“What do you make of her, Allardyce?” I asked.
My second mate was standing beside me upon the poop, with his short,
thick legs astretch, for the gale had left a considerable swell behind
it, and our two quarter-boats nearly touched the water with every roll.
He steadied his glass against the mizzen-shrouds, and he looked long and
hard at this disconsolate stranger every time she came reeling up on to
the crest of a roller and hung balanced for a few seconds before
swooping down upon the other side. She lay so low in the water that I
could only catch an occasional glimpse of a pea-green line of bulwark.
She was a brig, but her mainmast had been snapped short off some 10ft.
above the deck, and no effort seemed to have been made to cut away the
wreckage, which floated, sails and yards, like the broken wing of a
wounded gull upon the water beside her. The foremast was still
standing, but the foretopsail was flying loose, and the headsails were
streaming out in long, white pennons in front of her. Never have I seen
a vessel which appeared to have gone through rougher handling. But we
could not be surprised at that, for there had been times during the last
three days when it was a question whether our own barque would ever see
land again. For thirty-six hours we had kept her nose to it, and if the
_Mary Sinclair_ had not been as good a seaboat as ever left the Clyde,
we could not have gone through. And yet here we were at the end of it
with the loss only of our gig and of part of the starboard bulwark.
It did not astonish us, however, when the smother had cleared away, to
find that others had been less lucky, and that this mutilated brig
staggering about upon a blue sea and under a cloudless sky, had been
left, like a blinded man after a lightning flash, to tell of the terror
which is past. Allardyce, who was a slow and methodical Scotchman,
stared long and hard at the little craft, while our seamen lined the
bulwark or clustered upon the fore shrouds to have a view of the
stranger. In latitude 20 degrees and longitude 10 degrees, which were
about our bearings, one becomes a little curious as to whom one meets,
for one has left the main lines of Atlantic commerce to the north.
For ten days we had been sailing over a solitary sea.
“She’s derelict, I’m thinking,” said the second mate.
I had come to the same conclusion, for I could see no signs of life
upon her deck, and there was no answer to the friendly wavings from our
seamen. The crew had probably deserted her under the impression that
she was about to founder.
“She can’t last long,” continued Allardyce, in his measured way.
“She may put her nose down and her tail up any minute. The water’s
lipping up to the edge of her rail.”
“What’s her flag?” I asked.
“I’m trying to make out. It’s got all twisted and tangled with the
halyards. Yes, I’ve got it now, clear enough. It’s the Brazilian flag,
but it’s wrong side up.”
She had hoisted a signal of distress, then, before her people had
abandoned her. Perhaps they had only just gone. I took the mate’s
glass and looked round over the tumultuous face of the deep blue
Atlantic, still veined and starred with white lines and spoutings of
foam. But nowhere could I see anything human beyond ourselves.
“There may be living men aboard,” said I.
“There may be salvage,” muttered the second mate.
“Then we will run down upon her lee side, and lie to.” We were not more
than a hundred yards from her when we swung our foreyard aback, and
there we were, the barque and the brig, ducking and bowing like two
clowns in a dance.
“Drop one of the quarter-boats,” said I. “Take four men, Mr. Allardyce,
and see what you can learn of her.”
But just at that moment my first officer, Mr. Armstrong, came on deck,
for seven bells had struck, and it was but a few minutes off his watch.
It would interest me to go myself to this abandoned vessel and to see
what there might be aboard of her. So, with a word to Armstrong, I
swung myself over the side, slipped down the falls, and took my place in
the sheets of the boat.
It was but a little distance, but it took some time to traverse, and so
heavy was the roll that often when we were in the trough of the sea, we
could not see either the barque which we had left or the brig which we
were approaching. The sinking sun did not penetrate down there, and it
was cold and dark in the hollows of the waves, but each passing billow
heaved us up into the warmth and the sunshine once more. At each of
these moments, as we hung upon a white-capped ridge between the two dark
valleys, I caught a glimpse of the long, pea-green line, and the nodding
foremast of the brig, and I steered so as to come round by her stern, so
that we might determine which was the best way of boarding her. As we
passed her we saw the name _Nossa Sehnora da Vittoria_ painted across
her dripping counter.
“The weather side, sir,” said the second mate. “Stand by with the
boat-hook, carpenter!” An instant later we had jumped over the
bulwarks, which were hardly higher than our boat, and found ourselves
upon the deck of the abandoned vessel. Our first thought was to provide
for our own safety in case--as seemed very probable--the vessel should
settle down beneath our feet. With this object two of our men held on
to the painter of the boat, and fended her off from the vessel’s side,
so that she might be ready in case we had to make a hurried retreat.
The carpenter was sent to find out how much water there was, and whether
it was still gaming, while the other seaman, Allardyce and myself, made
a rapid inspection of the vessel and her cargo.
The deck was littered with wreckage and with hen-coops, in which the
dead birds were washing about. The boats were gone, with the exception
of one, the bottom of which had been stove, and it was certain that the
crew had abandoned the vessel. The cabin was in a deck-house, one side
of which had been beaten in by a heavy sea. Allardyce and I entered it,
and found the captain’s table as he had left it, his books and papers--
all Spanish or Portuguese--scattered over it, with piles of cigarette
ash everywhere. I looked about for the log, but could not find it.
“As likely as not he never kept one,” said Allardyce. “Things are
pretty slack aboard a South American trader, and they don’t do more than
they can help. If there was one it must have been taken away with him
in the boat.”
“I should like to take all these books and papers,” said I. “Ask the
carpenter how much time we have.”
His report was reassuring. The vessel was full of water, but some of
the cargo was buoyant, and there was no immediate danger of her sinking.
Probably she would never sink, but would drift about as one of those
terrible unmarked reefs which have sent so many stout vessels to the
bottom.
“In that case there is no danger in your going below, Mr. Allardyce,”
said I. “See what you can make of her and find out how much of her
cargo may be saved. I’ll look through these papers while you are gone.”
The bills of lading, and some notes and letters which lay upon the desk,
sufficed to inform me that the Brazilian brig _Nossa Sehnora da
Vittoria_ had cleared from Bahia a month before. The name of the
captain was Texeira, but there was no record as to the number of the
crew. She was bound for London, and a glance at the bills of lading was
sufficient to show me that we were not likely to profit much in the way
of salvage. Her cargo consisted of nuts, ginger, and wood, the latter
in the shape of great logs of valuable tropical growths. It was these,
no doubt, which had prevented the ill-fated vessel from going to the
bottom, but they were of such a size as to make it impossible for us to
extract them. Besides these, there were a few fancy goods, such as a
number of ornamental birds for millinery purposes, and a hundred cases
of preserved fruits. And then, as I turned over the papers, I came upon
a short note in English, which arrested my attention.
It is requested (said the note) that the various old Spanish
and Indian curiosities, which came out of the Santarem
collection, and which are consigned to Prontfoot & Neuman
of Oxford Street, London, should be put in some place where
there may be no danger of these very valuable and unique articles
being injured or tampered with. This applies most particularly
to the treasure-chest of Don Ramirez di Leyra, which must on
no account be placed where anyone can get at it.
The treasure-chest of Don Ramirez! Unique and valuable articles!
Here was a chance of salvage after all. I had risen to my feet with the
paper in my hand when my Scotch mate appeared in the doorway.
“I’m thinking all isn’t quite as it should be aboard of this ship,
sir,” said he. He was a hard-faced man, and yet I could see that he had
been startled.
“What’s the matter?”
“Murder’s the matter, sir. There’s a man here with his brains beaten
out.”
“Killed in the storm?” said I.
“May be so, sir, but I’ll be surprised if you think so after you have
seen him.”
“Where is he, then?”
“This way, sir; here in the maindeck house.”
There appeared to have been no accommodation below in the brig, for
there was the after-house for the captain, another by the main hatchway,
with the cook’s galley attached to it, and a third in the forecastle for
the men. It was to this middle one that the mate led me. As you
entered, the galley, with its litter of tumbled pots and dishes, was
upon the right, and upon the left was a small room with two bunks for
the officers. Then beyond there was a place about 12ft. square, which
was littered with flags and spare canvas. All round the walls were a
number of packets done up in coarse cloth and carefully lashed to the
woodwork. At the other end was a great box, striped red and white,
though the red was so faded and the white so dirty that it was only
where the light fell directly upon it that one could see the colouring.
The box was, by subsequent measurement, 4ft. 3ins. in length, 3ft. 2ins.
in height, and 3ft. across--considerably larger than a seaman’s chest.
But it was not to the box that my eyes or my thoughts were turned as I
entered the store-room. On the floor, lying across the litter of
bunting, there was stretched a small, dark man with a short, curling
beard. He lay as far as it was possible from the box, with his feet
towards it and his head away. A crimson patch was printed upon the
white canvas on which his head was resting, and little red ribbons
wreathed themselves round his swarthy neck and trailed away on to the
floor, but there was no sign of a wound that I could see, and his face
was as placid as that of a sleeping child. It was only when I stooped
that I could perceive his injury, and then I turned away with an
exclamation of horror. He had been pole-axed; apparently by some person
standing behind him. A frightful blow had smashed in the top of his
head and penetrated deeply into his brains. His face might well be
placid, for death must have been absolutely instantaneous, and the
position of the wound showed that he could never have seen the person
who had inflicted it.
“Is that foul play or accident, Captain Barclay?” asked my second mate,
demurely.
“You are quite right, Mr. Allardyce. The man has been murdered--struck
down from above by a sharp and heavy weapon. But who was he, and why
did they murder him?”
“He was a common seaman, sir,” said the mate. “You can see that if you
look at his fingers.” He turned out his pockets as he spoke and brought
to light a pack of cards, some tarred string, and a bundle of Brazilian
tobacco.
“Hello, look at this!” said he.
It was a large, open knife with a stiff spring blade which he had picked
up from the floor. The steel was shining and bright, so that we could
not associate it with the crime, and yet the dead man had apparently
held it in his hand when he was struck down, for it still lay within his
grasp.
“It looks to me, sir, as if he knew he was in danger and kept his knife
handy,” said the mate. “However, we can’t help the poor beggar now.
I can’t make out these things that are lashed to the wall. They seem
to be idols and weapons and curios of all sorts done up in old sacking.”
“That’s right,” said I. “They are the only things of value that we are
likely to get from the cargo. Hail the barque and tell them to send the
other quarter-boat to help us to get the stuff aboard.”
While he was away I examined this curious plunder which had come into
our possession. The curiosities were so wrapped up that I could only
form a general idea as to their nature, but the striped box stood in a
good light where I could thoroughly examine it. On the lid, which was
clamped and cornered with metal-work, there was engraved a complex coat
of arms, and beneath it was a line of Spanish which I was able to
decipher as meaning, “The treasure-chest of Don Ramirez di Leyra, Knight
of the Order of Saint James, Governor and Captain-General of Terra Firma
and of the Province of Veraquas.” In one corner was the date, 1606, and
on the other a large white label, upon which was written in English,
“You are earnestly requested, upon no account, to open this box.”
The same warning was repeated underneath in Spanish. As to the lock, it
was a very complex and heavy one of engraved steel, with a Latin motto,
which was above a seaman’s comprehension. By the time I had finished
this examination of the peculiar box, the other quarter-boat with Mr.
Armstrong, the first officer, had come alongside, and we began to carry
out and place in her the various curiosities which appeared to be the
only objects worth moving from the derelict ship. When she was full I
sent her back to the barque, and then Allardyce and I, with the
carpenter and one seaman, shifted the striped box, which was the only
thing left, to our boat, and lowered it over, balancing it upon the two
middle thwarts, for it was so heavy that it would have given the boat a
dangerous tilt had we placed it at either end. As to the dead man, we
left him where we had found him. The mate had a theory that, at the
moment of the desertion of the ship, this fellow had started
plundering, and that the captain, in an attempt to preserve discipline,
had struck him down with a hatchet or some other heavy weapon.
It seemed more probable than any other explanation, and yet it did not
entirely satisfy me either. But the ocean is full of mysteries, and we
were content to leave the fate of the dead seaman of the Brazilian brig
to be added to that long list which every sailor can recall.
The heavy box was slung up by ropes on to the deck of the _Mary
Sinclair_, and was carried by four seamen into the cabin, where, between
the table and the after-lockers, there was just space for it to stand.
There it remained during supper, and after that meal the mates remained
with me, and discussed over a glass of grog the event of the day.
Mr. Armstrong was a long, thin, vulture-like man, an excellent seaman,
but famous for his nearness and cupidity. Our treasure-trove had
excited him greatly, and already he had begun with glistening eyes to
reckon up how much it might be worth to each of us when the shares of
the salvage came to be divided.
“If the paper said that they were unique, Mr. Barclay, then they may be
worth anything that you like to name. You wouldn’t believe the sums
that the rich collectors give. A thousand pounds is nothing to them.
We’ll have something to show for our voyage, or I am mistaken.”
“I don’t think that,” said I. “As far as I can see, they are not very
different from any other South American curios.”
“Well, sir, I’ve traded there for fourteen voyages, and I have never
seen anything like that chest before. That’s worth a pile of money,
just as it stands. But it’s so heavy that surely there must be
something valuable inside it. Don’t you think that we ought to open it
and see?”
“If you break it open you will spoil it, as likely as not,” said the
second mate.
Armstrong squatted down in front of it, with his head on one side, and
his long, thin nose within a few inches of the lock.
“The wood is oak,” said he, “and it has shrunk a little with age. If I
had a chisel or a strong-bladed knife I could force the lock back
without doing any damage at all.”
The mention of a strong-bladed knife made me think of the dead seaman
upon the brig.
“I wonder if he could have been on the job when someone came to
interfere with him,” said I.
“I don’t know about that, sir, but I am perfectly certain that I could
open the box. There’s a screwdriver here in the locker. Just hold the
lamp, Allardyce, and I’ll have it done in a brace of shakes.”
“Wait a bit,” said I, for already, with eyes which gleamed with
curiosity and with avarice, he was stooping over the lid. “I don’t see
that there is any hurry over this matter. You’ve read that card which
warns us not to open it. It may mean anything or it may mean nothing,
but somehow I feel inclined to obey it. After all, whatever is in it
will keep, and if it is valuable it will be worth as much if it is
opened in the owner’s offices as in the cabin of the _Mary Sinclair_.”
The first officer seemed bitterly disappointed at my decision.
“Surely, sir, you are not superstitious about it,” said he, with a
slight sneer upon his thin lips. “If it gets out of our own hands, and
we don’t see for ourselves what is inside it, we may be done out of our
rights; besides--”
“That’s enough, Mr. Armstrong,” said I, abruptly. “You may have every
confidence that you will get your rights, but I will not have that box
opened to-night.”
“Why, the label itself shows that the box has been examined by
Europeans,” Allardyce added. “Because a box is a treasure-box is no
reason that it has treasures inside it now. A good many folk have had a
peep into it since the days of the old Governor of Terra Firma.”
Armstrong threw the screwdriver down upon the table and shrugged his
shoulders.
“Just as you like,” said he; but for the rest of the evening, although
we spoke upon many subjects, I noticed that his eyes were continually
coming round, with the same expression of curiosity and greed, to the
old striped box.
And now I come to that portion of my story which fills me even now with
a shuddering horror when I think of it. The main cabin had the rooms of
the officers round it, but mine was the farthest away from it at the end
of the little passage which led to the companion. No regular watch was
kept by me, except in cases of emergency, and the three mates divided
the watches among them. Armstrong had the middle watch, which ends at
four in the morning, and he was relieved by Allardyce. For my part I
have always been one of the soundest of sleepers, and it is rare for
anything less than a hand upon my shoulder to arouse me.
And yet I was aroused that night, or rather in the early grey of the
morning. It was just half-past four by my chronometer when something
caused me to sit up in my berth wide awake and with every nerve
tingling. It was a sound of some sort, a crash with a human cry at the
end of it, which still jarred on my ears. I sat listening, but all was
now silent. And yet it could not have been imagination, that hideous
cry, for the echo of it still rang in my head, and it seemed to have
come from some place quite close to me. I sprang from my bunk, and,
pulling on some clothes, I made my way into the cabin. At first I saw
nothing unusual there. In the cold, grey light I made out the
red-clothed table, the six rotating chairs, the walnut lockers, the
swinging barometer, and there, at the end, the big striped chest. I was
turning away, with the intention of going upon deck and asking the
second mate if he had heard anything, when my eyes fell suddenly upon
something which projected from under the table. It was the leg of a
man--a leg with a long sea-boot upon it. I stooped, and there was a
figure sprawling upon his face, his arms thrown forward and his body
twisted. One glance told me that it was Armstrong, the first officer,
and a second that he was a dead man. For a few moments I stood gasping.
Then I rushed on to the deck, called Allardyce to my assistance, and
came back with him into the cabin.
Together we pulled the unfortunate fellow from under the table, and as
we looked at his dripping head we exchanged glances, and I do not know
which was the paler of the two.
“The same as the Spanish sailor,” said I.
“The very same. God preserve us! It’s that infernal chest! Look at
Armstrong’s hand!”
He held up the mate’s right hand, and there was the screwdriver which he
had wished to use the night before.
“He’s been at the chest, sir. He knew that I was on deck and you were
asleep. He knelt down in front of it, and he pushed the lock back with
that tool. Then something happened to him, and he cried out so that you
heard him.”
“Allardyce,” I whispered, “what _could_ have happened to him?”
The second mate put his hand upon my sleeve and drew me into his cabin.
“We can talk here, sir, and we don’t know who may be listening to us in
there. What do you suppose is in that box, Captain Barclay?”
“I give you my word, Allardyce, that I have no idea.”
“Well, I can only find one theory which will fit all the facts. Look at
the size of the box. Look at all the carving and metal-work which may
conceal any number of holes. Look at the weight of it; it took four men
to carry it. On top of that, remember that two men have tried to open
it, and both have come to their end through it. Now, sir, what can it
mean except one thing?”
“You mean there is a man in it?”
“Of course there is a man in it. You know how it is in these South
American States, sir. A man may be president one week and hunted like a
dog the next--they are for ever flying for their lives. My idea is that
there is some fellow in hiding there, who is armed and desperate, and
who will fight to the death before he is taken.”
“But his food and drink?”
“It’s a roomy chest, sir, and he may have some provisions stowed away.
As to his drink, he had a friend among the crew upon the brig who saw
that he had what he needed.”
“You think, then, that the label asking people not to open the box was
simply written in his interest?”
“Yes, sir, that is my idea. Have you any other way of explaining the
facts?”