Bee Digs For Treasure
The next morning dawned fair, with a little southeast breeze blowing
from where, afar off on the horizon, lay a bank of haze. The
adventurers were up early. The sunlight beat on the wall of the tent
and made sleep almost impossible after seven o’clock. There was a chill
in the air though, as the three, with towels flying from their hands,
scrambled down to the beach and plunged, shouting and laughing, into
the water. The sea was several degrees warmer than the air outside and
Hal was for remaining there and having his breakfast brought to him on
a life-belt. But he got little encouragement from the others and so
followed them out and rubbed his body to a glow with a towel in the
faint warmth of the early sunlight. After that, although Jack worked as
quickly as he knew how, it seemed hours and hours before the bacon and
fried potatoes and fragrant coffee were ready. Hal occasioned merriment
by trying to toast a slice of bread on the end of a stick and having
to rescue it from the fire a half-dozen times before it was ready
for eating. Bee regretted the lack of eggs and explained innocently
that the reason he had not brought any was because they could find
sea-gulls’ eggs on the rocks. “They always do that on desert islands,”
he added. He was visibly disappointed when Jack informed him that the
gulls didn’t nest on Nobody’s and that, anyhow, he didn’t think Bee
would care much for gulls’ eggs if he tried them.
They cleaned the dishes by the simple expedient of carrying them to the
beach and rubbing sand on them, afterwards rinsing them off with salt
water. Then Bee was, he declared, ready for business.
“You fellows can do what you like for awhile. I’m going to look around
and decide where to begin operations.”
Hal groaned. “Look here, Bee,” he protested, “you aren’t really going
to waste time and break your back digging are you?”
“Waste time! What did we come here for, I’d like to know? I’m going to
find the likeliest spot and then we’re going to dig for that treasure
chest. Meanwhile, why don’t you fellows see if you can catch some fish
for dinner?”
Hal sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “All right. Come on, Jack. We’ll
go fishing. If you find anything, Bee, fire a cannon and we’ll come
back.”
They left him, crow-bar in hand, surveying with a thoughtful frown the
southwest slope of the hill. They took the launch and went out beyond
The Tombstones. There Jack dropped the anchor and they put their lines
over. From time to time they looked back toward the island, but Bee was
not in sight from where they lay, and Hal unkindly said he was willing
to bet that Bee was fast asleep in the tent. By ten o’clock the sun had
grown pretty warm and, as they had three small rock-cod and seven perch
flopping around in the bottom of the launch, they decided to return to
the island. “Although maybe we’re better off out here,” said Hal, “for
Bee may put us to work with a pick or a shovel!”
When they came within sight of the tent they saw Bee hard at it.
Evidently he had reached a decision as to the locality of the cabin,
for he was knee-deep in the earth and his shovel was appearing and
disappearing with fine regularity.
“Just look at the silly chump,” said Hal affectionately. “Isn’t he a
wonder? I suppose we’ll have to humor him, Jack, and take our turns
with the shovel. But I must say that that isn’t my idea of a good time!”
Bee was red and perspiring when they reached him. He had started to dig
within some ten or twelve yards of the tent and a little to the west of
it and had made quite a good-sized hole in the ground. He leaned on the
handle of his shovel and looked up at them triumphantly while beads of
perspiration ran down his face.
“This is the place, all right!” he proclaimed. “Just look there.” He
pointed to where a rusted nail, about four inches long, lay beside the
excavation. “I found that in the first shovelful I turned out, Jack!”
“H’m; found any more?”
“Not yet, but it shows pretty conclusively, doesn’t it, that the
cabin stood here or pretty near? Now my idea is to dig trenches about
eighteen inches wide right along the slope here; see? If I dig them,
say, two feet apart I’m pretty sure to run across the chest or the box
or whatever he put his treasure in.”
“Great Scott!” said Hal. “How long do you think it will take you to do
that, Bee? Why, you wouldn’t get it done in a month!”
“Get out! Why, see what I’ve dug already, and I’ve only been at
it――What time is it, anyway?”
“Almost half-past ten,” replied Jack. Bee’s face fell.
“Really? Well, it took me longer than I thought then.” He sat down on
the side of the bank and reflectively examined four big purple blisters
that decorated the palms of his hands.
“They’ll break pretty soon,” said Hal cheerfully. “Then you won’t be
able to shovel. How long have you been at it?”
“An hour, or a little more.”
“And that’s all you’ve done!”
“It’s hard in places. Look at the rocks.”
“There’s no use digging where the ground has never been disturbed
before,” said Jack, who was examining the rusty nail, “and that ground
never has. See the way those stones fit against each other. You’re at
the foot of a ledge, I guess; that stuff looks like rotten granite.” He
tossed the nail aside and Bee quickly rescued it and dropped it into
his pocket.
“I’ll try farther down,” he murmured. He climbed out of the hole,
measured off two feet on the slope and began again with the pick. But
it was evident that Bee’s enthusiasm was suffering a temporary eclipse.
The half-dozen blows he struck were weak and uncertain. Suddenly he put
the pick down and looked at the palm of his right hand.
“Has it broken?” asked Hal eagerly. Bee nodded and reached for his
handkerchief to tie around it. But Jack interposed.
“Here,” he said, “give me that pick. I’ll dig for awhile. You rest. And
you’d better wash that blister and keep the dirt out of it. Haven’t an
old pair of gloves with you, have you?”
“No.” Bee opened and closed his hand experimentally. “That’s funny,
isn’t it? I suppose my hands are pretty soft.”
“Probably,” said Jack. “Where do you want to dig this?”
“I thought we’d dig a trench about two and a half feet deep right
along here. I’ll just tie a handkerchief around this and help you in a
minute.”
“You sit down and tend your wounds,” said Hal. “I’ll take the shovel a
while. I guess my hands are as soft as yours, though.”
“I’ve heard rosin was good for them,” said Bee.
“If you hold the shovel loosely, Hal, and stop when you feel the
blisters coming you’ll be all right. As soon as I get out of the way
you can come along behind with your shovel.”
“Just like a couple of Italians digging a trench for gas pipes,”
murmured Hal. “I never thought I’d live to see this day!”
Bee washed his sore hand with sea water and wrapped a handkerchief
about it. Hal fell in behind Jack and shoveled aside the sod and dirt
loosened by the pick. With coats off and sleeves rolled up the two boys
labored valiantly and at the end of half an hour had a trench some
eight feet long and a foot deep. The soil was a thin, dusty brown loam,
with streaks of coarse gray sand which Jack said was disintegrated
granite. Hal, wiping his forehead, said he was quite ready to believe
it, and didn’t Jack want to swap implements awhile? Bee said they were
getting on finely and thought there were fewer stones than higher up.
“Maybe there won’t be any in the next trench,” he said hopefully.
Hal leaned on the pick and viewed him reproachfully. “Bee, you don’t
really mean that you’re going to dig another one of these ditches?” he
asked.
“Of course; probably three more――unless we find the treasure first.”
“Find the treasure!” growled Hal. “I’ll bet you anything there isn’t
any treasure here and never was! And if you think that I’m going to
waste my young life swinging a silly old pick and having sunstroke
you’ve got another guess! Besides, I can feel the blisters coming.”
“You knock off,” said Jack. “I’ll get this a little deeper and then
maybe the boss will let us quit until it’s cooler.”
“It _is_ pretty hot,” acknowledged Bee. “We might wait until after
dinner.”
Hal stuck the end of the pick into the sod with a vicious blow and
climbed out of the trench. “I’ve quit,” he announced disgustedly. “Come
on, Jack.”
“Has the whistle blown?” laughed Jack. “You go ahead and get cooled
off. I’m not tired. I’ll get this a little deeper and be with you in a
few minutes.”
Hal went off grumbling to the tent and Bee seized the pick and tried to
wield it. But the bandage on his hand interfered sadly. He kept going,
however, until Jack decided to quit.
“There, that’s down pretty near two feet,” said Jack. “Now we’ll take
a rest and then get some dinner. Come on. If you insist on using that
hand, Bee, you’ll have it so sore you won’t be able to move it. You
leave the digging to Hal and me today. After all, we’ve got plenty of
time, I guess. No use trying to do it all today.”
They found Hal stretched out on his blankets in the tent.
“It’s no use your coming in here if you want to get cool,” he announced
peevishly. “It’s as hot as Tophet in this place.”
“Let’s get up under the trees where there’s a breeze,” Jack suggested.
The breeze, however, was hard to find. Still, it was cooler than in the
tent, and the three boys stretched themselves out on a thin carpet of
pine needles and leaves.
“Just see how smooth it is today,” said Bee, nodding at the water.
“Let’s go out after dinner and see if we can see that wreck you told
about, Jack.”
“All right. We can try. I guess we won’t find the water much smoother
while we’re here. We ought to have one of those glass bottomed boats
they use out in California. I was reading about them once. They say you
can look right down into the water for fathoms and see the fishes and
the seaweed and coral.”
“What’s a fathom?” asked Bee.
“Six feet. Father used to tell about a couple of men who used to sail
out of here. They were brothers. One of them was six feet and four
inches and the other was six feet and two inches tall. They used to
call the taller one Long Fathom and the other Short Fathom.”
“I thought a fathom was a long way; four or five hundred feet,” said
Bee.
“Maybe you were thinking of a cable. A cable’s six hundred feet, and
ten cables make a knot.”
“And a knot is more than a mile, isn’t it?”
“Eight hundred and two feet more. Twenty knots equal just about
twenty-three miles.”
“I don’t see why they don’t measure distance on the water by miles,”
said Hal. “It’s beastly confusing.”
“If you come to that,” replied Jack, “the knot is the more sensible
measurement. Every degree of the earth’s circumference is divided into
sixty knots, making twenty-one thousand and six hundred knots. There
are three hundred and sixty degrees, you know.”
“Oh, yes, I knew, of course,” laughed Bee. “Only I guess I’d forgotten.
Now let’s see. A fathom is six feet, a cable is six hundred feet and
ten cables make a knot. And a knot is――is eight hundred and sixty feet
longer than a mile.”
“Eight hundred and two feet,” corrected Jack. “And now, as the lesson
is over, say we go down and see what the neighbors have brought in for
dinner.”
“Fine idea!” agreed Hal. “I’ve got just one question to ask, though,
before the class is dismissed. Professor, how many knots are there in a
knotical mile?”
“Why, he’s just told you,” began Bee. Then the pun dawned on him and he
chased Hal down the hill with wild threats. They had some of the chops
for dinner, with potatoes baked in a bed of ashes, bread and tea. And
afterwards Jack made a batter of prepared flour and fried griddle cakes
in the skillet. Unfortunately Bee had neglected to provide syrup, but
sugar did pretty nearly as well, and by the time the last cake had
disappeared the trio had no ambition beyond lying on their backs and
staring sleepily into space.
“I wouldn’t look at a shovel for a million dollars,” muttered Hal. “And
if any one mentions food to me I’ll die!”
“Those were some cakes,” groaned Bee. “Did you――did you put lead in
them, Jack?”
“Lead? Get out! They were as light as feathers!”
“Were they? Then I guess I know how a feather mattress feels!” He
rolled over in search of a more comfortable position and gave an
exclamation of surprise. “There’s a man in a rowboat down there,
fellows, and he’s coming ashore!”