"LOSE HIS OWN SOUL!"
The steward of The Starry Flag, after he had returned the dory to the
rocks, and secured the jolly-boat of the yacht, had an opportunity to
rest his fevered, mixed-up brain, and to consider his next step. The
four seamen of the schooner slept on shore, at their own homes, and
there was no one on board but the cook, who slumbered heavily in the
forecastle, and did not hear Augustus when he conveyed the bags to the
cabin.
Mr. Ebénier lighted a lamp, closed the cabin doors, and drew the silken
curtains over the ports in the upper part of the trunk, so that no one
could see what he was doing. Though it was not lawful for the steward
to use the wash-bowl in Mr. Watson's stateroom, he considered that the
present emergency would justify him in doing so. He performed his
ablutions with the utmost care, paying particular attention to his
wounded head. He then changed his clothing throughout, and devoted half
an hour to cleansing his plaid pants, which had been somewhat soiled by
contact with the burning seaweed. He even polished his boots before he
put them away.
So far as cleanliness was concerned, the steward was a gentleman, which
no unclean person can be. Having completed his toilet, and removed all
signs of the operation from the state-room, he sat down on a locker in
the cabin. He was thinking of the extraordinary incidents of the night.
He was fully satisfied that he had found Mr. Fairfield's treasure, and
that the opportunity entirely to free his young captain from suspicion
was within his grasp. It was a pleasant thought; but, after all, who
was Captain Fairfield? Only a young fellow behind whose chair at dinner
he was privileged to stand. He had seen him for the first time but a
few days before, and he did not feel under any peculiar obligations to
him.
Mr. Ebénier took the three bags of gold from the locker, and laid them
on the cabin table. It was midnight by the clock which hung in the
cabin--the dead hour of night, when all were sleeping. The fire on
shore had burned out, and all was still save the rolling sea. The
steward went to the door, opened it, passed up to the deck; there was
no one in sight, and hardly a light to be seen on the land. Returning
to the cabin, he poured out the contents of one of the bags on the
table, and proceeded to count the gold. It was a long job, and there
was more money than the steward had ever before seen together. On a
piece of paper he noted each hundred dollars with a tally-mark. His
last pile contained but fifty dollars. Counting up his marks, he made
thirty-eight of them; and the whole sum, according to his reckoning,
was thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars.
The old man had lost four thousand dollars, and the steward, concluding
he had made a mistake, performed the agreeable task of counting the
gold a second time, but with the same result as before. After making
the allowance for the fifty dollars found in the captain's state-room,
the amount was one hundred dollars short. Mr. Ebénier had the impudence
to ask himself if this could be the miser's money, since it did not
hold out in the sum he had lost. But the bags were plainly marked, as
the fourth had been, "N. Fairfield," in the cramped handwriting of the
miser. Of course there could be no doubt in regard to the ownership of
the treasure, and Mr. Ebénier could not but wonder at the stupidity of
the thieves in hiding it in or under the old sail in the Hotel de
Poisson. But he did them the justice to conclude that it had only been
placed there for a short time, perhaps for but a few hours; at any
rate, their presence in the shanty indicated that it was to have been
removed during the night.
It had been removed during the night! The steward chuckled when he
thought of it, but his capacious intellect was agitated by a great
moral question. Thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars was an immense
sum to a person in his station, who had never had even a hundred
dollars in his possession at one time. Honesty was a precious jewel,
but it was not possible for him to make thirty-eight hundred and fifty
dollars, at one stupendous haul, by being honest. He did not steal the
money. He did not rob the old man. If the steward had not suffered the
perils and discomforts of two broken heads, or rather one head broken
twice, the robbers, whoever they were, would doubtless have divided the
money between them, and the old man would never know what had become of
his cherished gold.
Mr. Ebénier asked himself if this was not a freak of fortune in his
favor; if the money was not a providential compensation for his
twice-broken head. Thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars would be a
very handsome atonement for two such raps as he had received, and he
was Mammon-worshipper enough to feel willing that his head should be
pounded to a jelly at this rate, so long as the germ of his mighty
intellect was not extinguished.
The steward was a man of exquisite tastes, and was ambitious for social
recognition and distinction. In Paris a colored man was just as good
as, if not a little better than, a white man. His former master, in
Louisiana, had believed in Paris, and seeing with his eyes, he had been
fully converted to his master's faith. Mr. Ebénier wanted to go to
Paris, wanted to live there, even as a waiter in a _café_, if no better
situation presented itself. With the money before him, he could realize
his dream of luxury and splendor. He could convert these half eagles
into napoleons, and revel like a prince in the gay metropolis of
France. He would wear the finest of broadcloth, eat the most sumptuous
of dinners, and saunter up and down the Champs Elysées like a
gentleman. In short, thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars, or nearly
twenty thousand francs in the currency of France, would make a
gentleman of him.
Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier was sorely tempted. It might be only once in
his lifetime that such a chance to be a gentleman would be presented to
him. He could put the gold into his carpet-bag, walk over to
Gloucester, and take the first train for Boston. No one would know what
had become of him; or, if they did, he would not be suspected of having
the gold. But he would be missed, and his absence might cause a
commotion. It would be better not to leave at present. The money could
be concealed on board of the yacht, and when he was disposed to abandon
the vessel it would be within his reach.
After more reflection on this important matter, the steward became
convinced that it would be safer and better to hide the gold on board.
At the stern of the vessel, under the standing-room, there was a space
not available for cabin use, which formed a kind of store-room for
extra supplies. It was reached by removing the cabin steps. The tempted
man entered this contracted and low apartment with the lamp in his
hand. He found a narrow aperture, which led to the space under the
cabin floor, where the ballast was deposited, and over which a board
had been nailed to prevent the odor of bilge water from penetrating the
apartment of the passengers. He removed this board, and reaching down
into the hold, placed the bags in a position where they were not likely
to be discovered, even by a person searching for them. Nailing on the
board again, he covered it with various articles, and returned to the
cabin.
On the table lay a Bible, which the steward occasionally read. Though
it was now two o'clock in the morning, he was not sleepy; he was too
much excited to think of slumber. He opened the good book mechanically,
turned its leaves, and read a verse here and there; but he was thinking
all the time of the luxurious gayety of the French capital, and the
pleasures which thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars would purchase.
"For what is a man profited if he shall gain the whole world and lose
his own soul?"
This was the last verse he read, and he closed the book, as though this
appeal of Holy Writ grated harshly on his feelings.
"Lose his own soul," repeated he, almost in spite of himself.
He tried to think of the Boulevards and the gardens of the Tuileries
again; but "lose his own soul" came up to his lips still, as though
some invisible power compelled him to whisper the impressive sentence.
He attempted to whistle, and then to sing an air; but "lose his own
soul" came up to his lips, and he could not help whispering the
sentence again.
"This money don't belong to me," said he, in audible words. "I am not
the happy owner of this princely sum. Unto but few is it appointed to
be both rich and good-looking, and I am not of the number. I must be
contented with my good looks."
It was no use to say it; he did not mean it, and the idea of Paris and
its luxuries still haunted his imagination. He turned in, but it was
only to think what thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars would
purchase; and "lose his own soul" not only came to his lips, but the
solemn sentence seemed to be printed, in sombre-hued capitals, all over
the cabin. He went to sleep at last; but "lose his own soul" followed
him into his dreams, yelled in the distance and muttered in his ears by
grinning demons, such as those with which his fancy peopled the realms
of the lost. But he slumbered uneasily till the sun was far up on his
day-journey. When he went on deck, he saw The Starry Flag, Jr. almost
alongside. Captain Fairfield and the four seamen came on board.
The young skipper announced that the trip to the eastward, which had
been postponed from the day before, would be commenced at once, and the
party would be on board at eight o'clock. The steward had enough to do
to keep his hands, if not his mind, engaged in making preparations for
the occupants of the cabin. At the time appointed the party came on
board, and the yacht sailed on her cruise.
Our story need not follow them during the ten days to which the trip
was prolonged. It is enough to say that the party enjoyed every moment
of the time. Even Mrs. Watson, who had no taste for the sea, was
delighted; for Levi, at her request, was careful to bring the yacht to
anchor in smooth water every night, and to stay in port when the sea
was very rough.
During those ten days Mr. Ebénier considered and reconsidered, and then
considered again, what he should do with the money that had so
strangely come into his possession. He was disposed to use it; but the
gospel sentence thundered in his ears, and trembled upon his lips, and
rolled like the chariot of an avenger through his mind. Once or twice
he was on the point of telling the captain all about the gold, but the
vision of Parisian luxury checked him.
When the yacht entered Sandy Bay, the Caribbee lay anchored off the
Point, and The Starry Flag moored a couple of cables' length from her.