Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Illustration: "EVERYWHERE WAS GOLD, STACKED UPON THE FLOOR, PILED
AGAINST THE WALLS." See page 208.]
TREASURE OF KINGS
Being the Story of the Discovery of
the "Big Fish," or the Quest of the
Greater Treasure of the Incas of Peru.
By
MAJOR CHARLES GILSON
_Author of "The Realm of the Wizard King," "The Fire Gods,"_
_"In the Power of the Pygmies," etc._
With Frontispiece in Colour and Eight Full-page
Illustrations by R. CATON WOODVILLE, R.I.
LONDON
"THE BOY'S OWN PAPER" OFFICE,
4, Bouverie Street, E.C. 4
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Realm of the Wizard King. A Tale of Prehistoric Monsters.
The Scarlet Hand. A Tale of a Secret Society.
Submarine U93. A Tale of the Great War at Sea.
The Fire Gods. A Tale of the African Forest.
The Mystery of Ah Jim. A Tale of the Sea.
On Secret Service. A Spy Story.
The Lost Empire. A Tale of the Battle of the Nile.
The Lost Column. A Tale of the Boxer Rebellion.
The Lost Island. A Tale of the Mysterious East.
The Sword of Freedom. A Tale of the English Revolution.
The Spy. A Tale of the Peninsular War.
The Race Round the World. A Tale of a new Motor Spirit.
The Pirate Aeroplane. A Tale of Ancient Egypt.
In the Power of the Pygmies. A Tale of the Congo.
A Motor Scout in Flanders. A Tale of the Fall of Antwerp.
Across the Cameroons. A Tale of the Great War in West Africa.
Held by Chinese Brigands. A Tale of China.
The Society of the Tortoise Mask. A Tale of a Secret Society.
The Captives of the Caves. A Tale of Savage Men.
The Sword of Deliverance. A Tale of the Balkan War.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I--JOHN BANNISTER
CHAPTER II--THE COMING OF AMOS
CHAPTER III--THE MAP
CHAPTER IV--KIDNAPPED
CHAPTER V--I SET FORTH UPON MY VOYAGE
CHAPTER VI--I AM CONCERNED IN A MUTINY
CHAPTER VII--AND AM MADE TO PAY FOR IT
CHAPTER VIII--INTO THE WILDERNESS
CHAPTER IX--I AM LEFT TO MY DOOM
CHAPTER X--HOW THE WILD MEN CAME AND LOOKED AT ME
CHAPTER XI--I BURN MY BOATS
CHAPTER XII--THE PATH OF THE TIGER
CHAPTER XIII--THE STORY OF ATUPO
CHAPTER XIV--THE GLADE OF SILENT DEATH
CHAPTER XV--HOW I BEHELD A MIRACLE
CHAPTER XVI--I FIND THE "BIG FISH"
CHAPTER XVII--THE GREATER TREASURE
CHAPTER XVIII--I FALL IN WITH A FRIEND
CHAPTER XIX--THE BOATSWAIN TELLS HIS STORY
CHAPTER XX--I RETURN TO THE SOLDIER'S TOMB
CHAPTER XXI--I AM MADE A GHOST, AND THEN A FOOL
CHAPTER XXII--MR. FORSYTH AND I BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED
CHAPTER XXIII--HOW AMOS GAINED POSSESSION OF THE MAP
CHAPTER XXIV--HOW AMOS WAS POSSESSED OF SEVEN DEVILS
CHAPTER XXV--HOW THE SHEEP WERE SHORN
CHAPTER XXVI--A NIGHT OF TERROR
CHAPTER XXVII--HOW AMOS MET HIS END
CHAPTER XXVIII--CONCLUSION
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
BY R. CATON WOODVILLE, R.I.
"Everywhere was gold, stacked upon the floor, piled against the walls" .
. . . . . . . . Frontispiece
"'Because,' he answered slowly, 'because you are a caveman, too'"
"He rolled back the boulder as though it were nothing" (missing from
book)
"And bound I was, then and there, to a stout palm tree, a little
distance from the margin of the forest"
"They came closer than ever, to within an arm's length of me"
"I had reached the conclusion of my journey. The Big Fish was there"
"'Hands up!' he cried. 'Hands up, you brown barbarian, or else I shoot
you dead!'"
"'Lie there and rot!' he shouted. And they below heard his footsteps as
he danced upon the stone"
"And so we came to the seashore, and saw the sun go down upon the wide
and golden Pacific Ocean"
INSCRIBED TO
BROMLEY DAVID SMITH-DORRIEN
TREASURE OF KINGS
CHAPTER I--JOHN BANNISTER
I shall never forget the day on which I first set eyes upon John
Bannister. I was then a boy--sixteen years of age, if I remember
rightly--and I stood before him, tongue-tied by the questions that he
asked me, wondering how he had come by the great ugly, horrid scar upon
his face, awed--indeed, I think, a little frightened--by the great
muscles in his forearms, naked to the elbows, his rough weather-beaten
face with skin like leather, and above all else by the stature of the
man.
For he was a giant--a giant such as I had dreamed of when a child. As
some such figure had I pictured Giant Despair, when my mother had read
to me from _Pilgrim's Progress_: "And Giant Despair was in one of his
fits again." I had pictured Strength and Madness let loose amid a
thunderstorm of wrath. And when I first looked upon him who was to be
my champion and my comrade. I forgot his soft, kindly words and
pleasing smile, and could only think how terrible he must be in anger.
There is a strip of beach upon the Sussex coast, so many miles from
nowhere, where the sand-snipe gather and seldom a human being may be
seen. There, as a lad, I would love to roam, with no certain object in
view, but just to find what I could, to observe what chanced to come my
way, and, when wearied of wandering, to sit upon the shingle over and
above those plains of wet, grey sand and think of all manner of things
as my boyish fancy pleased.
I was seated thus one April morning, far from home, and wondering how my
tired legs would carry me back to dinner, when my attention was
attracted to two strange birds, of a kind that I could not remember to
have seen before. The sea was calm as glass, the sun hot as August.
They were large birds, and were engaged--so far as I could see at a
distance of more than a hundred yards--in dragging from the shallow
water what might have been the carcass of a fish.
I watched them, greatly interested, forgetful even of my appetite,
possibly for five minutes; and then there came a heavy step upon the
shingle at my back.
I turned quickly, to behold the figure of John Bannister. Like some
great beast of prey, he had broken his way quite noiselessly through a
thick brake of that shrub which, I think, is called
sea-buckthorn--though I never knew one tree from another. And he stood
regarding me, with his hands upon his hips.
I got to my feet, thinking that such a man might be up to no good in so
lonesome a place, and I might find it advisable to take to my heels.
But, quite suddenly, he laughed; and at the sound of his laughter I knew
at once that I, for sure, had nothing to fear. Since that memorable day
I have learned in the world many true and singular things, but none
truer than that you may know always an honest man by his laughter and
the shake of his hand.
"I startled you," he said.
"I wondered who it was," I faltered sheepishly.
"And you are still none the wiser," he answered.
And at that, he seated himself by my side.
He told me that the strange birds were hooded crows. He told me also
how they bullied the rooks, robbed the gulls; how they were cleverer and
more evil than any other bird, foes of all and feared by all--thieves
and murderers. He talked like a book; he had the science of the matter
at his finger-tips, and he could, at the same time, paint pictures, as
it were, with words. With him the hooded crow was in a single sentence
_corvus cornix_, and the "highwayman of the air."
And as he talked to me, I wondered the more concerning him, and thought
the less of the hooded crows. Who was he, whence had he come, and what
was he doing there in such a lonely place, in his shirt sleeves, in the
warm April sunshine? These were questions that he himself was to
answer. I cannot say why he took me straightway into his confidence,
and afterwards into the very chamber of his heart--but he did; else I
would now have naught to write about.
Let me confess that I have taken the whole tenour of my life from this
man's greatness. I have tried my best, all my long years, to bear in
mind his strength, his wisdom, and his courage, that I might walk humbly
in the shadow of a glorious example. But, more than all besides, I know
that I owe to him the restless spirit of adventure, the love of action,
the joy of wandering, that has led me so often to strange and distant
places where I have found myself in even stranger company.
I cannot tell you of all he said to me upon the morning of our meeting.
He spoke of many things, of the world he had seen, the dangers he had
faced, the people he had known. As I had no longer feared him after his
first word and his open, kindly smile, so after five minutes of his
talking did I feel that I had known him all my life. For his words were
magic. Wondrous pictures framed themselves before my eyes upon the calm
surface of that English sea--pictures of wild men, of treeless deserts,
of savage forests and inhospitable hills; and I longed then to follow in
the footsteps of this heroic man, whose hairy arms were those of Vulcan
and whose voice was soft as that of the mother whom I loved.
I forgot my dinner. I hungered only for adventure. I sat upon the
shingle, wondering what lay beyond the vague horizon where grey sea and
sky were blended, where I could just discern the smoke of a solitary and
distant steamer, the only sign of life or movement upon that desert
sea--for we in the West of Sussex lay well away from the track of the
Channel shipping.
On a sudden, I asked him the time; and with a glance at the sun he told
me it was two. At that, I jumped to my feet.
"But I am late!" I cried.
"Not for the first time," said he. "I can remember my own boyhood."
"My dinner was at one."
"Then you dine with me; for I eat when I have time and appetite, sleep
when I will, and live as Nature meant me to."
He led me back from the beach across some sand-hills to a place where
the gorse was like a wave of gold. And there was a wooden hut--or,
rather, shed, for it was walled upon three sides only. And within were
all sorts of things: a sleeping-bag made of the skins of some small
animal with fur soft as a mole's, which he said had come from the south
of Africa; an iron cooking-pot, an evil-looking affair which he had
brought with him from the Amazon; skins painted by North American
savages; mocassins; a Malay sarong, a kind of towel worn around the
waist; and more curiosities and rude, primitive utensils than I could
well describe within the space of a page of the smallest print.
And yet, I dined like a prince: a soup of fish, plover roasted upon a
spit, and in place of bread, flour and water fried in a pan after the
custom of the Afghans. It may have been the novelty of it all, or the
fact that by then I was well-nigh famished, but I never ate more
heartily, and I have never forgotten that meal, though I have had many
such since then.
In answer to my questions, he told me more concerning himself. Though
he had lived a life of adventure, exploring wild countries, sleeping
beneath the stars, in constant peril of his life from savage beasts and
scarce less savage men, I could not of myself comprehend why he should
in peaceful England bury himself miles from the abodes of his fellow
human beings. For I write--you must remember--of many years ago, of the
mid-Victorian time, as it is called--and good days they were, as we know
full well who have lived to see these unsettled, troublous days. To-day,
from the spot where John Bannister and I first met, you may catch a
glimpse to the west along the coast of the red roofs of bungalows, where
week-end visitors may come from London to set up bathing-huts upon the
beach, whilst from the east, perhaps, a pair of lovers may wander from
across the golf course at Littlehampton in search of desirable
seclusion. For that stretch of coast is desolate still; but in those
days it was a kind of No Man's Land, with no sign of life but the gulls
and the sand-snipe, the smoke from John Bannister's camp-fire, and the
hooded crows.
Well, the truth was, he who feared neither beast of prey nor painted
cannibal was afraid of civilised men. He went once a week to the little
inland village a few miles distant to purchase groceries and stores.
There--as I found out afterwards--they thought him a madman, though he
was always courteous in his manner and paid without question for what he
bought. He had few words for any man, and none ever for a woman.
Later, when my mother came to learn of my new-found friend who lived
alone among the sand-hills, she was anxious to see him, more for my own
welfare than from curiosity; but he told me flatly that he had never
known any civilised woman save his own mother, who had died when he was
young, and he would rather face a wounded lion than pretend to talk to
one.
"For it comes to this," said he; "I have gone back, as it were, upon the
centuries; I have learned to live as men lived in ancient times. Though
I have read much and thought more, and have some claim, I suppose, to be
called a scholar, in many ways I am no better than a cave-man. I have
forgotten all the niceties of culture. I have neither small-talk nor
table manners. So I prefer to live as I do, in my own way; and I offer
no welcome to visitors. The farmer who owns this land is glad enough of
the little I pay him in the way of rent; but, beyond that and my weekly
shopping, I seek no intercourse with strangers. I am content to be
alone."
I asked if he were not often lonely, and he laughed.
"Even here," said he, "in Sussex, Nature is a living force. The sea
changes almost hour by hour. Birds come and visit me. Even the rabbits
in the brake have already learned to know me. They all seem to
know--these little, wild things--that I am one of them, and soon cease
to fear me. They are my companions and my friends, and I have also
books and memory. And I have health and air, the smell of the salt sea
and the seaweed, and the sunrise to awaken me before your street-bred
friends are stirring. The wind, the rain, and the sun--I welcome each
as it comes. Did I want other comrades, I should go and seek them; but
I prefer to live like this."
"And yet you talked willingly to me?" I asked.
"Because," he answered slowly--and his words came to me as a
surprise--"because you are a cave-man, too."
[Illustration: "'BECAUSE,' HE ANSWERED SLOWLY, 'BECAUSE YOU ARE A
CAVE-MAN, TOO.'"]
"I!" I exclaimed.
"Every boy," said he, "every healthy, happy boy. It was the savage in
you--though you may not realise it--that brought you out here alone,
that took you right away from red bricks and shops and dinner."
I cannot say whether I have conveyed to the reader in the space of this
short chapter a true conception of the character of John Bannister, as
he was when I knew him first. Of his personal appearance I have yet to
write; and if it be a simple matter to describe that which is outwardly
apparent, it is by no means easy either to fathom or to portray a man's
soul and mind.
Do not imagine that I myself knew aught of him until after we had
sojourned together for months, faced the same dangers, stood side by
side throughout the great adventure of which I have to tell. I knew
from the first that he was wise and generous and kind: I could see with
my eyes that he was strong, and his talk charmed the imagination of a
dreamy, active boy. In spite of all he knew, of the experiences he had
had in all parts of the world, he was one of the simplest men that ever
lived. And there was something in him of the poet. I do not mean that
he ever tried to set down his thoughts in verse, but that he lived in
love with all things beautiful. I have seen him stand stock-still like
one transfigured, with eyes illumined, gazing in wonderment upon a
purple sunset upon the snow-capped crestline of the distant Andes--and
that at a moment when his own life, as well as mine, was not worth a
full day's purchase.
Judge all men by their deeds and not their words. Hear this history to
the end, and see what like of man was he whose charm and peril led me
forth from green and sleepy Sussex to adventure in the darkness of those
tropic forests that shut out the source of the great River of Mystery,
where there are poison, black ignorance, and fell disease, and a man may
no more count the dangers that encompass him than the myriads of
stinging insects that drone about his ears.
And one thing more: my own life has not been lived without event. It
has been my fate to tell a score of times of the enterprise of others;
but of all men of action I have ever known, read or written of, I rank
John Bannister as first. Perhaps that may be because I can now seat
myself of a winter's evening before my study fire and see him in my
fancy as he was in all his strength and manhood, pass through again the
dangers and the hardships, and live once more the glorious days that it
was my privilege to pass with him, and remember that, had it not been
for him, I might have lived all my life in Sussex and seen nothing of
the world. But how can I set down the debt I owe him? For I owe him
life itself.