GOLD AND JEWELS
For answer, Phil extended the small black bag toward them. Dick grabbed
it with a cry and the others crowded around him. Bimbo pressed close,
his mouth hanging ludicrously open.
With trembling fingers Dick fumbled with the strings of the bag then
plunged his hand to the bottom of it. The hand returned, grasping three
golden coins, the first fruits of the treasure.
For a moment pandemonium reigned. The boys acted like crazy men. They
grasped each other about the waist and rollicked in a sort of wild war
dance about the place, shouting at the top of their lungs. Bimbo’s mouth
was stretched in a grin that must have hurt.
“Yassir,” he was saying over and over again, his rich darky voice raised
above the din, “I don said ef anybody could find dat dere gol’en
treasure, dat man was Marse Phil. Yassir, dis nigger done allus said
Marse Phil de greatest treasure hunter what is. Yassir!”
After they had quieted down sufficiently to care to hear details, Phil
recounted his adventures in the hull of the ship, not even omitting the
part where he had stumbled over the dead man’s bones.
At this part in the narrative Bimbo was seen to gaze apprehensively over
his shoulder. Trying to attract as little attention as possible, he
crept nearer to the absorbed group about Phil.
However, Bimbo was not the only one who felt an uncanny chill in the
atmosphere. For a moment each one had put himself in Phil’s place, had
stumbled over some horrible object, the skeleton of a man who
generations ago had lived and breathed.
“Gee, Phil,” Tom said, in an awed voice. “I bet a little company would
have come in handy just then—something beside dead men’s bones.”
“You said something,” replied Phil fervently adding, with a gleam in his
eyes that seemed to be reflected from the gold itself, “But when I found
that chest burst wide open, spilling out its golden contents, believe
me, I forgot all about skeletons and everything else. I even forgot that
my oxygen was running low. Say, but that was a sight!”
“You lucky dog,” cried Steve, enviously. “What do you mean by hogging
all the fun, anyway?”
“I haven’t,” replied Phil, with a grin. “Didn’t I bring a chunk of it up
with me?”
“You sure did,” said Jack Benton, adding, with an attempt to control his
own excitement. “Tell me something, Phil. How much wealth, in United
States money do you figure there is down there in the hold of the ship?”
“I don’t know,” returned Phil, slowly. “You see there were some precious
stones, too and it would be hard for me to give the value of them. Then
too, for all we know, the other chests may not contain anything of value
at all.”
“Say not so,” cried Steve reproachfully. “What are you trying to do,
anyway? Throw gloom on this happy party.”
“Nothing like it,” grinned Phil, adding as he took up the little black
bag and emptied the rest of its contents on the table. “Look at that
diamond and that ruby. They must be worth a small fortune in
themselves.”
The boys gasped. They had been so absorbed in Phil’s story that they had
taken it for granted that the handful of coins which Dick had brought
forth was all the bag contained. They had not even examined the coins
closely. The mere fact that they were gold had been enough for them
then.
Now they regarded the exquisite jewels which Phil had brought up from
the bottom of the sea almost with a feeling of awe. It seemed impossible
that they could be real.
But they were real. Even the boys, inexperienced in such matters as they
were, could tell that. And as Phil had said, they were tremendously
valuable.
“Were there many more like these?” asked Jack Benton softly.
Phil shook his head.
“There were mostly coins,” he said, “with a handful of gems sprinkled in
for good luck. I believe the treasure, in that one chest, at least, was
almost all gold.”
“Well, what do we want, the earth?” demanded Dick as he examined the
coin he held. “Look here fellows,” he added, “This gold piece is a queer
sort of duck. It has Spanish lettering on it——”
“A doubloon, probably,” said Jack Benton. “And this coin I have is a
French louis——”
“And mine’s a guinea,” broke in Tom with a chuckle. “These guys seem to
have gathered their plunder from all parts of the world.”
“I guess it didn’t make much difference to them what nation they stole
from,” Jack Benton agreed. “They played no favorites. But say, just
listen to that storm, fellows,” he interrupted himself as the wind
wailed wildly about the cave. “It’s worse than the gale that greeted us
and drove us on the rocks.”
“Sure is a beauty,” said Steve. “Lucky we have a cave to live in. Can’t
be blown down, at any rate.”
Phil moved across to the door of the cave and stood looking out into the
hurricane.
“It must have been just such a storm,” he remarked softly, as though he
were more than half speaking to himself, “in which the pirate ship
foundered centuries ago. Seems kind of queer, someway.”
“What seems queer?” said Dick who had come to stand beside him.
“Why,” said Phil, still with that strange air of speaking to himself,
“that there should be such a storm on the very day when we have broken
into the hull of the dead ship. It’s uncanny——”
A frightened wail from the corner where Bimbo had taken refuge brought
him up short and he faced about with a sheepish laugh.
“Don’t mind me, fellows,” he said. “I guess I’m still a little shaken up
from what I saw down there today in the cabin of that poor old hulk. The
storm sort of brought it home to me. Well,” he added, striving to make
his tone sound matter-of-fact, “suppose we talk over plans for rescuing
the treasure. I’ll feel easier when we have it safe right here under our
noses.”
What was that strange uneasiness that had taken possession of him? Even
in the excitement of making plans and the jubilation of the boys he
could not entirely shake it off.
Here they were alone on this island where in all probability no one else
had set foot for many years. The adventure of this day had met with
success beyond his wildest dreams. The treasure was there—was theirs.
All they had to do was to take it. There was no earthly reason to feel
uneasy and yet he was uneasy.
All during the long hours—and they sat up way into the night
exulting—he was haunted by a sensation of impending evil. Thinking that
he was overwrought by the day’s adventure, he tried to dismiss these
thoughts but without very much success.
Long after his comrades were sleeping soundly he lay staring into the
dark. Once he caught himself straining his ears to catch some fancied
sound.
The storm had died down and the night, save for the low drumming of the
waves on the beach, was so still that he could almost hear his heart
beat.
What was he listening for, he asked himself. The night was breathless.
He could have heard nothing. Then, calling himself all kinds of a fool
he turned over and went to sleep.
He woke, struggling through a sea of unconsciousness, with the distinct
feeling that an unseen presence was near him. Not fully awake, he sprang
to his feet, revolver in hand.
Was it imagination that the figure of a man, vague and indistinct as the
night itself, slipped from the cave? His vision was blurred with sleep.
Impatiently he rubbed a hand across his eyes.
With a bound he was at the door of the cave—outside, straining his eyes
in an effort to pierce the shadows.
There was nothing. No sign, no sound save the monotonous moaning of the
waves upon the beach.
He walked a little way, searching, his revolver held ready for action.
Still he saw nothing. Reluctantly he turned back toward the cave.
He lay down again but not to sleep. For a long time he lay there,
watchful, alert. As the first faint grey of dawn tinged the sky he
relaxed his vigil and fell asleep.