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SIX THOUSAND TONS OF GOLD.
6,000
TONS OF GOLD
BY
H. R. CHAMBERLAIN
_London Correspondent of “The Sun,” New York._
Copyright, 1894
By FLOOD & VINCENT
_Entered at Stationer’s Hall, London_
By H. R. CHAMBERLAIN
_The Chautauqua-Century Press, Meadville, Pa., U. S. A._
Electrotyped, Printed, and Bound by Flood & Vincent.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. THE SECRET OF THE CORDILLERAS 7
II. INVADING NATURE’S TREASURE-CHAMBER 34
III. WHERE GOLD WAS AS DROSS 58
IV. THE VOYAGE OF THE RICHMOND 85
V. A MOLE-HILL THAT BECAME A MOUNTAIN 107
VI. THE FATE OF THE WALL STREET BEARS 128
VII. STRANGE EVENTS IN THE FINANCIAL WORLD 150
VIII. FABULOUS BUT MYSTERIOUS BENEFACTIONS 181
IX. AN EPOCH-MAKING VOYAGE AND ITS EFFECT UPON A EUROPEAN WAR-CLOUD 202
X. SHADOWS OF GREAT EVILS 231
XI. A STRUGGLE AND A SACRIFICE 257
XII. A CONSULTATION AT THE WHITE HOUSE 281
XIII. THE VERDICT OF THE WORLD’S WISE MEN OF FINANCE 305
XIV. A BURIAL AT SEA 327
SIX THOUSAND TONS OF GOLD.
CHAPTER I.
THE SECRET OF THE CORDILLERAS.
The steamship _Elbe_ had crossed the equator on her long passage from
Southampton to Buenos Ayres in September, 1893. All but the final phases
of a well-regulated, fair-weather voyage on a big passenger ship had
duly presented themselves. The first irksomeness of the long monotony
had worn off; the invalids had begun to enjoy the slow, lazy rolling
which at first had been their hopeless undoing; companions of a
fortnight were exchanging confidences which the friendship of years on
land would not have induced. The frankness, the unrestraint, the
offguard good fellowship of life at sea held full sway.
We are concerned with only two of the numerous ship’s company. Strangers
to each other and to all on board at the outset of the voyage, they had
by this time formed rather an odd intimacy. Men of widely different
types, it would be difficult to discover any natural bond of sympathy
between Robert Brent and Duncan Fraser. The one an American, whose
quiet, self-possessed bearing had in it that indescribable ease of
manner which is the unfailing mark of thorough acquaintance with men and
affairs in the best phases of _fin de siècle_ existence. The other a
Scotchman, of rougher mold, more advanced in years, and whose natural
keenness had been sharpened into an intuitive suspicion by much grinding
against the unpolished side of human nature.
Physically the two men were in marked contrast. It would have puzzled
you to say whether or no the American had reached his thirtieth
birthday. He was rather above the medium height, neither light nor dark,
and of well-built, athletic frame. Few would have called him handsome,
but his face combined strength, intelligence, and refinement, with a
touch of something which at first you might have described as cynicism
or melancholy. The Scotchman had evidently been a typical representative
of his race. The large-boned, sturdy, close-knit body was well-preserved
after fifty years spent, many of them, under suns less kind than those
of his native moors and mountains. But the sandy complexion and almost
flaxen hair had given place to a grizzled head and that peculiar
deep-tanned, almost leathery skin which is always a record of whole
chapters of adventure. The left cheek and tip of the left ear bore an
index to some special record of violence. A furrow in the skin just over
the high cheek-bone and a bit missing from the top of the ear
immediately back of it seemed to mark the course of a bullet that had
failed by the smallest margin in the accomplishment of a deadly mission.
The vicissitudes of life ashore would seldom throw two such men into
companionship, much less into close friendship. The sea fortunately is
sometimes responsible for delightful bits of social phenomena. Perhaps
after all it was the lottery of seats at table that brought it about.
One must be at least conventionally sociable with one’s _vis-à-vis_ and
nearest neighbors, in a steamship saloon. Fraser and Brent were assigned
adjoining seats and after a day or two the acquaintance begun at table
was continued on deck and in the smoking-room. They became interested
each in the opposite tastes, antecedents, and manner of life of the
other. Brent speedily gained a high respect for the Scotchman’s deep,
though rather uncouth philosophy and downright hard sense. Fraser
admired the American’s alert, broad-minded mastery of all the absorbing
topics of the day. Both were men naturally reserved and each respected
this quality in the other. Their talks did not become personal for some
days, save for an occasional anecdote from the Scotchman’s varied
experience. It came out that Fraser was well acquainted with Argentina
and other parts of the continent to which the ship was bound, while it
was Brent’s first trip below the equator.
The young man’s close inquiries about Buenos Ayres led at length to some
explanation of his mission there and the causes of it. He had suddenly
found himself a month before face to face with the necessity for earning
his living. The silver panic in America in the summer had swept away all
but a few thousands of a comfortable fortune, which had enabled him to
indulge a too enervating love of ease. His indulgences had not been
vicious, they were intellectual rather than physical, and he had
strength of character enough after the first disappointment of loss to
welcome the coming struggle. He had been in London when the blow fell.
His first determination was to return to New York and undertake the
practice of law. He had prepared himself for admission to the bar after
leaving college, but the sudden death of his father deprived him of his
last family tie and led him to postpone active work at his profession.
He went abroad to be gone a few months and his absence had lengthened
into three years, when the disaster to his property compelled him to
rouse his dormant talents to action.
When the necessity was upon him his energy was unbounded. He dreaded the
dull days that would probably come before he could secure any
opportunity for an active display of his powers. Besides he was not
particularly in love with his profession. His sudden afflux of energy
tempted him to challenge fortune in some more desperate struggle. The
trip to Argentina, however, was not an unreasoning whim. Two or three of
his London friends had suffered severely by the financial misfortunes of
the Argentine Republic in 1892-93. They had been informed by agents in
Buenos Ayres that the prevailing depression offered tempting
opportunities for the investment of fresh enterprise and capital in
several directions, notably in mines, real estate, and manufacturing.
Brent had decided to make a trip for investigation, partly on his own
account and partly on the assurance of his friends that they would join
him financially in any promising enterprise.
These plain facts about his recent life and prospects Brent made known
to his companion while they sat sheltered from the already tropical sun
under the deck-awning one hot afternoon. The Scotchman was a sympathetic
listener. It was, indeed, his genuine and apparent interest which
induced the narration of most of the points in the simple biography. He
did not refuse confidence in return, but what little he said about
himself was in such general terms that Brent felt that it was modesty as
well as natural reticence which withheld the details of a most
adventurous career. He had evidently taken a strong fancy to the
younger man and he discussed with greatest interest the chances of
success in his search for fortune amid the many difficulties then
existing in the struggling republic. He was silent, however, about his
own immediate plans and about the nature of the interests which were
occupying him. His offers of assistance to his new friend in the strange
city to which he was going were coupled with the announcement that he
should remain only a few days in Buenos Ayres, because business called
him further south immediately.
The heat of the tropics was unrelieved even by one of the sudden storms
which often break the monotony of the long southern voyage. Those who
hoped for something out of the ordinary to make the trip memorable had
begun to content themselves with anticipations of early arrival in port,
when they were informed that the steamer had already entered the waters
of the Rio de la Plata. No land was in sight. The sea was apparently as
boundless as it had been for three weeks past. Most of the passengers
thought it was a joke of the steward. There was only one river in the
world, the Amazon, into whose mouth one could sail without sighting
land--so, at least, they had read in their geographies. They were wrong,
though, as they found when they applied to the first officer for
information and had looked the matter up on the large map in the saloon.
Buenos Ayres was still more than one hundred miles distant and they
would see no land during the remaining two hours of daylight.
But an experience much more exciting than the first sight of land was
vouchsafed them. A white line upon the sea appeared suddenly on the port
bow away off to the southwest. It was seen from the bridge first and two
or three quick orders set sailors and stewards flying in their hasty
execution. Awnings were taken down in a trice, passengers were driven
from their comfortable lounging chairs on deck, everything movable was
taken away or made fast. To most of the passengers the sudden excitement
was inexplicable and alarming.
“The pampero” was the only explanation anybody would stop to give. It
was not many moments before ample explanation arrived. The pampero was
soon upon them and it explained itself. The wind-storm, or dry
hurricane, which comes off the land from the southwest and without
warning lashes the Rio de la Plata and the sea beyond with a fury
sometimes worse than the heaviest ocean storms, is a phenomenon peculiar
to these latitudes. It never lasts long but its violence is often
terrible. The _Elbe_ faced the furious blast at first with dignified
steadiness. Then as the sea became white, tempestuous, cyclonic, the
ship forgot her dignity and struggled with trembling, straining frame
against her merciless enemies. It was a test of her sternest resources.
It was not a new peril. She had faced it before, not always unscathed,
and this time again she survived the struggle. With only a few hurts,
she emerged from the hour’s battle, shaken but safe.
It had been a trying hour below. Neptune’s transformation was full of
terror for the passengers. His anger under the sudden assault of the
winds seemed directed against those who had complained of his monotonous
tranquillity. The wise ones among the ship’s company acted on the advice
of the stewards and sought their berths at the beginning of the
outbreak. Those whose curiosity to witness the fury of the sea kept them
upon their feet were glad to seek a safer anchorage before the storm
reached its height. Fraser and Brent were among these latter. Both were
fairly good sailors and nature’s outburst of passion was a sublime
spectacle which they were loth to leave. But they had no choice. The
pitching of the ship became wilder and more erratic every moment. It was
impossible to stand upright at a port-hole to watch the chaos of wind
and water without. They did not abandon the attempt until two or three
sudden lurches had thrown them into violent contact with tables,
chairs, and other fixed objects.
They started at last to go to their staterooms below, but locomotion by
this time was a dangerous experiment. They steered a zigzag course to
the staircase, which they did not reach without several collisions, and
Brent began to descend. He clung to the reeling railing and had gone
down half the steps, when there was a cry and a blow from behind. He was
wrenched from his hold and in a moment both men were pitched headlong to
the deck below. A great lurch of the ship added violence to the fall,
and they lay for a moment almost senseless upon the rubber mat at the
bottom of the staircase.
“Are ye hurt, lad?” said the Scotchman, finding voice presently and
trying to rise. He sank back again with an exclamation of pain, saying,
“A broken leg, I’m afraid.”
Brent sat up rather dazed. “I don’t know,” he began, trying to raise his
voice above the roar of the storm and the creaking of the ship’s
timbers. “My arm is hurt, I think. Let me help you.” But the movement to
aid his friend gave him a twinge that made him desist. They called for
aid, but when a steward managed with some difficulty to reach them he
could do little.
“Lie flat on your backs till the worst of this is over. It won’t last
much longer,” was his advice. It was the only thing to do, though every
motion of the ship was full of suffering, especially for Fraser.
The wind subsided almost as suddenly as it had risen. The doctor was
summoned as soon as the ship became steadier. He found, as the Scotchman
had feared, a broken leg and in Brent’s case a broken fore-arm, besides
a few trifling bruises. The painful experience of transfer to his
stateroom in the still restless ship and the setting of the fractured
limb did not seem a very dreadful matter to the hardy Scotchman. But he
was much worried over the consequences of his accident.
“I can’t abide this bad luck,” he said anxiously to Brent, who made
light of his own hurts and visited his friend after the doctor had
finished his work. “This means six weeks on my back and I can’t stand
it. I’ve engagements that must be kept. It means all the difference
between riches and poverty,” and the grizzled head shook in such
exasperation of helpless revolt against fate that Brent did his best to
relieve his bitterness of spirit.
“Oh, not so bad as that, I hope,” he responded cheerfully. “What you
cannot do yourself, I can do under your direction. We are going to the
same place. I have nothing pressing to require my attention and shall be
delighted to see you out of this mishap. You just make a business of
mending that broken leg and the other business will be taken care of
all right. You shall tell me about it to-morrow and then we’ll see. Get
a good night’s rest now.”
“You’re the right sort, lad, and I’ll trust you,” said the other
gratefully, gripping Brent’s uninjured hand. “Perhaps you can help me,
and you won’t suffer for it if you do. I’ll think it over and we’ll have
a good talk to-morrow.”
That night the _Elbe_ reached Buenos Ayres. Brent sought the services of
the best surgeon in the city, who came aboard and put Fraser’s damaged
leg in a plaster cast. He assured the impatient Scotchman that with good
care he might hope to be on foot again in about five weeks, but he must
not attempt to get about even with crutches under a month.
Fraser did not attempt to bring up the subject of his business
disappointments with his friend until he had been safely transferred to
pleasant quarters in a hotel on the afternoon of the 6th of October. He
had been preoccupied and silent most of the time and Brent had found it
hard work to rally him into even passing interest in his surroundings.
The young man superintended the landing and storage of a dozen or more
large cases belonging to Fraser from the cargo of the _Elbe_. When the
invalid had been made comfortable upon an adjustable cot procured from a
nearby hospital, he invited Brent to return after he had got a glimpse
of the city. They would dine together and then have a long consultation.
Brent readily assented and they enjoyed a very good but very awkward
meal by the Scotchman’s bedside. They became quite merry over their
respective infirmities. Brent with one arm in a sling was even more
helpless than Fraser upon his back but with both hands free. They had a
jovial hour over the repast before approaching serious subjects. When
the waiter had been finally dismissed, the Scotchman dropped his gay
mood.
“I like you, lad,” he remarked suddenly, after looking rather
quizzically from under his heavy brows at his companion for some
moments. “And because I like you and because I’m certain you’ll stick to
a friend through thick and thin, I’m going to ask you to join me in an
adventure that may make us both richer than anybody in all this
country--or in any other maybe.”
“Have you found a new El Dorado?” asked Brent half banteringly, but a
good deal impressed nevertheless by the other’s manner and words.
“Not that exactly, but I know a man who has or who has known about it
for years and has never used his knowledge till now. I have some of the
products of his secret in that box over there,” answered the Scotchman
pointing to the smaller of his trunks on the other side of the room. “I
took something like a hundredweight of clean virgin gold to the Bank of
England bullion-room a couple of months ago and it was so pure they
allowed me weight for weight in new sovereigns for it.”
“And is there much more where that came from?” asked the now thoroughly
interested American.
“I solemnly believe, lad, that there are millions more waiting to be
carried away,” said the grizzled old man with grim emphasis, half
raising himself in his earnestness and watching the effect of his words
upon his companion.
Brent stared at the crippled figure before him in half stupefied
amazement. There was such a convincing sincerity in the bearing of the
old Scotchman that the young man could not receive his astonishing
statement with any incredulity. So it was with a full conviction of the
other’s truthfulness that he finally found words to say:
“My friend, if you have such wealth within your reach, you should not
intrust the secret to a stranger such as I. I am proud of the confidence
you show in me, but you must not make me the object of such generosity
as you suggest.”
“Well said, my lad, and I know you mean it,” replied the old man warmly,
“but I don’t intend to make you a present of this gold. I haven’t it to
give you. I don’t even know where it is, and there’s many a difficulty
and probably danger before we shall see it. What I propose is that you
join me in the enterprise of securing it. I grant I should not have made
the offer but for that confounded tumble,” pointing to his plaster leg,
“but now I am compelled to seek assistance or to forfeit all chance of
ever getting any of the treasure. So I invite you to share with me a
rough experience of several weeks, perhaps months, and the much or
little that may come of it.”
“That is what I came here hoping for,” responded Brent heartily, “and I
would have undertaken it under much smaller temptation than you offer.
Your proposition is most generous and flattering in spite of your modest
way of putting it.”
“Wait till you hear the particulars before you commit yourself,”
interrupted Fraser settling back among his pillows. “I’ll spin you a
little yarn. It’s not long and I don’t think you’ll find it dull.”
“Go on; and don’t cut it short,” assented Brent keenly interested.
“You know that I’ve knocked about the world a good deal and among all
sorts of people,” began the old man deliberately. “Somehow I have spent
nearly all of my life in new countries. Thirty years ago I went to
California. I was for a long time in Australia, and for the last eight
years I have been in the southern countries of South America. I have
tried mining, ranching, fruit farming, cattle raising, made and lost
small fortunes at each, and on the whole have enjoyed life. About
eighteen months ago, I visited the small colonies along the Argentine
coast well down into Patagonian latitudes. I stopped finally at a little
settlement near the mouth of the Rio Negro or Black River. There were
strong indications there of mineral wealth. Then, too, the climate was
agreeable, game was abundant, and I thought I might do a little
profitable trading with the Indians. I had taken with me from Buenos
Ayres quite a collection of small things in order to make the trip
profitable if possible.
“I suppose you have heard the usual stories about the native
Patagonians--that they are all giants and terribly ferocious and that
they kill all foreigners who try to intrude into their country for fear
they will discover the fabulous treasures that the Indians have been
guarding for centuries. Well, those yarns are all bosh. I have traded
with the Indians, picked up some of their lingo, hunted with them, and
visited some of their villages. They are much like other primitive
races, more intelligent in some respects, better made physically but not
giants, and there are no buried cities or ancient temples filled with
gold for them to guard. They have some admirable qualities not ruined
yet by civilization, but they will not survive long after they become
better acquainted with the trader and the whisky barrel.
“It’s a wonderful country, lad, that the Tehuelches live in. That’s the
name of the general tribe of natives in all the region south of the Rio
Negro. There isn’t a rougher, more inhospitable coast-line on all the
footstool than the thousand miles or so from Rio Negro to Santa Cruz.
The Indians themselves say it would take one of them at least two years
to follow the coast by land from one point to the other. But there’s a
fine country inland, back of nature’s barricade. Never mind about that
now; you’ll see it for yourself. I spent more than six months previous
to last May in and around the little settlement at the mouth of the Rio
Negro. I cultivated the natives from the first and managed to get on
good terms with some of them. I made them small presents, traded with
them, and taught them some new points in hunting and fishing. I
prospected a good deal and became convinced that there was valuable
mineral wealth in the rocky districts near the coast. I could do very
little, however, toward testing this point with my primitive appliances,
though I did manage to collect a few ounces of free gold in the course
of several weeks’ search. I found that the Indians were familiar with
the metal, but they were absolutely close-mouthed on the subject. All my
attempts to gain information about gold deposits served only to make
them suspicious and silent.
“Most of the Indians I met belonged to a division or sub-tribe known as
the Caillitchets, or non-speakers. For many years they have been morose
and almost dumb. The story is that three or four of their chiefs, or
caciques, whom they believed to be immortal and invulnerable were killed
in battle three or four generations ago. Ever since the entire tribe has
been gloomy, indifferent, and given up to a sort of savage cynicism.
They used to bring gold-dust to the occasional traders who touched at
points along the coast, but the yellow metal excited such evidences of
cupidity in the white men that the Indians apparently became afraid it
would tempt an invasion of their domicile. At all events they stopped
all barter, having nothing else of value to offer in exchange for
traders’ goods. There are some interesting stories among the settlers at
Rio Negro about those days. The same thing is said about these Indians
that is told about the natives of Ecuador, that they brought quantities
of gold-dust to the traders, made their bargains, and then threw into
the river all they had remaining of the precious metal. Two or three
small expeditions at one time or another about thirty years ago
attempted to follow the Indians back into the country, but none of the
adventurers were ever heard of again.
“They are a tamer people now. A white man who takes care to treat them
well is comparatively safe among them. They are not treacherous like
their North American brethren and I have spent weeks with them without
meeting any suggestion of hostility.
“I made especial effort to gain the confidence of their principal
cacique, a fine old warrior whom they call Casimiro. He is a wonderful
old man, more than ninety years old he says, and I believe him.
Centenarians are by no means rare among these people and I met one old
fellow who claims more than one hundred and twenty birthdays. Casimiro
is remarkably intelligent, remarkably broad in his ideas, for a savage.
I became quite attached to him, hunted and fished with him, and we had
many long talks together. He has picked up a good deal of Spanish, and
he taught me enough of his language to enable me to get along very well
with the others of the tribe. He took very deeply to heart the decadence
of his people. In all Patagonia now there are not above twenty-five
thousand of the native tribesmen remaining, while a century ago their
numbers were probably almost ten times as great. Casimiro lamented the
growth of the white colonies, denounced indiscriminately the traders and
the missionaries who had come among his people, and predicted gloomily
the speedy extinction of his race. I sympathized with him and tried to
convince him that there was good as well as bad in the civilization
which he denounced.
“Finally a bit of adventure gave me a stronger hold upon the old chief’s
regard. We had been wandering one afternoon last April through a very
rough, half-wooded valley some miles inland. Making our way along the
side of a steep declivity, we came to a spot where there had been a
recent landslide. I stopped to examine what I thought were traces of
gold in the fresh surface. Casimiro, picking his way some yards in
advance of me, started somehow another movement of the loose earth and
stones. He was swept off his feet in a moment, and before I realized
what had happened I saw him whirled over and over in a great mass of
_débris_ toward the bottom of the defile more than a hundred yards
below. I gave him up for lost, but about a third of the distance from
the bottom, before the descent became almost perpendicular, was a large
jutting rock, which divided the small avalanche, and the old man managed
to catch and cling to it.
“Of course I went to his assistance. It was a matter of great
difficulty to reach him. There was danger of starting fresh slides which
would sweep us both away and it was not easy to get a footing in the
insecure earth. Two or three times I slipped a few feet, but by digging
toes and fingers into the hillside I checked myself with no worse damage
than a few scratches. The old Indian was badly shaken and bruised but he
seemed to have no bones broken. I got him into a more comfortable
position on the rock and in a few minutes his strength came back, so
that with a little help from me he was finally able to scramble up the
steep slope to an easier angle where we could stand on our feet again
and make our way to sound earth.
“Well, the old man persisted in making a hero of me for my part in the
incident and declared I had saved his life. Two or three days later, he
came to the settlement and invited me to go with him to one of the
principal native villages where he declared he wished to ‘make a big
talk’ with me and intrust to me a great secret. I made up my mind,
principally on account of his solemn manner, that he really had
something more important on hand than a native celebration of his
deliverance from the landslide and so I decided to go with him. It was
nearly a week’s journey on foot and horseback to the west. When I
arrived, I was invited to attend a council of four caciques, Waki,
Orkeke, Cuastro, and Casimiro. They had met, the old chief explained to
me, to consider a great difficulty and peril which threatened the tribe.
They needed a white man’s advice and assistance. He had in his
intercourse with me for several weeks been testing my knowledge, my
judgment, and my good faith. The adventure of the avalanche had
completed my establishment in his confidence. I did not feel
particularly complimented by this expression of their esteem until they
had described their problem. Then you will readily believe, I was
dumfounded.
“Casimiro as spokesman told the story. There existed, he said, at a
secret spot in a spur of the Cordilleras within the tribe’s domain a
vast store of native gold. ‘How much?’ I inquired in astonishment.
‘More, much more, than a thousand mules could carry,’ the chief declared
solemnly. ‘But you mean ore, rock or sand with specks of gold in it,’ I
said to him in Spanish, thinking I had misunderstood. ‘No,’ he replied,
and going to a corner of the hut in which we were sitting, he produced
presently a small bag of skin. He opened it and poured upon the floor in
front of me a heap of yellow dust and nuggets--the purest virgin gold I
had ever seen. ‘All like that,’ the old man remarked laconically. I was
too amazed to speak. I put out my hand and took up a handful from the
shining pile. There was no doubt about it. It was perfectly
genuine--worth really four sovereigns an ounce, every speck of it. Then
I looked from one to another of the four chiefs. They were watching me
stoically.
“‘What do you want me to do?’ I asked finally.
“‘Take the gold away from our country,’ was Casimiro’s answer; whereat
my surprise was so great that I must have shown signs of approaching
idiocy. The four chiefs talked rapidly for a few moments in their own
tongue, but I was too dazed to try to understand what they said.
Involuntarily I was calculating roughly the amount of the treasure they
had described. A mule-load I knew was about two hundredweight. Could
there be two hundred thousand pounds, equivalent to twelve hundred
thousand pounds sterling, or sixty millions of your American dollars, in
this Patagonian treasure-bed? Presently Casimiro explained himself more
clearly. What he said amounted to this:
“‘My people have long known of this gold which you white men love, fight
for, suffer for, and die for. It is of no use to my people. It neither
feeds them nor clothes them. The traders tell us they will give us food
and clothing and much whisky for it. We know better. If they discover we
have it, they will come with many soldiers and seize our country and
drive us out and kill us. The white man knows no mercy in seeking gold.
We have tried to cover it up and keep it secret. We fear we have been
betrayed. Two or three times in recent moons white men have penetrated
near to its hiding-place. The first seeker met his death, the second
likewise. But more are coming. Our people are in peril. We must save
them. We love our country, we love our simple life. We want none of your
civilization, none of its cruelties, its vices, its death. With this
gold tempting the white multitude, we shall become as chaff before the
wind in front of you. So we say, Take the gold. We have nothing else to
excite your cupidity, take it and let us live in peace.’
“I was fairly humiliated, lad, before that grand old savage. His words
were simple; they were not spoken in anger. Yet he stood there
melancholy, powerless before a relentless fate, looking fearlessly into
a future full of peril for his people. There was something sublime in
the dignity of the old Patagonian that I had never seen in any other man
and for a moment I felt almost like going down in the dust before him.
He came back presently to his usual mood and noticing, I suppose, my
shamefacedness he assured me I was by no means included in the
denunciation into which the contemplation of his people’s wrongs had led
him. A renegade member of the tribe, it appeared, was held responsible
for the betrayal of the secret. They asked me if I thought they had
determined upon the right course to pursue. I told them they would be
foolish to let such a vast treasure go without providing for certain
lasting benefits to themselves in return. They might easily make
themselves free of the traders, and secure all necessary annual supplies
including harmless luxuries, besides providing for the practical
exclusion of the white man’s liquor, which was already becoming a grave
evil among them.
“They all seemed to think the suggestion a good one. When they had
discussed it for a little while among themselves, Casimiro finally made
me this proposition: His brother chiefs, he said, wished to make a test
of my good faith. They would deliver into my hands at the Rio Negro
settlement a small mule-load of gold. This I was to take to my own
country and spend on behalf of the tribe in the purchase of arms,
ammunition, supplies of various kinds, and necessary tools, receptacles,
etc., for the gathering and transportation of the treasure. I should
bring these things in a ship to Rio Negro and meet Casimiro at a point
near the settlement fourteen days previous to the longest day of the
coming summer, which will be the sixth of December, two months hence.
Casimiro would then accompany me on the ship to a point on the coast
farther south and nearer to the location of the treasure. If I failed to
appear on the day appointed our treaty would be at an end. Of course I
agreed. I received about one hundred and fifty pounds of gold-dust ten
days later and immediately sailed for Buenos Ayres. I did not dare
dispose of any considerable quantity of native gold here, for I am
pretty well known and the location of my wanderings in the South was
also known. Besides I wished to make a large portion of my purchases
elsewhere in order to avoid exciting suspicion. So I sailed to England
where I arrived early in August, turned my gold into money, bought all
my supplies except food-stuffs, and now here I am laid up with a broken
leg with none too great margin of time to keep my appointment with
Casimiro in December.
“So you see, my lad, I am compelled to seek assistance. If I were well
it would probably be impossible to charter a suitable sailing craft, do
all that must be done here in buying, fitting, and other preparations,
and sail before the end of the month. The five weeks remaining would be
none too much for the uncertainties of such a voyage in a small ship.
Now you know practically as much about this strange venture as I do. I
have money enough left for the trip to Rio Negro and back besides all
necessary purchases of supplies, etc. We may come back here penniless,
we may bring the most valuable cargo that ship ever carried. Will you
take the chances?”
Brent had listened to the Scotchman’s extraordinary narrative with ever
increasing interest. The Patagonian chief’s description of buried
millions in nature’s richest treasure-house bewildered him with its
prodigality of wealth, its prodigious massing of riches. The story was
almost incredible yet plausible. He knew not what to think. He was
unable at first to think at all with calmness. But he had only one
answer to Fraser’s fascinating proposition. If the prospect of success
had been but one in a thousand it would have been enough.
“Of course I will take the chances and gladly,” he exclaimed warmly.
“But do you not suspect,” he added presently, “that the Indians have
concocted this story in order to secure through you the purchase of a
large quantity of goods at much lower rates than they could obtain them
from the traders?”
“A very natural suspicion, my lad,” responded Fraser, “and it does
credit to your bump of caution. But I have absolute faith in them. My
reasons are not easy to define, perhaps. I have heard some wonderful
yarns in my time and I have grown even more suspicious than is
reasonable, I imagine, but I believe these Patagonians told me the
simple truth. That is far from saying we shall ever get possession of
this treasure. Now, as for terms of partnership, I will pay all the
expenses of the expedition and give you a third of whatever proceeds it
yields. You agree to see the thing through to the end, coöperating with
me of course in every way that circumstances may make necessary. Is that
satisfactory?”
“Perfectly, and generously liberal terms they are, too,” said Brent, and
the two men clasped hands to seal the compact.