"Let's get it done, me lad. I niver belaved in annything worse than the
good people, and the phooka, and the banshee, of coorse; but it makes a
man's flesh seem to crape over his bones to come body-snatching, as ye
may call it, on a dark night like this."
They both stood hesitating and shrinking from their task for a few
minutes longer, and then Bart stooped down and began to sweep back the
sand.
"It's laid light over him, Dinny, my lad," he said. "Just sweep it
away, and we can lift him into his coffin."
"But--"
"He's wrapped in a canvas for his winding sheet, lad. Sweep away the
sand there from his feet."
Dinny bent down and was in the act of scooping away the dry sand when he
uttered a yell and darted away, followed by Bart, who was somewhat
unnerved by his weird task, and who did not recover himself till they
reached the boat.
"Here, what is it?" cried Bart, recovering himself, and grasping Dinny
by the arm, feeling indignant now at his own cowardice. "Are you afraid
of a dead man?"
"No; but he isn't dead!" panted Dinny.
"What?"
"As soon as I touched him I felt him move!"
"Dinny, you're a fool!" cried Bart, in an exasperated tone of voice. "I
wish he was alive, poor lad!"
"I tell you," cried Dinny, catching his arm, "he moved in his grave--I
felt it plain!"
"Come back!" said Bart, fiercely.
"Divil a bit!"
"Come back!"
"Divil a bit, I say!"
"You coward!" cried Bart. "Am I to go and do it alone?"
"No, no, Bart, me lad, don't thry it. There's something quare about the
owld business."
"Yes," said Bart, savagely. "You turned coward and upset me. I don't
know whether I'm most ashamed of you or of myself."
He walked straight back toward where the soft yellow light of the
lantern could be seen under the trees, leaving Dinny staring, trembling,
and scratching his head.
"He's gone and left me alone," muttered Dinny. "Sure, and is it a Kelly
as is a coward? If it was to face a man--or two men--or tin men--I'd do
it if I had me shtick. But a dead body as begins to move in its grave
as soon as ye thry to lift it out, and says quite plain, wid a kick of
its legs, `Lave me alone, ye spalpeen!' why, it's too much for a boy."
"Are you coming, Dinny?" cried Bart, as he approached the lantern.
"Bedad, and he'll think me a coward if I don't go," said Dinny, panting.
"Sure, and what are ye thrimbling about? D'ye call yourselves legs,
and go shakking undher a boy like that? Faix, I'm ashamed of ye! Go
along, do; and it isn't me that's freckened, but me legs!"
He mastered his dread and ran swiftly after Bart, who had once more
reached the sandy trench.
"I thought you'd come, Dinny," said Bart. "You're not the lad to leave
a mate in the lurch."
"Thrue for ye, me boy; but are we to tak' him back in the boat?"
"Yes, it's the captain's orders."
"Howly Pater, but it's dreadful work!" said Dinny.
"Then let's get it done," said Bart, stolidly; and he drew off the lid
of the rough case. "Come, lad, let's lift the poor fellow quickly into
his coffin and act like men."
"But didn't ye fale him move, Bart, lad?" whispered Dinny.
"No. What foolery!" growled Bart. "Fancy!"
"Divil a bit, sor! I just touched him," whispered Dinny; "and he worked
his toes about, and thin give quite a kick."
"Bah!" ejaculated Bart.
"Bedad, but he did!" whispered Dinny. "Wait a minute. The poor boy
don't like it, perhaps. If we only had Father McFadden here!"
"What are you going to do?"
"Shpake to him," said Dinny, trembling; "and the blessed saints stand
bechuckst me and harm!" he muttered, fervently. "Abel, me lad--captin,
don't ye want to go?"
There was a dead silence.
"Shpake to us, me lad, and say _no_ if you don't; and we'll respect your
wishes."
The silence that followed Dinny's address to the dead was broken by an
impatient ejaculation from Bart.
"Come on!" he said. "Do you take me for a fool? Lift, man, or I'll do
it myself!"
Thus adjured, Dinny went once more to the foot of the shallow trench,
and stooped down.
"Now, then, together!" said Bart. "The dead can't hurt the quick."
Dinny thrust his hands down in the sand on either side of the rolled-up
canvas, made as if to lift, and then, as his hands met, he uttered
another yell and fell upon his knees.
Bart started away as well, and stood in the dim light, trembling.
"There! Didn't you fale him move?" whispered Dinny, who was shaking
violently. "Captin darlin', we were only obeying ordhers. Sure, and we
wouldn't disthurb ye for all the world if ye didn't want to come. Don't
be angry wid us--it was ordhers, ye know; and av coorse ye know what
ordhers is."
"Did--did you feel it too, Dinny?" said Bart, hoarsely.
"Did I fale it! Sure, and he worked his toes again, and then give a
bigger kick than ever!"
"Dinny," cried Bart, passionately, "the poor fellow has been buried
alive!"
"Buried aloive!" said Dinny.
"Yes; he has come to. Quick, uncover him!"
"Buried aloive! And it isn't a did man kicking again' being disthurbed
in his grave!" cried Dinny, changing his tone and springing up. "Howly
Pater! why didn't ye say so before? Here, have him out at wanst!--the
poor boy will be smothered wid the sand! Quick, me boy! quick!"
He dashed at the trench again, and Bart seized the head, both lifting
together; and then, as the sand streamed away from the canvas cover in
which the remains of poor Abel had been wrapped, they both uttered a
hoarse cry of horror and stood holding up their ghastly burden as if in
a nightmare, terror paralysing them. For they felt that the long
wrapper was alive; and from out of holes eaten in it, and dimly-seen in
the lantern's yellow light, dozens of the loathsome land-crabs scuffled
quickly out, to keep falling with a heavy pat upon the sand and crawl
away; while as their shells rattled and scratched and their claws
clinked together, the burden grew rapidly lighter, the movement
gradually ceased, and the two men stood at last, icily cold, but with
the sweat streaming from them, holding up the old sail containing
nothing but the skeleton of the poor fellow they sought.
"Oh, murther!" gasped Dinny at last. "Bart, lad, think o' that!"
Bart uttered a sound that was more like a groan than an ejaculation; but
neither of them moved for some moments.
"What'll we do now?" said Dinny at last.
Bart did not speak, but he made a movement side wise, which his
companion unconsciously imitated, and together they reverently laid the
grisly remains in the case, which Bart covered, and then screwed down
the lid, for he had come prepared.
"What'll the captain say?" whispered Dinny, as he held the lantern up
for Bart to see the holes made ready for the screws.
Bart turned upon him fiercely.
"Don't say a word of it to him," he said harshly. "Poor lad, it would
break his heart."
"Not tell him?"
"Dinny, lad, you'll keep your tongue about this night's work?"
"Not tell the boys?"
"Not tell a soul," said Bart. "We're friends, and it's our secret, lad.
You'll hold your tongue?"
"Howlt my whisht? Yes," said Dinny, "I will. Bart, lad, d'ye feel
freckened now?"
"No."
"Nor I, nayther. It was the thought that there was something else that
freckened me. Phew, lad! it's very hot."
He wiped the great drops of sweat from his brow, and then, as Bart ended
his task--
"Ye were scared, though, Bart," he said.
"Yes, I never felt so scared in my life."
"I shake hands, thin, lad, on that. Thin I needn't fale ashamed o'
running away. Faix, but it's an ugly job! Oh! the divils. Sure, and
whin I die I won't be buried here."
Dinny's observations were cut short by Bart placing the lantern on the
deal case; and then together the two men bore their eerie load down to
the boat and laid it across the bows, the lantern being hidden once more
beneath the folds of the great cloak with which the rough coffin was
solemnly draped.
"You'll be silent, Dinny," said Bart.
"Niver fear, my lad," said the Irishman.
Then the boat was run out as far as they could wade, the sail hoisted,
and long before dawn they reached the schooner, over whose side hung a
signal light.
As they reached the vessel, the captain's face appeared in the glow shed
by the light. The coffin was lifted on board, and then down into the
captain's cabin, after which the schooner's wide wings were spread, and
she was speeding on over the calm waters to the shelter, far away, that
formed the buccaneers' retreat and impregnable home, while Commodore
Junk went down to his cabin, to kneel by the coffin side, and pray for
strength to complete his vengeance against the world and those who had
robbed him of the only one he loved.