
With every reason for the schooner's reaching Callao as soon as possible,
and very little reason, considering the uncordial relations of the two
captains, for remaining in the cove, the Chilian set sail the morning
after he had discharged his unsavory cargo. Maka had begged harder than
before to be allowed to remain with Captain Horn, but the latter had made
him understand, as well as he could, the absolute necessity of the
schooner reaching Callao in good time, and the absolute impossibility of
any vessel doing anything in good time without a cook. Therefore, after a
personal inspection of the stores left behind, both in the tent and in
the Rackbirds' storehouse, which latter place he visited with great
secrecy, Maka, with a sad heart, was obliged to leave the only real
friend he had on earth.
When, early the next morning, Captain Horn began to pack the newly
arrived bags with the bundles of gold which he had buried in the sand, he
found that the bags were not at all in the condition of those the
filling of which he had supervised himself. Some of these were more
heavily filled than others, and many were badly fastened up. This, of
course, necessitated a good deal of extra work, but the captain sadly
thought that probably he would have more time than he needed to do all
that was necessary to get this second cargo into fair condition for
transportation. He had checked off his little bundles as he had buried
them, and there were nearly enough to fill all the bags. In fact, he had
to make but three more trips in order to finish the business.
When the work was done, and everything was ready for the arrival of the
_Finland_, the captain felt that he had good reason to curse the
conscienceless Chilian whose laziness or carelessness had not only caused
him the loss of perhaps a quarter of a million of dollars, but had given
him days--how many he could not know--with nothing to do; and which of
these two evils might prove the worse, the captain could not readily
determine.
As Captain Horn walked up and down the long double rows of bags which
contained what he hoped would become his fortune, he could not prevent a
feeling of resentful disappointment when he thought of the small
proportion borne by the gold in these bags to the treasure yet remaining
in the mound. On his last visit to the mound he had carefully examined
its interior, and although, of course, there was a great diminution in
its contents, there was no reason to believe that the cavity of the mound
did not extend downward to the floor of the cave, and that it remained
packed with gold bars to the depth of several feet. It seemed silly,
crazy, in fact, almost wicked, for him to sail away in the _Finland_ and
leave all that gold behind, and yet, how could he possibly take away any
more of it?
He had with him a trunk nearly empty, in which he might pack some
blankets and other stuff with some bags of gold stowed away between them,
but more than fifty pounds added to the weight of the trunk and its
contents would make it suspiciously heavy, and what was fifty pounds out
of that vast mass? But although he puzzled his brains for the greater
part of a day, trying to devise some method by which he could take away
more gold without exciting the suspicions of the people on board the
English vessel, there was no plan that entered his mind that did not
contain elements of danger, and the danger was an appalling one. If the
crew of the _Finland_, or the crew of any other vessel, should, on this
desert coast, get scent of a treasure mound of gold ingots, he might as
well attempt to reason with wild beasts as to try to make them understand
that that treasure belonged to him. If he could get away with any of it,
or even with his life, he ought to be thankful.
The captain was a man who, since he had come to an age of maturity, had
been in the habit of turning his mind this way and that as he would turn
the helm of his vessel, and of holding it to the course he had
determined upon, no matter how strong the wind or wave, how dense the
fog, or how black the night. But never had he stood to his helm as he
now stood to a resolve.
"I will bring away a couple of bags," said he, "to put in my trunk, and
then, I swear to myself, I will not think another minute about carrying
away any more of that gold than what is packed in these guano-bags. If I
can ever come back, I will come back, but what I have to do now is to get
away with what I have already taken out of the mound, and also to get
away with sound reason and steady nerves."
The next day there was not a sail on the far horizon, and the captain
brought away two bags of gold. These, with some clothes, he packed in his
empty trunk.
"Now," said he, "this is my present share. If I permit myself to think of
taking another bar, I shall be committing a crime."