OLD DUNMAN AND THE PIRATE'S TREASURE.
With only the drenched clothes they stood in, no means of lighting a
fire, and death from starvation staring them in the face, these three
shipwrecked men stood upon the beach of this strange island, still
hoping and wondering what was to be the next change in their condition.
Was the island inhabited? By whom? What was the character of the
natives, and what sort of reception would they meet when found? These
were the questions which engaged their thoughts as they stood on that
lonely beach, hoping against hope, and every minute fancying some
friendly sail heaving in sight to relieve them from their perilous
position. After the darkest night comes the brightest day. This was ever
uppermost in Tite's mind, and he endeavored to impress its teachings on
the minds of his companions, who were fast yielding to their fears, and
would have given up in despair had not his stronger resolution
encouraged them still to hope for deliverance.
There was an abundance of small shell-fish along the coast, and on these
they subsisted. It was agreed to remain near the boat during the day, as
a precaution against an attack from the natives, who might have seen
them approach the coast, and perhaps be watching their movements near
by. But the day passed and not a human being was seen. At nightfall a
couple of goats and a pig, and some fowl that appeared to be keeping
them company, emerged from a thicket on a hillside, descended into a
valley or ravine, and drank in the brook. The sight of these animals
filled the hearts of the shipwrecked men with joy. It was to them a
proof of civilization. New hopes, new joys, new strength came with the
sight of these animals; and they advanced cautiously toward them. But
the animals were shy, and scampered away up the hill at the first sight
of the strangers.
There was a high hill near by, and, encouraged by the sight of these
animals, Tite started off just at dusk to ascend it and survey the
surrounding country, leaving his comrades on the beach to guard the
boat. It was quite dark when Tite reached the top, but the stars were
out, and the atmosphere was clear. Not a habitation was to be seen,
nothing but a wild, unbroken forest as far as the eye could reach. He
watched there for an hour or more, his eyes quickened by anxiety, and
his mind becoming more and more excited, until his fancy pictured in
every shadow some moving object. Then, as his eye traced along down the
deep ravine, he discovered, or rather thought he discovered, a pale
wreath of smoke curling lazily upward, not more than a mile from where
his comrades lay. What at first seemed only a fancy, now became a
reality, for the smoke increased in volume, and indicated with certainty
a habitation of some kind.
Descending the hill as quickly as he could, he found the two men fast
asleep, overcome with fatigue and excitement, and it was with great
difficulty that he could awake them. When, however, he told them what he
had discovered, their hearts filled with joy, and they sprang to their
feet ready to follow him. Still they entertained a lurking fear that the
smoke might mark the bivouac of some savages who had watched their
movements during the day, and lighted this fire to cook the evening
meal.
They followed the stream about two miles up the ravine, picking their
way over rocks and through a thick wood, until they came to a little
gurgling brook, cutting its way through a deep dell running at right
angles with the ravine. Here they rested for a short time, and carefully
surveyed the scene, excited by strange thoughts. A light suddenly
flashed from the opposite bank, not more than forty yards ahead. This
evidently marked the object of their search. Then those familiar sounds
made by goats, fowls, and pigs were heard. Crossing the dell they
advanced cautiously in the direction of the light. They had not gone
far, however, when an opening in the woods was discovered, in the centre
of which a small, rude cabin, built of stones and mud, stood. A bright
fire was burning inside, smoke was issuing from the rude chimney, and
the light shining through two square openings in the sides, was
reflecting curiously over the scene outside.
Again the three men halted, and stood viewing the scene in silence, now
hoping, now fearing, now wondering what sort of beings inhabited this
strange place. Still the domestic animals kept up those noises, so
familiar to Tite's ear when at home. And these were broken at intervals
by what seemed the barking of a wolf. Now a strange and shadowy figure
passed and repassed in the cabin, its uncouth form reflecting every few
seconds in the light. Should they advance, enter the cabin, and see who
this strange being was, or return to the beach and wait until morning?
This was the question which occupied their thoughts now. Impelled as
well, perhaps, by anxiety as necessity, Tite resolved to push on to the
very door. Leaving the men with orders to follow him at a short
distance, he proceeded on cautiously until he reached the edge of the
opening in which the cabin stood.
He was now within a few paces of the door, when the fowls, which seemed
to abound in the vicinity, discovering him, sounded the alarm. The cabin
door now opened, and there stood, in the shadow of the light, the figure
of an old man bent with age, and dressed in the skin of a wolf, the long
fur of which gave him more the appearance of an animal than a human
being. His face was like colored parchment, his mouth and cheeks
wrinkled and sunken, his eyes small, black and bright, his long, white
hair and flowing beard, his bony hands, which he raised every few
moments and held over his long white eyelashes, as a shield to his
sight, gave him a strange and witch-like appearance.
There the two men, the figure in the door and Tite, stood for several
minutes gazing in silence, but with a look of astonishment, at each
other. The animals and fowls had gathered in a group about the old man,
alarmed at the sight of a stranger. At length a thin, shrill voice broke
the silence by enquiring: "Who is it that comes here to disturb my
peace?"
"We are friends," replied Tite, "shipwrecked sailors, in search of
shelter and food."
[Illustration: The cabin door now opened, and there stood, in the shadow
of the light, the figure of an old man bent with age, and dressed in the
skin of a wolf. Page 216.]
"Heaven pity you, and forgive me," returned the old man, his eyes
beaming brighter and his whole manner becoming more earnest. "Heaven
forgive me, you shall have both, and be welcome in my palace. Heaven
forgive me, for this is my palace and I am king of this island. Come in,
and such as I have you shall share with me." And he advanced, took Tite
by the hand, and led him into his cabin, the two men following.
Spreading seal and wolf skins on the floor, he bid them be seated, while
he prepared food for their supper. His motion was a shuffle rather than
a walk, and he moved about the cabin more like an animal than a human
being. He seemed to have an abundant supply of dried fish, fowl, and
fruit; of vegetables and roots, from which he made a beverage that
filled the place of coffee. And with these and some goat's milk he soon
set before them a supper, saying as he invited them to partake, "Heaven
forgive me for all my sins, and they are many. Your are countrymen of my
own, and speak the same language. Ah, I had almost forgotten it, as the
world has forgotten me. Now it all comes back, and makes me feel happy.
I am old, very old now. Heaven forgive me. There will be no more of poor
old George Dunman soon. When he dies he will die with great sins on his
head. If sin can be washed out with sorrow, Heaven knows I have had
sorrow enough." He advanced towards Tite, and laying his hand gently on
his shoulder, looked earnestly and intently into his face: "you are
young, very young," he said, "crime has made no wrinkles in your face
yet. Mine is full of age and crime, and a heart filled with remorse,
have burned their deep seals into mine. Look you, young man," and he
pointed to his eyes, "these eyes were not made to weep. But this poor
heart of mine is crushed with its crimes." Here he pressed his right
hand to his heart, and raised his eyes upwards, as if imploring Heaven's
forgiveness in silence.
This continued invoking Heaven's forgiveness excited Tite's curiosity to
know something of the old man's strange and wonderful history, for he
already began to feel that there was a terrible crime at the bottom of
it. When they had partaken of supper and were all seated around the fire
on their skins, and nothing but the music of the brook was heard
outside, the old man requested Tite to give him an account of his
voyage, together with the place and manner of their shipwreck. Tite was
glad to comply with the old man's request, for it afforded him an
excellent excuse for making a similar one.
The reader has already been made familiar with Tite's unfortunate
voyage, hence it will not be necessary to repeat it. The recital
interested the old man deeply, and when he had reached that part which
described their troubles in the cave, the old man's eyes sparkled, and
his whole nature seemed to warm into enthusiasm.
"There's where my ship lays, guns and all," he said, pressing his hands
on his knees. "My men used to call this island 'No Man's Island,' and
they named that place 'The Cave of Enchantment.' Then they named it
after me. The natives on an island ten leagues from this have a queer
superstition concerning it. They call it the devil's last resting place,
and assert that it is peopled by mermaids, who get honest navigators
into it, and then destroy them. My ship lays there, guns and all," he
repeated.
When Tite had finished his story, the old man began his by saying:
"Heaven forgive me, for I am a great sinner, and have much to answer for
in the next world. I was born in Bristol, England. My father was a
clergyman of the established church. I have no remembrance of my mother,
for she died when I was an infant. When I was fifteen years old I was
sent to sea as a means of bettering my morals. I served first on board
an Indiaman, made two voyages to China, and was wrecked on the coast of
Malabar; and when I got home my father or friends procured me the
position of midshipman on board a man-of-war. I served on board the
frigate Winchester, and other of His Majesty's ships, I did, for fifteen
years, and was only a midshipman at the end. Heaven forgive me for my
sins. It seemed there was no promotion for me. I was then transferred to
His Majesty's packet service, and assigned to the brig Storm, carrying
six guns, and the mails between Plymouth and the North American
provinces. She was a beauty of a craft, that Storm was. She used to
carry a crowd of canvas, and jump the seas like a sea-bird. I was four
years first officer of that craft, was proud of what she could do, and
the devil took advantage of my ambition, and created within me a longing
to be in command of her, and make myself heroic by roaming unrestrained
on the free sea. That feeling kept increasing until it become a passion
with me. Then it was my misfortune to fall in love. Yes, love was a
misfortune to me. I had courted and was engaged to the daughter of a
rich old man who had made all his money in the West Indies, and still
had plantations there.
"We were to be married on my return, after a voyage to North America.
But I returned to find her married to a young officer who had sailed
companion with me on board man-a-war, and who had professed great
friendship for me only to deceive me. He had professed to be my friend
and confident; and it was this that carried the knife of disappointment
to my very heart. I was denied an interview with the woman I had loved,
even worshipped. The man who had professed to be my friend now turned
his back on me, and denied me even an explanation." All the fire there
was left in the old man now seemed to kindle into a blaze, and the
fiercer elements of his nature took possession of him.
"To make the matter worse," he continued, "our good, kind, and brave
captain was relieved, transferred back to the navy, and this man, who
had outraged my confidence and made my life wretched, appointed to fill
his place. I resolved to be revenged. But how could it be got? How could
I punish the man who had so wronged me without rebelling against my
country, against God's laws, and against society? The devil told me it
could be done.
"As it was not a question of conscience with me, in the frame of mind I
was then in, there was no trouble in following the devil's advice. I
conceived a plan for sending this captain out of the world by the
shortest road, seizing the ship, and roving unrestrained upon the free
sea. It was soon found that there was enough on board to join the
enterprise and share the spoils, and the plan was carried out when we
were half voyage over. That was fifty years ago. I shall never forget
the terrible struggle of that night, nor the bloody work that was done.
Heaven forgive me. When I had got command I ran the Storm into the
Caribbean Sea, landed all who were suspected, as well as such as more
openly opposed the enterprise, on an island, and then put away for the
Pacific via Cape Horn. When we got into the Pacific, we hoisted--." The
old man paused suddenly and hung down, his head. "Heaven forgive me for
my crimes," he resumed, evidently in doubt about acknowledging the full
force of his crimes.
"I may as well tell you it all--shake the load free from my conscience,
and ask you to join me in invoking Heaven's forgiveness. We hoisted the
flag that sees an enemy in every other flag, and for three years the
Storm scourged these seas from Cape Horn to Sands' Head. When ships,
sent in pursuit of us, were searching along the west coast, we were
making war on commerce on the coast of China. We had a name for every
sea we entered, so as to make our pursuers think there was more than one
vessel, and so divide their attention.
"Yes, for three years we scourged these seas, and made war on land as
well as sea--capturing, plundering, murdering--yes, committing crimes
that shame manhood, and make me fear the vengeance of a just God. And
all for gold, gold, gold. And what good can gold do a man with a
conscience haunted by crimes committed in getting it? Gold can do me no
good; but man is a mean animal at best; and you can so teach him in
crime that he will commit the most revolting out of sheer wantonness.
"We soon had more gold and jewels than we knew what to do with. Some of
our men left us and went home with enough to make them rich for the rest
of their lives. And we have buried enough on these islands to buy a
city. Gold lost its charms with us, and crime became an excitement and
an entertainment.
"We discovered this island while cruising from one ocean to the other,
and found on it some sailors, whose vessel had been wrecked near where
you landed. They had been seven years here, and it is to them we are
indebted for these animals and fowls. They lived contented, for they had
given up all hope of getting away, and are all dead now. We made this
place a retreat, had a settlement here, after the wreck of the Storm in
the cave, of forty men. They are all dead but me. I have been here forty
years--nine of them passed alone; and now my time has almost come. I
took the name of George Dunman because I had disgraced that of my
parents, and because I am an outlaw, and I want to die here and be
forgotten."
It was after midnight when the old man finished his story. His manner
became nervous and restless, and it was evident there was something more
he wanted to disclose, but hesitated to do.
The strangers accepted the old man's invitation, and took up their abode
under his roof, finding plenty of food and kind treatment. But they soon
became weary of so monotonous a life, and longing for some means of
reaching their homes and civilization, would visit the coast nearly
every day, in the hope of seeing some friendly sail and effecting their
deliverance. This anxiety to get away on the part of his new friends so
preyed on the old man's mind that his strength began to fail fast, and
at the end of two months it became evident that his sands of life had
but a few more days to run.
Two months passed, and the weather was becoming cold. The old man was up
earlier than usual one morning; still he seemed more feeble. He tottered
about the cabin, his frame shook and trembled, and his whole system
seemed to be under some new excitement. He had formed a strong
attachment for Tite, whom he now approached with his hands extended.
"Like you," he said, grasping his hand firmly and looking up imploringly
into his face, "I was young and handsome once. I am old and ugly now.
Crime has written its ugly finger all over my face; has thrust its
poison into this poor heart of mine. Never let it lay one ugly finger on
your face. Make yours a life of joy, so that you may die happy. Oh,
these poor old gray hairs of mine, this head that has sinned so much."
And he raised his hard, bony hand to his head, and tossed the long white
hair back over his shoulders.
"Come with me, come with me, young man," he resumed, grasping Tite by
the arm nervously and tottering to the door. When they got outside he
whispered in his ear: "You shall see where it is buried before I die. It
has made my life wretched; it may make yours happy." He paused for a few
seconds, and looking back, saw the two men standing watch at the door.
"Come," said he, beckoning to them, "you may as well come, too."
The men joined them, and when they had reached a spot about twenty rods
from the cabin, they came to a square pile of stones, in a dark wood on
the side of a hill. The old man sat down, and resting his arms on the
stones, continued: "Here, buried three feet below these stones, is gold
and silver enough to make you all rich for life, and perhaps happy.
Churches, convents, ships, and even life itself have contributed to it.
All I now seek is peace in Heaven; and yet I cannot get that with this
gold, for it is the price of crime and death. Take it, take it; and when
my life of sorrow is ended, and these poor old bones shall move no more,
divide it among yourselves; and if Heaven sends you a deliverance from
this lonely island, so live that it may bring you blessings, not curses,
as it has done me."
Three days after what I have described in the above paragraph took
place, Tite and the two sailors returned from the coast and were alarmed
to find the cabin deserted. They waited for a short time, and then
searched the woods in the vicinity, but could find nothing of the old
man. The compasses were there, and his nautical instruments were still
hanging on the wall, and the fire was nearly burned out. It had been his
custom to have supper ready punctually when they returned. There was now
a strange and mysterious stillness about the place. Even the fowls and
the animals seemed silent.
On proceeding to the spot where the treasure was buried, they found the
lifeless body of the old pirate. Old Dunman was dead, and lay there,
with two of his pet goats nestling at his side.