And so he died.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE TREASURE HOUSE.

So now I was the last of all left who had come away from the _Furie_.

Neither of my crew nor of this dead ruffian's was there any one to

tell the tale but I. A strange ending indeed to such a flight and such

a chase.

The dead pirate lay upon his back, the blood from his wound trickling

down to mix with the spirit from the overturned cask. The box of

treasure lay at my feet, and, if his dying words were true and not

spoken in his madness, beneath my feet was a vast treasure.

But ere I thought of that, there were many other things to do.

Firstly, and before all, there was rest to be obtained. I had scarcely

had any for three days--namely, none in the galliot since we were

awaked in our little isle near the reef by the firing of the _Furie's_

guns; and but an hour or so only before the murder of Winstanley, the

diver. That was all, and now I could scarcely move for fatigue. I must

sleep e'en though I died for it. Only where should I obtain it?

Accustomed as I was to rough surroundings, to fightings and slaughter

after many years of a sailor's life, this hut with its loathsome dead

inhabitant and owner was too horrible and disgusting for me to find

rest in it. I could not sleep there! Yet again, neither would I go far

away. "The hut," the dying villain had said, "was a treasure house";

he had told the imaginary Barbara--who was she, I wondered, who seemed

to have been the centre of such tragedies?--that she was the heiress

to great wealth contained within it, or beneath it; I must guard that

hut with my life. Especially, I reflected, must I do so since he had

thought me to be "Martin come back from the isles with the sloop." If,

therefore, this was not also part of his ravings, he was expecting

some such person, doubtless a brother pirate--at any moment I might

have to defend the place against another ship's crew of scoundrels.

Yet I must sleep. I could do nought until I had rested, but I knew

that when such a rest had been obtained, I should feel strong enough

to, or at least endeavour to, hold my own. I must sleep!

At last I made up my mind what I would do. The door of the hut, I had

learned by my mode of progression, faced to the west, therefore I

would close the door, lay myself along outside it, so that the morning

sun, now near at hand as I guessed, should not disturb me, and thereby

get rest as well as being a guard over the "treasure house." So,

loading and priming my pistols carefully--as well as two of Alderly's

which I took off his body, and which, in his madness, he had without

doubt forgotten he possessed--and placing my cutlash by my side, I

once more lay down to sleep.

Undisturbed, I must have enjoyed some hours' repose, for when I awoke

the daylight was all around me; the wood outside was bathed in the

rich sunshine, though I was sheltered from the rays by the hut; the

tiny hum-birds were darting in and out of the many flowers about,

thrusting their long bills in them to lick up the honey and the

insects; 'twas a sweet spot. Yet, when I arose to enter the hut, all

the beauty of the morning and of Nature did seem to me blackened and

fouled by that abode.

"Now," I said to myself, "what shall I do?" And instantly I

resolved that I would, to begin, make an end of Alderly's carcass. So,

having perceived a mattock and spade a-lying in the corner of the

place--"perhaps," thinks I, "'twas with them he did bury his

treasures"--I stooped down to drag him forth into the copse where I

could dig a grave for him. Then, as I bent over him, I saw sparkling

in his breast the diamond cross attached to the chain which he wore in

many folds round his neck.

I took it off him, and rubbing it and the gold chain clean from his

blood, did go to the door to look at it--flashing it about to observe

the sparkles of the great gems, holding it out into a dark place the

better for to see it by contrast, and so on, as I had seen those do

who call themselves judges of such things--which I, a poor sailor

officer, could not be. And then I observed there was engraved on the

back of the gold-setting some words, which I deciphered to be:

"Mary Roase, Baroness of Whitefields, from her husband, Bevill. Anno

Dom. 1598."

"Well," thinks I, "this at least can scarce be from our Spanish wreck.

Mary Rose is English enough, we have had ships so named. I dare say

the villain pillaged that from some descendant of the lady. If ever I

got home I will see if there is any Lord or Lady of Whitefields now."

Then I went forth to dig the grave, which I did three feet deep, not

far off the hut, and lugging out the body--after I had still more

carefully searched the clothes, and finding a few gold pieces

consisting of some Elephant guineas, two or three French and Spanish

pieces, and also some ducatoons, all in a bag--soon buried him. This

done I went back to the hut, though by now I was hunger-stung and

could very well have ate some food. Though this was not to be yet,

since I must go to the galliot to find any, his being filthy. But of

drink there was a plenty--a sweet rill of cool water running hard by.

There was, indeed, another tub unbroached in the corner of the place,

but I cared not to drink of the ruffian's provision; why, I know not,

since I did not disdain to take his jewels and money. Yet so it was,

and I left it alone, drinking only of the water and laving myself in

it. "And now for the long box," I said; "let us see what they have

robbed us of." For that the box contained what they had gotten up from

our wreck I did never doubt. Yet, as you shall see, I was mistaken. I

do not now believe, nor did I shortly then, that what that box

contained had ever been any portion of our stolen treasure.

I burst it open very easy with the mattock and there I found a rich

harvest; so that, indeed, the hut was a treasure house when only it

had that box within. Now, this is what I did find, and the list which

I here give you (with the valuations against the items by him) is a

just and fair copy of that which I did show to Mr. Wargrave, the

jeweller and goldsmith of Cornhill (now retired very rich), when I had

gotten home again:--

_List with Mr. Wargrave, his valuation_. _Gs_.

Two small bags of pearls, weighing with other

pearls therein under fifteen grains, as I

judged from others shown me by Mr. W. 1,250

One great pearl wrapped in a piece of damask

brocade, six-eighths of an inch in its

diameter, as I did measure. 2,000

Another, the size of a pigeon's egg, full of

most lustrous sheen, wrapped in a piece

of deerskin 3,000

A little bag of sapphires, nine in all. 315

Some Turkish pieces of gold about the size and

weight of our shillings, twenty-one in all.

These I put in my pocket and did sell

afterwards in Portsmouth for 14

Some silver pieces, too cumbersome to carry

and left with other things, perhaps 5

A little bar of gold 80

Two pistols beautifully inlaid and chased with

silver, having engraved thereon the name

"Marquis de Pontvismes," and date 1589 30

A portrait of a girl done as a medallion, with

blue eyes, red gold hair, and a sweet

mouth; perhaps this was Barbara! No

value for selling.

A child's coral; also a child's shoes; also a

lock of long hair, wheat coloured, wrapped

in silk. No value for selling.

And a dagger set with little diamonds and

rubies, the blade rusted very much 50

_____

6,744

_____

I pondered much over these things, for, as I have writ, I am very sure

they never came out of the sunken galleon. There was no sign of wet

having got near unto the box or its contents, which must have been the

case had it been fished up from that wreck, and therefore I thought to

myself, this has perhaps been stolen on some cruise they were upon

between the time they left their boat at our little isle and then came

back to the reef, thinking not to find us, or any, there. Yet this

would not do, neither, for their Snow was no fighting ship--not, I

mean, a ship fit to attack another carrying treasure, which would be

extremely well armed--and she had _not_ fought till we got at her in

the river. That I knew from the wounds and damage, when I boarded and

searched her, being quite fresh and made by us.

Nor, again, could I deem this box to have been the proceeds of a

recent thieving expedition or attack on some sea-coast town or place,

for there were not enough men in the _Etoyle_ to have adventured such

a thing. They might have attacked a lonely house, or, as the Spaniards

call it, a _villa_, in one of the many islands of this Caribbean sea,

or on the main land of Terra Firma, yet this I also doubted, for the

contents of the box pointed a different way. The girl in the medallion

looked English by her hair, eyes, and colour; the pistols were a

Frenchman's. Moreover, the box, the lid of which was all covered with

beads pasted on to its lid and worked in many forms of flowers, was

likewise English (my mother had just such an one), and to prove for

certain 'twas so, inside the lid was the name of the workman who made

it, "Bird, Falmouth." So at last my conclusion was this, viz., that

Alderly valued the box for some reason of his own, perhaps desired

always to have some goods with him that at any crisis he could

transform into money, and therefore carried it about with him wherever

he went. I never learned that this was so, no more than that it was

not so, and now I quitted thinking how it came to be with him. Perhaps

I judged right, perhaps wrong. But of one thing I am very sure, he had

none of our treasure with him. The casket which did doubtless contain

that treasure, which must have been of precious stones alone judging

by its size, was of a certainty dropped overboard either before we

beat them, or at the last moment of defeat. At least, I never did see

any of the treasure, though in going to find it I found a greater. But

this you will read ere I conclude, as I hope soon to do. I am coming

anigh the end.

Thinking that "Martin with the sloop," or some other wretches, might

be returning, I next proceeded to bury for a time the box, which I did

by taking it out into the copse and dropping it into a great hollow

cotton-wood tree growing near, which I marked well in my mind's eye.

Then, next, I set off down to the galliot, for now I wanted food so

badly that I could no longer go without it. I had but little fear of

any getting up to the hut unbeknown to me, since, with a seaman's

ideas to help me, I concluded that the canal, or channel, or river,

as, indeed, it was, offered the only safe inlet to Coffin Island. So

if they came they must come the way I was a-going, when I could know

it and either avoid or encounter them as seemed best.

However, I met none on my way down, and found both the _Etoyle_ and my

ship just as I had left them, and the boat tied to the tree, also as I

had left it. Then I went aboard the galliot, and finding some food and

drink, set to work to stay my cravings. There was none too much, I

found, to last long, though as the men had cooked the fish and birds

they were still fresh enough. Also there was flour, and bread already

made, and some peas, while, for the water, it was nearly all there.

The fruit was quite rotten and not to be eaten, but this mattered not

at all, since, on Coffin Island, I had perceived several kinds growing

with profusion, amongst others many prickly pears.

And now, as I made my meal, I marked out in my mind what I should do

to draw matters to a conclusion. And this I decided on.

"It is a treasure house," Alderly had said of his hut, therefore,

firstly, I had got to explore that house, hoping to find therein as

much if not more than we had been robbed of. Then when Phips and I met

again, as I hoped we might, he should decide about that treasure, and

what was to be done with it. But first to find it. Yet, even as I

thought this there came to me another reflection--viz., that I could

not carry it away with me. The galliot would take me to a neighbouring

island inhabited by my own people, but an officer alone in such a

vessel, with no hands to work it but himself, must necessarily lead to

much talk and the asking of many questions--how many more would be

asked if that officer were accompanied by boxes and chests of great

weight? Therefore, that would never do! I must get away alone, leaving

the treasure--if I found any more than I had already gotten--somewhere

secure, and then I must come back again for it, properly fitted out.

Or, if I could reach Phips ere he quitted the reef, we could come back

together in the _Furie_, take off the goods and so home with no need

for further voyagings out and in.

And, on still reflecting, this was what I had a mind to do. The reef

was not a long way off; a day and night would take me there, with a

favourable wind. Only I must provision the galliot somehow; I must not

go to sea thus; but then I remembered, this was easily to be done

if I swallowed my squeamishness. The _Etoyle_ was full of food and

drink--the former coarse but life-sustaining--if I took that as I took

its owner's hordes, then I could get away.

Only, first I had to find the treasure, then dispose of it safely.

After that I might go at once. Indeed, if fortune still kept with me,

as she had ever done of late, I might be away from this island within

another thirty hours.

And so thinking, I finished my repast and set about what I had to do.

CHAPTER XXIV.

WHAT WAS IN THE TREASURE HOUSE.

Now, the first thing was for me to get into the _Etoyle_, and bring a

fair provision of food and drink, and then, I thought, I would sink

her, or, at least, would get her ready for sinking, so that she, at

any rate, should never go on any more evil cruises. This was, however,

to be done later.

I went aboard her, therefore, directly I had made my meal, and brought

off from her some Boucan, about ten pounds; some dried neats', or

deer, tongues, a good amount of powdered chocolate, and some boxes of

sweetmeats--the villains seeming to have a dainty taste!--and also I

brought away some bottles of Calcavella, a Portygee sweet wine, and a

small barrel of rum. And also did I take away some cakes of bread, now

very hard and stale, but which, by damping with fresh water and then

placing in the sun, became once more eatable. Likewise I provided

myself with some of their powder and bullets, not knowing what use I

might yet have for such things on the island, or when I was away to

sea again.

This _Etoyle_ was indeed a strangely laden bark, full of the most

varied things the minds of men could well conceive, and had it been

possible--which 'twas not, being without assistance--I would have had

her taken to one of the West Indy Isles, and her contents there sold.

She had in her, to wit, elephants' teeth and tusks, and some gold

dust--though not much of any, neither--which spoke to me clearly of

some robbings on the Guinea Coast, also some fine English cloths, silk

druggets and hollands, many packs of whole suits of clothes for

wearing; some mantuas, a box of lace, another of ribands (again I

thought of the mysterious Barbara!), pieces of fine silk duroys and

some Norwich stuffs, as well as vast masses of tobacco. Indeed, I

thought, this Snow might have visited half the world for her

cargo--had I not very well known, or guessed, that 'twas all stolen

out of various other ships.

It took me some time shifting all that was necessary for my

forthcoming voyage--leaving, you may be sure, much behind in the

_Etoyle_--and then ladening myself with some provisions for the hut, I

prepared to depart back to it.

Yet now more counsel came to me. Supposing, thinks I, that while I am

away at the hut, Martin with his sloop, or some similar villains,

should come into the river! Why! they would at once see all! The

_Etoyle_ they would perceive a battered craft--and doubtless they knew

her very well--and they would see the strange galliot. This would not

do, therefore I must devise some means if I could, not only to remove

all marks of our fray, but, if it might be so, to prevent anyone

entering the river at all. Then, at last, I decided what I would do.

First of all I took the galliot down out of the river to the sea, and,

with a light sail up, I got her to a little cove a third of a league

away from the mouth, in which I moored her; and this cove had such

projecting spurs that none passing outside would be very like to see

her. Indeed, one would have to pass close by the opening of it to do

so at all. Then, getting to the boat again, I rowed me back to the

river. Next I brought down the Snow to the mouth, moored her fast

across it, it being not more than forty to fifty yards at the opening

and about fifteen fathoms deep, as I did plumb, and going below I

bored a many holes in her sides and bottom so that she began to fill

at once, and in half an hour I, who was a-watching from my boat, saw

her settling down so that, at last, there was no more of her above

water, her masts, as I have writ, being shot away.

"Now," says I, "if Martin and his sloop come in and draw much water,

'tis almost a certainty that they shall go foul of some part of the

fabric, which may do me a very good turn--if not, then must I take my

chance against them," with which I again prepared for the hut.

That day I did very little work, though so great was my desire to dig

into and find the contents of the "treasure house" that I could

scarce take my necessary rest. Yet I mastered myself so much that I

forced myself to sleep, determining to work at night when it was cool.

So I lay me down on the east side of the place this time, the sun

having by now gotten to the west, and slept well, awaking not until

night was at hand.

Now, amidst all my precautions, 'twas strange to think I had forgotten

one thing. I had made no provision for any light at night. The lamp

knocked over by the dying pirate was still there where it had fallen,

'tis true, but the oil was all spilled and I could find no other,

search as I might. Yet I felt convinced there must be oil somewhere,

if I could but discover it. 'Twas not to be conceived that Alderly and

the diver had this lamp with them when they plunged into the river to

escape from the _Etoyle_; therefore, if I sought, surely I should

find.

Yet how to seek! The tropic darkness came on with swiftness, in a few

minutes the hut was as black as a pocket; and the moon would not rise

for some hours yet! Well! there was no hope for it, I reflected; this

night at least must be wasted, and so I made up my mind to pass it as

best I might. Though my reflections and memories of the previous

night's scene, of Alderly's drunken howls, singings, and toasts, of

the spectre his maddened brain had conjured up, and of his horrid

death, helped me not at all. I saw him over and over again sitting at

the table, filling the cans with liquor for his imaginary guests,

talking to Barbara, shivering at the supposed ghost of Winstanley,

fighting with me--dying. And at last I got the creeps, I started at

any twig that snapped outside or the cry of a night bird, and,

springing up, I went forth and plunged into the thickness, where I

walked about till daybreak. And in that walk I explored the whole of

Coffin Island very nigh, and saw under the moon, when she had risen,

that beyond the river there was no other entrance to it. Nearly all

around elsewhere were craggy cliffs to make landing almost impossible,

saving only one strip of beach.

Away on Tortola and Negada I saw once or twice lights burning, and

wondered what the inhabitants of those isles thought of their precious

neighbours in this one--I wondered, too, if they knew or dreamed of

what Coffin Island contained! And thus the night passed away, the

dayspring came, and I went back to the "treasure house."

"Was it to prove such to me?" I asked myself as I made a meal off some

of the provisions I had brought along with me. "Was it to prove such?"

The question was soon answered, as you, my unknown heir, shall now

see.

The floor of the hut was a mass of filth that had not been disturbed

for some time, and to this had been added now the spilled liquor from

the tub that Alderly had flung over in his mad convulsions, as well as

some of his blood where he had fallen last. This, therefore, with the

previous dirt, I set to clear away with the spade, after I had removed

the overturned table, the stool, and other things. And the task was

not long. Ere I had been cleaning the floor ten minutes, I came upon

an iron ring--set into a trap-door, immediately under where Alderly's

chair had been placed. It was not--I mean the trap-door--very far

below the surface, not indeed more than three inches, and, even as I

tugged and tugged at it, I could not but ponder over the little pains

taken to conceal such a hiding place. And I did wonder if, when the

villain was away on some of his cruises, he had not many a fear as to

whether his store was not being rifled.

However, this was no time for such wonderments and speculations,

actions were now all, and so again I heaved at the door. It would not

lift, however, for all my pullings, so I cleared away still more

earth, doing so especially round where it fitted into a frame, and at

last prised it right up with the mattock. And you may be sure with

what eagerness I gazed into the opening.

First of all I saw that as yet I had not reached the treasure, for

although the trap was no larger than to admit a man's body, there were

still below it some rude steps down into the earth, which opened up at

the bottom of them into what seemed to be a passage. And when I got

down to the bottom of those steps, I saw very well that there was a

passage, or, indeed, a room cut into the earth; a place about six feet

long and five feet deep, being more like a little cabin than aught

else.

And now I knew that I had got to what I sought; the treasure was here.

There stood on the floor, and piled up one above the other, four

chests, or coffers, the very workmanship of which told me they must be

old. Certainly, they had not been made in these days or anywheres near

them. They seemed to be of oak full of little wormholes, much carved

and designed, and with inscriptions on them in, I think, Latin, of

which I understood not one word. Moreover, they had great solid locks

to them as well as padlocks, but these had long since been burst open,

the reason whereof 'twas not very hard to seek out. I guessed that

those who took them from their rightful owners could not perhaps find

the keys, and so blew them or forced them thus open.

I lifted the lid of the nearest and peered in, and there the first

object to meet my eyes was a grinning skull, the bone severed right

across the head as though with a lusty sword cut.

"Well!" thinks I to myself, as I looked on this poor remnant of

mortality, "well! you are indeed a strange warden of what may be

herein. Yet, p'raps not so strange either if all accounts of piratical

doings be true." For when I was but a lad in Oliver's service, and

a-chasing the rovers not so very far from this spot where I now was,

'twas always said that they would slay a man and bury him over their

hidden treasure, so that he or his ghost should frighten away others

who would meddle with it. And so it might have been here, for, thinks

I, "perhaps as I go on I shall find other parts of a dead man in the

other chests."

Now, although 'twas daylight above, 'twas almost dark in this vault or

passage, small as it was, so that I shifted the first coffer nearer to

the bottom of the steps, so as to get a full light upon it from above,

and then I went on with my hunt, putting the death's head away for a

while. Beneath him, as he had lain atop, was what I took to be a

piece of yellow canvas, as so it was, though on looking closer I saw

that either dyed into it, or cunningly interwoven, were some flowers

like our irises, and some words all over it faint with age, of which I

could distinguish but the letters "ance" and "smes." Then, when I

lifted this up, I found that the coffer had little enough else in it

but a handful or so of gold coins lying about amongst some old things,

such as a pair of gloves with great steel beads on the backs and tops

of the fingers, some silk cloths, a great parchment in Latin--which I

laid aside--and such like. The gold coins were, however, such as I did

never see before, having on them a head of an old man with a great

brimmed hat, and stamped on them, Charles X., Roi de France,[7] 1589.

And this set me a-thinking. These coins bore the same date as the

pistols, inscribed "Marquis de Pontvismes," and the indistinct words

on the canvas cloth of "ance" and "smes" were the endings of the words

France and Pontvismes. What had I lighted on here? I turned it over

and over in my head all that day, and many a one after that, but it

was very long ere I arrived at any decision.

There were twenty-seven of these coins and nothing more of any worth

within that strong box, so I hoisted it away and began upon a second.

And in this I found I had indeed come upon a horde. It was full of

sacks or bags of coin of all sorts. Sacks with their mouths gaping

open wide, bags tied up, and also many loose coins all about. And

_they were of all countries_ and dates, there being amongst them

Spanish pieces of eight, Portyguese crusadoes, English crowns, and

many more French coins, as well as hundreds of gold pieces of our

kings and queens, away back to Queen Elizabeth. Later that day I

counted of these pieces up, and made them come to over two thousand

pounds.

Then next, in the others, I did find as follows, on the list I

enclose; all of which I do reckon, one way with another, bringeth the

gross up to what I have said, namely, fifty thousand guineas. Here is

that list.

_Note.--Unfortunately it was not here. Reginald turned all the sheets

over and over again, but could not find it. Perhaps by one of those

pieces of carelessness which seemed to have pervaded both Nicholas's

and Mr. Wargrave's system, it had been originally mislaid. But,

however that might be, it was not at this period that the former's

descendant was to learn all the items which went to make up the fifty

thousand guineas.--J. B.-B_.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE MIDDLE KEY.

So with this my huntings and findings were all over. I had found a

fortune, while the Lord only knew who would ever enjoy the spending of

it, though, for one thing, I felt very sure it would not be I myself.

There was no likelihood of that. I could never get it back to

England, and, if I did, then 'twould at once be said that I had stolen

it--either with or without Phips' connivance, and that he and I were a

brace of thieves.

But what use to ponder on such things as these! For aught I knew I

might never get back to England after all; though, somehow, there was

a something in my mind which did ever tell me I should do so.

Meanwhile, the present was enough to occupy my attention. Firstly, the

night was coming on once more and still I had found no oil, so that I

must now cease all labours until the next day. In truth I was ready to

do so, for I was weary again by now, and another thing was also very

certain, to wit, that in this hut I must take my abode. I could not go

a step away with all the treasure there was here.

So I placed the oblong box down into the vault along with the

other goods, and then, after I had made an evening meal of some

neat's-tongue and bread cake, washed down with the water from the

rill, in which also I laved my face and hands, I looked to the

primings of all the pistols, got out my cutlash, and, stretching

myself across the top of the trap-door, I addressed myself to sleep.

At first it would not come in that horrid spot; again and again I saw

the form of the dying pirate and heard his yells and singings and

toasts. But at last I slept peacefully until the day broke.

And now I had to set about removing all the treasure from the hole

where it had lain for doubtless so long--for I did not believe that

Alderly was the man who had obtained all this wealth, but rather that

some earlier corsair than he had done so and buried it, and that

Alderly in some strange way had lighted on it. It was necessary that I

should find a new hiding-place for it. "Martin with the sloop"

might--if he were indeed an actual being and not the vision of some

long dead and gone comrade, perhaps of another part of the world, as I

now had a mind to believe--come back at any moment, and also he might

know of the buried wealth in spite of the pirate's words having been,

"None know but I." For 'twas useless to give credence to any of the

utterances issuing from the bemused brain of Alderly--there might be

no Martin, or if there were he might know nothing, or, on the

contrary, he might know all. At any rate, my part was to make

everything safe.

But how to do it? I must remove it to a hiding-place that would be

always found, that should be marked in a way and manner which time

could not destroy. For who could tell when it might be sought for

again? I had then, or, I should rather say, I was then maturing in my

mind the idea of writing down all this which I have now done--with

great pain and labour to myself!--and that writing might not see the

light again for twenty years, perhaps even longer. Therefore, 'twas

necessary the spot should be such as would never be changing, a spot

which must be the same fifty years hence as it was then. Consequently

a tree, for instance, could not be made a landmark or indicator, for

tempests might blow it to earth, or years rot it away. Then I thought

of a spot on which the sun should fall at a given day, hour, and

minute--which, as I have heard, is the commonest way of all for

persons burying treasure to mark the precise spot--only, supposing ere

the time to come when the hoard should be sought for, something was

builded over the spot, as might very well be if Coffin Island became

settled, as Tortola or Negada and some others are? This risk,

therefore, small as it might be, I would not run.

Still, what should I do? I must decide quickly, for if Martin and the

sloop were real things and not shadows they might be here at any

moment, and if once my task were finished I should not mind their

coming very greatly. I could, perhaps, avoid them somehow and get

away, leaving the goods safe. Quickly I must decide. Then, as an aid

to my doing so, I determined me to walk round the isle, thinking that

in such a way a spot might be found suitable for my purpose.

So I set forth, going armed, you may be sure.

Now, this daylight walk of mine about the island showed to me very

many things that I had not seen on my midnight rounds, when the

terrors and the ghastliness of the hut had driven me forth. I learned

among other things that, not very far from the hut itself, was the

little upland from which one could look down upon the whole of the

isle and all the coast around it, and also I could see down into my

cove where I had anchored the galliot, and did observe her lying there

safe as I had left her.

Also I found that from this spot I could see for many miles out to

sea, and observe that, at least for the present, there were no signs

of my haunting fear, Martin and his sloop. To the south lay Tortola,

Anguilla, and St. Martin; to the east lay Negada, but away to the west

nought met the eye, Porto Rico being out of vision. And as for those

poor miserables who inhabited the two first above mentioned, if they

were still alive and had not died of melancholy, they gave no signs of

being so; there was no boat upon all the waters, no smoke rising from

hut or cabin; nought gave evidence of the islands being inhabited but

the faint lights I had seen at night. But what concerned me and my

present desires most was that to the north of this, Coffin Island, I

did see some little Keys or sandy spots, covered with their weeds and

bushes, lying out about a hundred yards from my island.

"Why not there?" thinks I, upon this. "Why not one of those? 'Tis now

the high tide," as I took occasion to observe, "and they are above

water, therefore 'tis not like they will ever be submerged, or, if

even so, they will come forth again. And there are three close

together; it shall be the middle one if on inspection all seems well."

So, upon this, I got me down to my boat and rowed round from the side

of Coffin Island, where the river was, to the north where the Keys

were, and went on to the middle one. It was, as I have said, covered

with bushes and weeds, none very tall, and it being now the season

there were a-many turtles on it laying of their eggs, as they will do

in any unfrequented and quiet spot.

"Yes," says I, "this must be the place and none other," and with that

I pulled away at a great bush in the middle of the Key I was standing

on, and on getting it up did see that the soil was nearly all sand.

And again I said, "This must be the place."

So I went off once more, resolving to get to work this very day, and,

making a journey to the hut, I brought off the spade and mattock and

the least heavy of the coffers--I mean that one that had the Death in

it, and when I was back on the Key I began my digging at once, and the

sand being extremely light I soon had got down some ten feet, so that

at last I had a task to scramble out of the treasure's future grave.

Then I made more journeys, and, in the end, by sunset had gotten all

the coffers as well as the long box on to the Key. And this night I

decided to sleep there, as I would not leave the goods alone until

they were buried--though I do believe that, had I left them there

exposed on the isle until now when I write, they would very like have

remained untouched; for Martin I concluded now to be entirely a myth,

and as for other pirates, they would never come to such Keys as this

when the whole place swarmed with real islands.

At sunrise I was at it again, having ate some turtle eggs for my

meal--a pleasing change for me--and by midday all was done. The four

coffers and the box went in one atop of each other, the uppermost one

being, at its lid, three feet from the surface, and with on top of

each a turtle shell, of which there were several lying about the Key.

These I put in also because the shells are almost imperishable, and,

should the coffers decay, if they have to lie--as they may, who

knows?--twenty or thirty years in the ground before this my history is

found, the great shells will protect the contents somewhat, though no

harm that I know of can come to coins, jewels, and so forth from

a-lying in the earth. Then, when all was filled up, I did most

carefully arrange the place so that, if by any strange chance anyone

should here land, no signs should be given of a disturbance being

made. I replanted the bush over the spot; with some brushwood and

scrub I removed some spare grains of sand that had been thrown up, and

arranged everything as best I might, going so far as to take some

turtles' eggs and place them about, so that they should give the

idea--if anyone did land here--that the turtles themselves had

disturbed the spot in their crawlings and creepings.

And now, for your guidance, I will write down how you shall find this

spot, and also will I draw as well as may be a little map.

First you are to know that--as the hydrographer of his Majesty's

Admiralty hath since informed me--Negada is situated 18° 46' N., 64°

20' W.; Tortola is 18° 27' N., 64° 40' W.; and Coffin Island is

consequently, since it doth lie a little to the north of Negada, as

near as possible 18° 48' N., 64° 20' W. Wherefore, if you make these

degrees, there you shall perceive that isle, shaped as it is named,

long like a coffin, thin at the foot, broad higher up, then somewhat

narrow again, the foot pointing due west, the head due east. Also the

little upland I have spoken of riseth from the centre, perhaps one

hundred and fifty to one hundred and eighty feet. Then, due north of

that and exactly in a line with the shoulder of the coffin-shape,

there are the Keys, and the middle contains the treasure. Now, read

again. From the north side of the middle key to the spot where I

buried all the coffers and the box is fifty-one good strides of three

feet each, from the south side to the same spot is fifty-three

strides, from the east is forty-nine strides, from the west is fifty

strides and a half. Therefore, you shall not miss it if so be that,

when you have taken your first measurement from the spot where you

land, you stick in the ground your sword and there make, or persevere

until you make, all your other strides correspond with what I have

wrote down. And I have made no mistake, for three times did I go over

the ground and all times did the measurements tally. Do you likewise

and you shall find what I did bury.

Now here is a little map, rough, as befits a drawing made by me, yet

just and true.

65 60

_______________________________________________________

20 | Key [+ Coffin isle] |20

| |

| [* Negada] |

|[* Porto [* Tortola] [* Virgin Gorda] |

| Rico] [* Anguilla] |

| [* St Martin] |

| |

| The cross marketh wherein the Key with |

15| the treasure is. |15

_______________________________________________________

65 60

I shall be dead before you who find this can read it, so that,

perhaps, it boots not very much that I should write down any more. Yet

some things I desire to tell, and some things I think it right for me

to leave on record.

But first let me say what was the end of my sojourn here.

When I had buried all of the treasure--excepting those pieces of gold

which I took away with me, not knowing where I might find myself ere I

reached home--if ever--I made for the galliot. For now I had done with

the hut--I never desired to see it again.

However, so that no signs of disturbance or diggings should be

apparent, should any come after me, I first of all covered up, on my

last visit to it, the spot from whence I had taken the treasure, and,

moreover, I filled in the hiding place with earth fetched from

outside, and also the descent by the steps. Indeed, I would have

burned the place down to the ground, only that I feared to set the

whole island on fire and so attract attention to my presence from the

other isles. And that there should be no more digging, if I could help

it, without great pains, I dropped the spade and mattock into the sea.

I say that I wished to attract no attention from the isles, the reason

whereof was this, which I had arrived at after many ponderings. If I

were known to be there, or if I went to those isles and showed myself,

I must be subject to many questionings, must explain all and my

chasing of the pirate, and--who knows?--in the course of talk more

might leak out than I should care for. And, therefore, I had taken a

determination; I would not go near the other isles, but, boldly and

without fear, directly the wind was favourable--which it was not

now--I would steer for the reef once more. 'Twas, I did calculate, not

more than ninety miles away; the galliot could sail that very easily

in two days, and, for finding the spot, why that also was very easy to

be done. I could well steer a course by keeping Porto Rico on my

larboard beam, and then, when the great hump of Hispaniola's Northern

Promontory did come into view, could find the road to the reef.

From there, if Phips was gone, I must to the Bahamas--for I should not

dare to go ashore in Hispaniola now, since the news of the Black's

death, and Geronimo's rage at being defeated of what he thought due,

might lead me to trouble--and I could, perhaps, get to the Inaguas.

These, for there are two of that name, the Great and the Little, are

in the Windward Passages, well known to navigators, very useful for

putting into for refitting and watering, and belonging to our Crown.

Yet--for so things will sometimes happen--nought went as I had

forecast. And this you shall hear, after which my history is

concluded--for which I devoutly thank the Lord, and shall, on the

Sabbath after it is finished, offer up a special prayer of

thanksgiving in Branford Church that I have been allowed to bring it

to an end--and I shall then have no more to tell.

CHAPTER XXVI.

NICHOLAS LEAVES THE ISLAND.

Now, when all was prepared for my setting forth and when I had gotten

the galliot ready for her next cruise and had also taken in some fresh

water, a small live turtle, some fruit, and all my bread and peas--now

running very low--chance was against me for a while. Even for three

weeks the wind did blow strong from the northwest, while all the time

I desired a wind from the south-east, and I began to ponder if at this

season of the year it did not perhaps stay in the same quarter

altogether. There was, however, nought to do but to possess my soul in

patience, to keep ever a cheerful heart, and to trust in God, as all

my life I have done. Meanwhile, in some ways the delay was not

altogether to be repined at, for I made, during it, several visits to

the Key in my boat and observed that now there was no sign at all of

the burying I had made. The bush above the spot had taken root again

at once, and was growing and flourishing, some rain storms that had

come had smoothed and made solid the disturbed earth, and the turtles

were laying of their eggs all around as if no human foot had ever

stood upon the Key.

One thing alone troubled me, and that was food--or rather bread, for

this was now running very short. If I did not get away soon, I should

have to do without it altogether, or go seek for some in Negada and

Tortola. Yet neither, I was resolved, would I do this, but rather

exist without bread at all. I was a sailor, I ever told myself, and a

sailor should be able to endure all hardships.

But on the twenty-second day since I buried my spoils, a change came.

I was sleeping in the cabin of my galliot, when with the dawn I

perceived it. The northwest wind from which I had been sheltered in

my cove had never disturbed the vessel; now from her starboard side,

which was to the south as she lay, there blew in a hot southern wind,

waves and riplets came into the cove from that direction and lapped

against her bows, and she began gently to rise and fall and heel over

a little from them, as though she were a living thing, impatient to be

off.

"'Tis come," I exclaimed, springing up. "The hour has come to bid

farewell to this spot. If this wind hold forty-eight hours I shall be

at the Inaguas if I find not Phips at the reef."

The morn was not yet however, but was anigh as I stepped to the deck;

the breeze sweeping up from the long line of islands to the south was

a-freshening; the stars began to pale, the new moon to wane. No time

could have been better for me than this quiet period before the dawn

to steal away.

In half an hour I was well outside the cove, the masts stepped, the

sails set--and I at the helm had set forth upon my road home. 'Twas a

strange voyage for one alone to undertake--had there been another, or

even a boy, to relieve me 'twould have been nought; but now 'twas a

voyage without a compass or aught to guide me, nothing indeed to help

me but the mercy of heaven, my knowledge of the sea, and my strong

frame and good health. However, we slipped round Coffin Island a

little later, and I saw for the last time the spot that held the

buried treasure. The little Key was visible beneath the now rising

sun, the sea-birds were wheeling round and about it, and the blue

water rippled on its shores. And so I took farewell of it, knowing

that I should never see it any more. May you, whomsoever you may be

for whom I write this narrative, find it as I left it, unharmed and

untouched. May your eyes gaze upon it and find therein what I left

behind when mine have long been closed in death.

And now I had nought to do but steer my bark for that easterly point

of Hispaniola called of late Cape Françoy, and so I should come near

to the reef, and this, since the wind was very good and not

boisterous, 'twas easy enough to do. When I was weary I would lower

down the sails, lash the rudder, and so take some rest--doing this, of

course, by day only, since when the night came I must keep good

watch--and then set sail again when refreshed, finding my course easy

enough by the sun and breeze.

And so the first day passed, and I did calculate that--allowing for my

rest--I had left Coffin Island some twenty to fifteen leagues behind

me, and, so that I should not pass the Bajo and thereby run on to

_Moushoire Carré_, or Turk's Islands, I shortened sail. Yet this I

need not have done neither, for in some way I had not got my

calculations aright. At dawn there was no land in sight as I thought

to see, so that the galliot had not sailed as I guessed, or I had

missed my course. The wind, however, and the sun forbade me to think

this, so I made all sail again and went on.

At midday I did discover I was on the right tack; Cape Françoy and

Samana rose on my beam end, therefore I knew that by altering my

course a point to the north I must strike the spot where the reef was.

And this I did, judging by the sun that it was four of the afternoon

when first I saw the little shoal waters over it.

I know not even now if I was glad or sorry to perceive--as I did very

soon--that the _Furie_ was no longer there. Yet I think it was the

latter, for I had hoped to hear the cheery shout of Phips, to see my

brother officers come round me, to hear the welcomes of the men, and

to be able to tell my tale. But 'twas not to be. All around the reef

was as lonely as if no plate ship had ever sunk there, no attempts

ever been made to get up its contents, no horrid tragedy happened such

as that when Phips slew the Black and executed of his companion. Birds

flew about all over it, seeking perhaps for scraps of food where not a

month ago they had found a plenty, the little waves foamed over the

sunken reef where the now emptied treasure ship lay--but that was all.

No! I forget. 'Twas not all. As I drew near I saw sticking up from the

water--as I had not been able to see before because of the flittings

of the many gulls--that which looked like a jagged piece of mast, or

yard of a ship, with something crosswise atop of it, and my curiosity

being great I got the galliot near to it. I knew I could do this,

since she had gone over the reef often enough when acting as a tender,

and when 'twas done I saw that it was indeed a mast standing up

endwise in the water, the lower part doubtless fixed into some crevice

or hole by the diver ere the _Furie_ left. And the cross-piece nailed

on to the top of the mast was in the form of a big arrow rudely

carved, placed so that it pointed towards where Europe was, and with

on it the words, "To Nicholas Crafer. Make your way home." That was

all, yet it told enough. The _Furie_ had gone home with the treasure;

if I was still alive I was to go too.

* * * * * *

Let me be brief. That remaining day and night I anchored off our

original little isle, took in some fresher water than I had, and

caught some fishes. Also I once more did cover again the bleached

bones of those mutineers who had endeavoured to surprise and seize

upon the _Algier Rose_--'twas the last time, I reflected, it would

ever be done by me or any. There was no danger of losing the

favourable wind by resting here for these few hours; if anything it

was blowing stronger and fresher from the south-east than before. Nay,

when I put off in the morning for the furtherance of my course, it was

blowing so much in a manner I cared not for, namely in fitful gusts

followed by moments of stillness, that I doubted me if I was overwise

in putting to sea again yet. Moreover, the wind was almost due south

by now, so that to make the Inaguas I should have much more trouble

and work than when sailing large and free before a favourable breeze.

However, I must go, I would not be detained. Indeed, I had come to

hate all this region so much that, even should a chance arise in the

future for me to come out and bring off all my treasure, I felt as

though I should have no mind to it. Phips might come an he would, and

get it, but, for myself, I wanted not to come again. If the Hispaniola

plate had been gotten back safely, then there would be a share for me

that would keep me from the wolf for the remainder of my days. It

would not be wealth, but would doubtless suffice--and I had finished

with the sea!

Though not yet.

When I was two hours out from our little isle, and, as I believed,

near unto _Moushoire Carré_, I did discover that I had been foolish to

put out against so fast rising a wind. For it had now freshened into a

gale due from the south, so that I had to sail close-hauled if I

wanted to pass that place in safety, and also Turk's Islands. Nor even

a little later was this possible, as it blew more and more. I could no

longer manage both sails and helm. So now I had to take down most all

my sail excepting the foresail to steady the galliot, and to put her

head before the wind, abandoning of my course altogether. And not long

afterwards the storm had become a furious one, the whole heavens were

obscured, the sea rose horribly--I saw at this moment a picaroon in

distress a little way off me, and shortly go down--and my galliot did

seem to be doomed.

And now I never thought but that I had reached my journey's end, that

all was over with me. Huge seas swept over the bows, the vessel soon

began to fill with water, she rolled and tossed from side to side so

that I could not keep my feet, and then I heard a crash, I saw the

mainmast falling swiftly towards me, I felt a blow that shot a

thousand stars from my eyes, and I knew no more.

* * * * * *

When I again recovered of my senses I understood not at first where I

was, excepting that I was lying in a berth in a dark cabin, that all

my head was swathed in cloths, and that standing near me was an

elderly man, regarding me attentively.

"Where," I asked, "am I! This is not the galliot."

"So," he replied in my own tongue, "you are an Englishman! We thought

by the build of your galliot that you were a Dutchman. Who and what

are you?"

"Lieutenant Crafer, late of his Majesty's navy, and late first

Lieutenant of the _Furie_, Captain Phips. What ship is this?"

"His Majesty's _Virgin_ Prize, a 32-gun frigate, Captain John Balchen.

Homeward bound. You should know this officer, Lieutenant Crafer."

"Very well," I answered. "We have served together. Yet 'tis not

strange if he knows not me, no razor has touched my face for many

weeks."

And so it was that I found myself bound to England in a King's ship,

having for her captain a man whom I had been at sea with ere now, when

he was my subaltern. That I told him all as regards the treasure you

are not to suppose; that secret was locked in my own breast, to be

divulged to one only, Phips. But I did give him a very fair and

considerable history of much that we had gone through, and, living

with him in his cabin and at his table, you may be sure that we had

many talks on the subject of the sunken plate-ship.

"Yet," said he often, "I misdoubt me if King James will be there to

take his tenths when Phips gets the _Furie_ home. The people will

endure him but little longer--he is now an avowed Papish--and already

there are whisperings of putting one of his daughters in his place. If

'twere Mary all would be well, since she is married to a staunch

Protestant, though the country would scarce accept him, too, I think."

Yet, as you will see by later day history, James was still there when

I got back. And this I did on Lady Day in the year of our Lord 1687,

the _Virgin_ Prize making Portsmouth a month after she picked me up, a

corpse as they first thought, from the deck of the galliot, which was

cast off after I was rescued. It seemed from their calculations and

mine that I must have been met with some hours only after I was

struck down, and at first they thought I had been attacked by the

picaroon--which ships are generally full of thieves--which they had

been a-chasing.

So, in this way, I came back from my second voyage to the wrecked

Spanish Plate Ship, and put my foot once more on my native land at

Portsmouth Hard.

And now but a few words more and I have done.

CHAPTER XXVIL

THE NARRATIVE ENDS.

'Twas at the Navy Tavern at Portsmouth that I learned that Phips had

preceded me home but a fortnight, that he had sailed to the Downs with

the _Furie_ and all her contents, and that, most faithful to his word,

he had sent a letter for me. In it he said that he prayed to God I

might some time or other get back safe to England--and that, if he

should be gone away again, he would charge himself to leave my share

of the sale of the treasure in safe keeping, of which I should be

advised both by a letter to the Admiralty directed for me, and also by

another to this tavern. Likewise, he said, he trusted that I had been

able to come up with that most uncommon rogue and villain, Alderly,

that I had taken vengeance of him for his treachery, and that I had

recovered whatever I might find he had stolen from the Plate Ship. And

if, he said, I had been enabled to bring that stolen wealth back with

me, then I was to communicate with his Grace of Albemarle--supposing

him, Phips, gone--who should see that it was properly directed to the

right quarters.

So there was now nought for me to do but to make for London myself,

after I had slept one night in the old town, changed a few of the gold

pieces I had taken off Alderly ere I buried him, and bought me a fair

decent change of clothes in which to travel and appear in London. And

in fifteen hours I was there from the time of my setting out, and once

more ensconced in an inn I had heretofore patronised, namely, "The

Blossoms," in Lawrence Lane, Cheapside.

The finding of Phips after this was by no means difficult; even at the

inn they had heard of his arrival: they told me, indeed, that there

was much commotion both on Change as well as in Court and Naval

circles at the amount of treasure he had brought home with him;

while--says my hostess to me--

"Might you, sir, be the gentleman they say he left behind to chase

those cruel, wicked pirates who had stolen part of the treasure he did

find?"

I answered that I was indeed that officer, whereon she told me that

the town talked much about me, that even some of the journals had

written discourses upon my having gone off to chase pirates in nought

but a ship's boat--as they termed it--and that it would be a fine

thing for the gentry who produced those sheets when they should hear

that I was safe back so very little a while after Phips himself.

However, I wanted to see Phips himself, and this I very soon did,

finding of him by presenting myself at the Duke's house, where I

noticed a most extraordinary bustle going on, and discovered that his

Grace was just about to proceed to Jamaica to take up the governorship

thereof. Poor man! he did but enjoy it a year, all of which time he

was thinking of nought but finding new treasure round about that

island, and then at the end of that his bottle took him off. However,

'tis the present I have to tell of, and will, therefore, but say that,

ten minutes after my announcement, the Duke came to me.

"Now," said he, greeting me, "this is the joyful day, Lieutenant

Crafer; I do indeed rejoice to see you back safe and sound, and so

will Phips. He is hard by--he shall be sent for."

Whereon he ordered a man to go to the lodgings and to tell Sir William

Phips that Lieutenant Crafer was gotten home safe and sound.

"Sir William Phips!" I exclaimed. "Sir William! So! has he come to

such honour as that?"

"He hath, indeed," laughed the Duke, who seemed more jolly now than

when we went out with the _Furie_--perhaps his new appointment making

him so--"he hath, indeed. The King seemed so well pleased with his

tenth that he insisted on knighting our friend, and hath even silenced

those wretches of the city who say that--that Phips, and--well, no

matter."

"What do they say, my Lord Duke?" I asked, though I could very well

guess.

"Oh! 'tis nothing, a trifle! and, since neither the King nor I believe

it, not to be considered."

"I can imagine what they say, your Grace," I exclaimed. "It is that we

have feathered a nest somewhere--that all has not been brought home

that was found. Yet, 'tis not true----"

"Tush, man, tush!" interrupted the Duke. "Who shall think it is?"

"It is not true," I went on. "Every farthing's worth Phips got he

brought home, I will swear--while as for what Alderly stole from the

plate ship, why, they sunk it when we boarded them."

"Man alive!" exclaimed the Duke, "who doubts it? I do not, who am the

chief concerned, nor will the King hear a word. See, here is a

testimony I mean to give to Phips. A gold cup I have had made out of a

thousand pounds' worth of the treasure. 'Tis for his wife in Boston,

now Lady Phips, to whom he hath sent out instructions to buy a fine

brick house to live in. For, you must know, the King hath promised him

the Governorship of Massachusetts as soon as it falls vacant, when he

will be settled for life."

I regarded the cup, very costly and beautiful, engraved, "From

Christopher, Duke of Albemarle, to his trusty friend, Sir William

Phips," while the Duke bade his servant bring us a tankard, and at

that moment in came Sir William himself hot haste to see me.

* * * * * *

"No," he said to me that night, as we sat at wine in his lodgings hard

by the Strand, "no, Nick, that hidden treasure is yours, and yours

alone. It belongs not to our providers here, nor does any share

pertain to me. You it was who found it, you it was who had all the

risk in going to find it. It shall be yours and yours only, since none

other of the galliot's crew are now in existence. Only," he went on,

"as now you are provided for, I would leave it there awhile. Say, for

another generation. For if you go and dig it up now, then will the

merchants say that they spoke truly when they accused us of robbing

them."

"I shall never go to dig it up," I said, "I will go to sea no more.

The Duke tells me there is four thousand pounds for me at Sir Josiah

Child's--'tis enough to do very well for my life. I will buy me a

little house somewhere, and an annuity from some nobleman with the

rest."

"And," went on Sir William, "in that little house find out a hiding

place, and leave therein a full description of where your treasure is,

so that those who come after you shall, if they care to be at the

trouble thereof, discover a fortune. You will be marrying now, Nick,

perhaps?"

"Nay," said I, "I think not. Never now! Once when my heart was young

and fresh I did love a sweet young girl--she was the daughter of a

retired officer of Oliver's, and they dwelt at Kew--but the smallpox

ravaged the land and took her from me. I find myself thinking of her

often now; perhaps 'tis because the time is drawing near when I shall

see her again, as young and fair as she was in those bygone, happy

days; but I shall never have a wife."

"Poor Nick, poor Nick," said Phips, laying his great hand very gently

on my shoulder. "Poor Nick. So you have had your romance too. Ah,

well! so have most men." Then a little later he said, "You know I go

out again with Sir John Narborough--I cannot rest quietly at home in

Boston till my rule begins in Massachusetts--we shall be near your

little Key--shall I go and dig your spoil up? I would do it most

faithfully for you, Nick, as you know."

"No," I answered, after pondering awhile. "No, not unless you will do

so and take it, or some of it, for yourself."

"That," said he, "I will never do. Not a stiver, not one coin. 'Tis

all yours."

"Then let it lie there," said I, "for those who shall come after me.

There is one other Crafer left in Hampshire, a country gentleman, who

has perhaps some children now. It shall be theirs when I am gone if

they choose to search for it."

So we parted for the last time, not without tears in our eyes, we

having been so much to each other for so long that we could not easily

say farewell.

As for him, he went on his cruise with Sir John Narborough, but, as he

after wrote me, he found nothing.

And then the time came for him to take up his rule in his own land,

which he did wisely and well, and perhaps because of his old belief in

sooth-sayers, and wizards, and geomancers--and, indeed, the knave I

have writ of did tell his fortune most wondrously, even to his

becoming a ruler though not a King--he spared many in New England who

would have been barbarously entreated otherwise. And he took with him

a fine gold medal, which the now fast falling King had had struck in

honour of his finding the galleon's wreck, having on it the words

_Semper tibi pendeat Hamus_, which the curate of Mortlake did

afterwards translate for me as meaning, "May thy fishing always be as

good to thee."

It bore on it a supposed drawing of the _Furie_, but none too

accurate, though near enough.

Of the treasure the Duke took £90,000, His Majesty's tenth was

something under £20,000, but not much, and the merchants got many of

them £8,000 to £10,000, for every £100 they had adventured. This is

speaking roundly, as I have heard sums of more and less mentioned in

connection with all concerned. Phips's share, as he told me, was

£16,000, and would have been more had he not out of his own purse paid

to a-many of the seamen some sums which the merchants withheld from

them. Cromby's old mother was dead, I found on inquiring, so that I

could do nothing there.

Now, 'twas some six years afterwards, and when James had been gone

nigh that time to France, that Phips wrote to me he was a-coming

to England and hoped among others to see me. Yet, alas! we

never met again. I was at this time sore troubled with gout and

rheumatism--though, I thank God, much of both have passed away--and I

could not, therefore, go to see him. Nor, neither was he ever able to

come to me. He had not been in London many days when he catched a

cold, and this turning to a fever he died. And he was buried in the

Church of St. Mary Woolnoth, where, when I was recovered, I went and

said a prayer above his tomb.

Why should I write a funeral sermon on him for those who never knew

him? Suffice, therefore, if I say that he was honest, manly, and

God-fearing, and a better man did never live. To me, his subaltern, he

was ever kindly, gentle, and friendly, very courteous, yet also, when

we came to know each other, very brotherly; and to conclude, I loved

him. No need to say more.

Now I have done. Almost all the evenings of four months it hath taken

me to write this story down--I beginning of it in the bleak cruel

nights of winter, and ending of it when the leaves are pushing forth.

And I have written as truly as I know how, telling no lies, and trying

also very hard to make my story understandable to whomso'er shall come

across it.

My house--which I bought here, because 'twas across the river in years

agone I used to wander with the girl I loved so dear, and because I

can see the paths where we walked when I arise from my bed every

morning--I shall leave to a Crafer for ever, so that some day, if the

line dieth not out, one of that name must find the clue. That it shall

be a Crafer I do earnestly hope, but if not it cannot be helped. And

in conclusion all I will now say is, that I do pray that whosoever

readeth this narrative, and whosoever afterwards shall find the buried

treasure on the little Key, he will use it well and nobly, devoting

some part of it, if not all, to God's service. Amen.

NICHOLAS CHAFER.

_The Search by Reginald Crafer_.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

OFF TO THE VIRGIN ISLES.

The passengers by the Royal Mail steamer, especially the younger and

fairer members thereof, felt an emotion of genuine regret when

Reginald Crafer left the ship at Antigua, there to make the connection

with the company's vessel, the _Tyne_, which runs to Anguilla and

Tortola fortnightly.

For like so many, nay, almost all naval officers with but few

exceptions, Reginald possessed those manly and pleasant graces which

soon endear a stranger to any number of persons among whom he may

happen to be thrown; and ere the steamer--crowded with tourists of the

better class who were avoiding the rigour of our winter by a tour in

the West Indian Islands--had been a week out of Southampton, he had

made himself a general favourite. Of course he could dance--when did a

sailor ever exist who could not?--also he could sing; he had seen much

of the world and he was good-looking. Let anyone who has been on an

ocean trip say if these accomplishments and charms are not sufficient

to at once make a man popular in the community assembled on such an

occasion.

And also there was about him some slight tinge of mystery, some little

reticence on his part, as to what he wanted or desired to do at

Anguilla or Tortola, which added a flavour to the manner in which this

handsome young officer was regarded. For at either of these islands

there is nothing for a man to do at all, unless he should desire to

pass his life in breeding herds of goats, cows, or sheep, or in

fishing, or rearing poultry, or cultivating a little cotton or sugar.

And certainly Reginald Crafer did not seem to be a man of that sort.

"It can't be to see the bloomin' islands," said a bagman on board who

was not a favourite, though possessing vast information about the

locality, derived from visiting the whole of the Gulf of Mexico and

the Caribbean Sea on business, "because there's nothing to see, and as

a naval officer I'll bet he's seen enough islands. And it can't hardly

be a gal."

"Scarcely, I should imagine," said a stately young lady, by whom, as

by others, this person's remarks were not much appreciated, "since I

believe there are few gentlemen or ladies there except the Consuls and

their families. Nor do I see that Lieutenant Crafer's business is your

affair or mine," whereon she turned on her heel and left him.

Meanwhile Reginald, who, perhaps, was not unconscious of the curiosity

he had raised, though taking no notice of it, had plenty to think of

as well as having always to keep a guard upon his tongue.

Indeed, it would not be saying too much if the announcement was made

that the discovery of Nicholas Crafer's statement had produced a total

change, not only in this young man's method of life, but also in his

mind.

When he had finished the perusal of that statement (which, you may

remember, he began one November afternoon) another day had come; a

foul, murky, fog-laden atmosphere was doing duty for the dawn. The

river reeked with it, and so did the fields across the Thames. Also

the fire had gone out now, though he had made it up several times

during the night, the lamp had consumed nearly the last drop of oil in

its glass bowl, and he could hear his old housekeeper and general

servant shuffling about upstairs as though preparing to begin the day.

And his eyes were wet with tears--tears which the last page or two of

that finely-written, often misspelt, and sometimes nearly illegible

manuscript had caused to spring to them. For to him, young and

impressive--though as yet his heart had never been fairly touched by

Love's rose-tipped wings--there seemed a sadness inexpressible in the

story of his ancestor's love for the daughter of one of Oliver's

officers who had died so young, and of the manner in which he had

bought the house, so that daily, when he arose, the first place to

meet his eyes should be the spot where they had walked together in

those long-forgotten years.

"Poor old Nicholas!" he thought, as he went to the French windows and

drew the heavy curtains that protected the room from the river's damp,

and peered across that river to the other side; "poor old Nicholas! It

was there you used to walk with her when you were both young. It was

there, when you had grown old and she had long since gone and left

you, that you used to gaze and dream of her. And," he went on, as he

turned back into the room, "it was here, in this very spot, two

hundred years ago, that you sat night by night writing that story

alone, as I this night have sat alone and read it. I almost wonder

that your ghost did not come forth and stand at my elbow, and peer

over my shoulder at your crabbed, crooked handwriting as I did so."

He dropped the manuscript in his pocket as he finished his meditations

and, going upstairs, met the old housekeeper coming down.

"Lawks, Mr. Reginald!" she said with a start, "what a turn you give

me! Whatever have you got up so early for?"

"I have not been to bed yet, Maria," he said, "but I am going now."

Then, observing her look of astonishment and the shaking of her

head--perhaps she thought he had been wassailing in London and had

only just come down by the early train--he said, "I have been engaged

all night over some family papers. Call me at twelve and get some

breakfast ready by then. I shall go to town directly afterwards. And,

Maria, I shall be going abroad again soon; you will have the house all

to yourself once more."

"Ha!" she said, with a grunt; "well, who's afraid? I ain't, neither of

ghostes nor burgulars, tho' we had one----"

But Reginald was on his way to bed before she had finished her

oration.

"The first thing to be done," he thought to himself, as he splashed

about in his bath after that five hours' sleep--which was enough for

him, since it was more than a watch below--"is to get a promise from

the first Sea Lord, on the ground of 'urgent private affairs,' that I

shall not be called upon to serve for another year. If I can manage

that, then off I go to Coffin Island and dear old Nick's treasure.

Lord bless me! how I would like to have known Nick--as Phips called

him."

There had come into the young man's heart as he read that paper a

feeling which, I suppose, often comes into the hearts of most of us

who have ever had ancestors--the feeling that we would like to have

known them, to have seen them and to have shaken hands with them,

observed the quaint garb they wore, and listened to their quaint

speech. So it was now with Reginald. He would have liked to have heard

Nicholas tell the story instead of having read it, would like to have

stood by his side when he fought the _Etoyle_, to have been by him

when the drunken and delirious pirate died singing his song, to have

accompanied him on that solitary voyage when he kept--good honest

man!--a cheerful heart and trusted to his God alone to watch over him.

"I wonder whose treasure it was that he found?" the young man

meditated--"not Alderly's, at any rate. The pirates never buried their

treasure, though the story-books say they did, but rather took it with

them to their favourite haunts to spend in a debauch. Even Alderly was

doing that at the time Nicholas captured him; he had his box with him,

full of ready money for spending purposes. And those others, those

antique coins, those jewels and precious things, what were they?

Buried, perhaps, by some French refugee who had been cast away on

Coffin Island and found by Alderly, or stolen from some French

treasure ship by an earlier pirate than Alderly, yet still found by

him. Shall I ever know?"

But, whether he would ever know or not was a matter of very small

importance to Reginald Crafer, in comparison with the fact that he was

going to find them again himself, if he possibly could. For that they

should not lie any longer in the middle Key above Coffin Island than

it would take him to go and fetch them, he was very firmly resolved.

"The Key isn't likely to have shifted," he reflected, "nor to have

become entirely covered by the sea for good and all. And if it has,

why, science has advanced a bit since the days of Nicholas, and we

will have it out. The treasure has been found twice as it has been

buried twice--once by its original owner, as I believe, and once by

Nicholas; I'll make the third finder. There's luck in odd numbers!"

and remembering his Latin, of which he had a better knowledge than his

sailor relative had had, he murmured, "_Numero deus impare gaudet!_"

The First Sea Lord proved kind, perhaps because Reginald was a young

officer who had done well and was favourably known already, besides

having once served in his own flag-ship and come under his notice; and

though he hummed and hawed a little at first, and talked a good deal

about the shortness of lieutenants, and so many being required to be

called out for the Naval Man[oe]uvres, and so on, at last said that he

thought he might promise that Lieutenant Crafer's services should not

be asked for for another year. Then, next, the young man bought a

chart of the Caribbean Sea, and, as the charts of to-day are rather

better than they were in the elder Crafer's time, he found Coffin

Island marked very plainly, though still not named, thereon; and he

also saw the three Keys dotted on it. "So that's all right and

comfortable," Reginald said to himself, whereon he at once made all

his plans for going on his search, and, as has been told, had by now

arrived at Antigua, whence the _Tyne_ goes fortnightly to Tortola and

Anguilla.

Yet, when he had settled down here to wait for that vessel's

sailing--which would not be for another forty-eight hours--he scarcely

knew how he should set about his work. Coffin Island might be

inhabited by now, for all he knew, though judging by the little

knowledge possessed of it by any of the _personnel_ of the ship in

which he had come out, it did not appear very probable that it was.

Nobody on board that ship could say whether it was occupied or not,

most of the officers, indeed, being a little hazy as to where Coffin

Island was.

However, by the next day he had gained one piece of information which

might or might not be true, but that, if the former, was likely to

throw some difficulties in his way. He had learnt that there were

inhabitants--as his informant believed, though he wouldn't be

certain--on the island; for that there was such a place as Coffin

Island was very well known in Antigua, if not in the Royal Mail

steamers.

He had encountered as he lounged about the hotel in St. John's--which

is the capital of Antigua,--one of those busy gentlemen who are to be

found in almost every part of the world to which strangers come and

go: an American. This worthy person, who was young, tall, and

dandified, having in his "bosom" a beautiful diamond pin, addressed

Reginald the first moment he saw him with such a flood of offers and

questions as almost stunned him; yet so long was the flow of oratory

that it gave him time to collect his thoughts and be wary.

"If," said Mr. Hiram Juby, as he handed out a big card with that name

on it, "you are thinking of settling here, I can be of assistance to

you. Though, if you're buying land, I should scarcely recommend

Antigua. It is not very remunerative and not cheap. Now, in Dominica,

which has no export duties, sir, Crown land can be obtained for two

dollars and a half an acre. Trinidad is five dollars, St. Lucia five;

Tobago, also without export duties, is two and a half. I am also an

agent for the United States Governmental Insurance Company, patronised

and insured in by the first families of the----"

"I am not thinking of buying any land, Mr. Juby," Reginald said,

quietly.

"Then you must be a tourist. Therefore, you will want to know the best

hotels. Now there is----"

"I shall stay at no hotels," Reginald again replied.

"Stay at no hotels! Then you are perhaps going to camp out. If so, I

have the agency for some of the best United States tents, utensils,

rifles and guns, hickory fishing-rods, and so forth. Sir, will you

take a cocktail, or shall we try a dish of mangrove oysters? Or, if

you are a conchologist, mineralogist, or botanist, I should like to

show you some collections I have for sale which would save you much

labour and classification----"

"Sir," said Reginald, "I am none of those things! I am a sailor

amusing myself with a visit to this lovely spot. I want nothing," and

he turned on his heel.

"Stay, sir, stay, I beg," Mr. Juby said, going after him as he

left the verandah. "You are a sailor visiting this lovely spot, and

you want nothing I can supply you with! Why, sir, I have the very

thing for you--a thing that would have suited nobody but a sailor. I

have a little thirteen-ton cutter yacht--it belonged to Sir Barnaby

Briggs--your countryman, sir, who died of drink, so they said, not I,

in Guadaloupe--but then these French will say anything but their

prayers. And I will let it you, sell it to you, furnish it for you,

find you a sailor man or so----"

"What," said Reginald, interested now, for he thought perhaps here was

the best way of all in which to visit Coffin Island--"what do you want

for the hire of it?"

But before even these terms could be arranged, Mr. Juby insisted--and

he would take no denial--that they should be discussed over the most

popular drink in all the West Indian Islands, a cocktail; so on to the

verandah they went to partake of one. And it was among the various

acquaintances to whom Mr. Juby--in thorough American fashion--insisted

on "presenting" Reginald, that he learnt that Coffin Island was

inhabited.

CHAPTER XXIX.

DRAWING NEAR.

"The Virgin Isles," exclaimed one of these acquaintances as he spat on

the ground after swallowing his cocktail at a gulp, "the Virgin Isles!

Why, darn the Virgin Isles! What can you do there, young fellow, 'cept

go fishing? That is, unless you are a Dane or else a Dutchman "--by

which he meant a German--"then you might trade a bit."

But here Mr. Juby, who didn't quite approve of his new client being

called "young fellow," explained that he was a gentleman who had

neither come to settle nor travel, but only to see the place

generally. Also, he informed him, as if the whole thing was

settled--which it wasn't--that Mr. Crafer had hired the late Sir

Barnaby Briggs's yacht from him and was going to make some tours in

it.

"Oh!" said the other, scraping the frozen sugar off the rim of his

empty glass as he spoke, and sucking it off his finger--"Oh! if that's

all, he's welcome enough to go to the Virgin Isles if he wants to. I

thought he wanted to shove some dollars into coco-growing or Liberian

coffee. A tourist, eh?"

"That's all," said Reginald, "only a tourist."

"Well! there's good enough sailing round the Virgin Isles or any

others in these parts, if you want to sail; but I thought Mr. Juby

said you were a sailor. Now, if you are, what do you want to go

sailin' about for? Isn't dry land good enough for a sailor off duty?"

"Do you know the Virgin Islands?" asked Reginald, not caring to notice

the man's cantankerous disposition.

"Know 'em! I guess I do know 'em! all the lot. And not one worth a

red. Which do you particular want to see?"

"All of them," replied Reginald. "Perhaps Tortola in particular."

"Tortola! the rottenest of the lot, except, perhaps, Anegada. Or,

p'raps I'd best say Coffin Island. That is about the--there!

well!----I'll be----"

"Coffin Island!" exclaimed Reginald, now very wary. "That's a sweet

name! What sort of a place is that?"

"Kinder place fit to go and die in, to just roll yourself up in and

kick. Kind of a dog's hole, covered with palm trees, gros-gros,

moriches and all, Spanish baggonets and sich like. A place as is all

yellow and voylet and pink and crimson with flowers, and smells like a

gal's boodwar," (this was an awful mouthful for him, but he got it out

safely), "though I don't know much about gals' boodwars neither. My

daughters ain't got none."

"It must be lovely," Reginald said quietly.

"Love--ly!" the man echoed. "Love--ly! Bah! there ain't five pounds'

trade in it a year. The oranges and guavas ain't worth fetching when

you can get 'em in the other places without half the trouble, nor more

ain't the nutmegs. Likewise, it's chock-a-block full of tarantula

spiders and centipides."

"In such a case I suppose it is uninhabited," Reginald hazarded.

"Well, no it ain't, not altogether," the other replied. "Leastways,

that's to say partly. There's a fisher fellow lives there when he

ain't nowheres else, and he's got a son and a darter. They've been a

living there for over a cent'ry, I've heard tell."

"What!" exclaimed Reginald and Juby together while others round who

had been listening to the discourse burst out laughing.

"For over a cent'ry and more," the man went on, "this fellow Bridges'

family have been living there----"

"Only," chimed in another man, "that ain't the name. It ain't Bridges

at all. It's Aldridge."

"No," said still a third, "it isn't Aldridge neither, though something

like it."

"Are you telling the story or am I?" exclaimed the first. "And darn

the name! What do names matter?" Here he was appeased by the

thoughtfulness of Reginald, who suggested some more cocktails round,

after which he went on--

"More than a cent'ry, I've heard they've been there. You see, this

family is a bit wrong in their heads, and they've got into those heads

the idea that somewhere in that darned Coffin Island there's a mort of

treasure buried----"

Reginald was sipping his cocktail as the man arrived at this point,

and his teeth clicked involuntarily against the glass as the latter

uttered the last words; but, beyond this, he did not betray himself

Yet it seemed to him that his heart beat quicker than before. "And,

therefore, if it's to be found," the man continued, "they mean to find

it. Yet no one as I ever heard of, or knew, believes it's there. If it

was to be got, they'd have got it before. They do say they've dug up

half the island looking for it. But there, I don't know, I've never

been ashore in Coffin Island myself."

"But," said Reginald, "you said just now that the man only lived there

when he did not live somewhere else. Does he leave his island

sometimes, then?"

"He does and so does the son. You see, mister, up that way the people

are sailors--like yourself!--just because they can't be much else.

And good sailors they are, too, as well as fishermen, so when

they've got no turtle nor fish to take, as happens in some times of

the year, they go off as sailors in any ship in these parts as wants

hands. Now, some of 'em goes down Aspinwall and Colon way--that there

once-supposed-to-be-going-to-be-made Panama Canal took a lot of men

down there--and some goes to the other Islands, even up to Jamaiky and

so on. Well, the old man and his son can't always just live on their

stock-rearing and fishing and turtle-catching, and so off they goes

too, to get a few more dollars to buy a cask of rum or something they

want."

"But the daughter; she cannot go as a sailor too!"

"Oh, no! But she can stop at home and look after the shop. And they do

say that she's quite able to do it. She's a caution, I've heard."

This was all the man knew, and, under the influence of the cocktails,

he would have been very willing to go on telling more, had he had any

further information. And, indeed, considering the distance of Antigua

from Coffin Island, it was extraordinary that he should have been able

to tell so much. Or, rather, it would have been extraordinary, were it

not for the amount of intercourse and communication that takes place

between all the numerous islands in the Antilles, and the gossip that

is carried backwards and forwards, and is for ever floating about

among the sparse population of these, now, much-neglected places.

By night Reginald had changed his plans; instead of going on to

Tortola in the _Tyne_, he had decided to hire Sir Barnaby Briggs's

yacht, the _Pompeia_, from Mr. Juby, and to finish his journey in her.

To him it seemed the wisest thing he could do. He would attract less

attention at Tortola as a man cruising about for a holiday in the

region; and, by living on board, he would be exposed to little

questioning. Moreover, so good a sailor as he wanted no assistance in

managing such a craft as this; in calm weather he could go about where

he liked, and in bad weather shelter could be run for and reached in

almost half an hour among the continuous chain of islands hereabouts.

And, finally, he could work his way up to Coffin Island, take some

observations of the strange family dwelling thereon, and see if the

Keys looked as if they too had been submitted to the searching

process.

It was a tough job, however, to bring the astute Juby to terms, even

over so trifling a thing as hiring the _Pompeia_. At first he would

hardly name the sum he wanted, and then, when that was arranged at £20

a month--which, after all, was not out of the way--he made various

other stipulations, more, as it seemed to Reginald, for the pleasure

of so making them and fussing about, than for any wonderful advantage

to himself.

"I must have a deposit," he said, adding cheerfully, "yachts do get

sunk even here, and there's no telling what might happen, though I'm

sure of one thing, sir, you wouldn't run away with her. Then she must

be insured in the United States Governmental Insurance Company for the

other half, and----"

But, to cut Mr. Juby short, Reginald, who had brought a very

comfortable little sheaf of Bank of England notes wherewith to

prosecute his search, consented to his terms, and became the tenant of

the lamented Sir Barnaby's yacht. She proved, when he went down to see

her before finally concluding negotiations, a very serviceable-looking

little cutter, strongly built, having a good inventory, her ballast

all lead, copper all new, a full outfit, and a double-purchase

capstan. And she bore on her the name of a well-known Barbadoes

builder, of whom, probably, the late baronet had purchased her new.

"I don't mind taking that nigger as far as Tortola," said Reginald,

pointing out a man loafing about St. John's harbour, "if he wants a

job as he says he does, but he'll have to go ashore there. I'm fond of

sailing by myself and shan't employ him regularly, at any rate."

And in this way he set off upon his journey once more, sailing the

_Pompeia_ himself, and letting the negro potter about, cook a meal or

two, and gossip a little on subjects of interest in the islands, but

of none at all to him. And at Tortola--to which the man belonged--he

sent him ashore, telling him that whenever the cutter came in and out

he could come and see if he was wanted, and perhaps earn a shilling or

two. The weather was everything that could be desired, and, had

Reginald been the most Cockney yachtsman that ever kept a yacht in the

Thames, instead of a skilful sailor, he would have found it all he

wished, while the cruise past the intermediate islands was charming

even to him, who had seen so much of the world.

The great peak of Nevis interested him by recalling the fact that it

was in this island that Nelson found his wife, when, as captain of the

_Boreas_, he brought his ship here after chasing the French fleet;

while St. Kitt's, with its "Mount Misery," and its claims to be the

Gibraltar of the West Indies, appealed also to his naval mind. And,

when the scarlet-roofed houses of St. Thomas, surrounded by the

glorious foliage of that fair island, hove into sight as the _Pompeia_

left Santa Cruz on her port beam, he felt a thrill of satisfaction,

mixed, perhaps, with excitement at the knowledge that Coffin Island

was at hand. Another day or so would bring him to the place of which

his relative had, in his quaint style, left so graphic a description;

he would probably come into contact with the strange family that dwelt

in Coffin Island; he would be near his inheritance.

"Yet," he said to himself, as he set the yacht's head a point further

north, to run up what still retains its old name of "Sir Francis

Drake's Passage"--"yet is it my inheritance? Or does it not by right

belong to this poor family, who, it seems, have for over a hundred

years been searching hopelessly for it? Is it theirs or mine?

Theirs--who, by some strange fate, have come to the knowledge that

treasure is buried here, perhaps was buried by their own ancestors,

who left the story of it--or mine, who am only the kinsman of the man

who lighted on that treasure, but could not take it away with him?

Well! I shall see. Perhaps, when I have met these people who live in

so primitive a state, I shall know better what to do--know whether it

is best to get the treasure and go off with it, or do my duty, and, if

it is rightly theirs, restore it to them."

So, you will perceive, not only was Reginald a romantic and

adventurous young man, but also a very straightforward one!

CHAPTER XXX.

OUT OF THE DEPTHS OF A FAR DISTANT PAST.

Two days after these reflections the _Pompeia_ was making her entrance

under very light sail into that river--spoken of variously by Nicholas

as a canal, an inlet, and an outlet--in which the fight with the

_Etoyle_ had taken place. And it almost seemed to Reginald as if he

must himself have been a partaker of that fight, so visibly did his

predecessor's story rise before his mind now that he was in the very

spot.

"It was here," he thought, as he lowered the last remaining yard of

sail, "that the _Etoyle_ was across the stream, there that the

galliot lay before they went at them. Heavens and earth! why does not

Nicholas rise up before my sight with his round face and light bob

wig, as he appears in the little picture at home, and in his scarlet

coat?--but--no, he would not have them on here. Those braveries were

not for cruises such as he was upon."

Then he looked around again.

"Which, I wonder, was the spot where Alderly drew up the box from

under the water, and where he murdered the diver? Which the spot where

the path led up to the hut? Why does not some spirit rise to point

these things out to me?"

All was very calm here now as the romantic young man indulged in these

meditations. There was no sign of life about the island--of human

life; it was as still as though it were uninhabited. Yet all the

tropic life was there, all the gorgeous colouring of which the Yankee

settler--if he were a Yankee--who told him the story of the place had

spoken. The fan-palms, the moriches, and the gros-gros grew side by

side; red poinsettias mingled with wild begonias, purple dracæna and

yellow crotons; the rattans and orchids were tangled together in an

indescribable confusion of beauty.

"It is the isle of Nicholas's description. No doubt about that!" said

Reginald. "And," he continued, drawing his pipe from his pocket and

lighting it, "I am here as once Nick was here. What a pity there is no

one to represent the murdered diver and his assassin, the drunken,

maddened pirate."

As he reflected thus he heard the bark of a dog a little distance off;

a few moments later he heard another sound as though branches were

being parted; presently a voice spoke to the dog, and then the foliage

growing down to the river's bank was pushed aside, and a woman came

out from that foliage and stood gazing at him.

"Who are you?" she asked. "And what do you want?"

From his cutter to the shore, thirty to forty feet off, he in return

gazed upon her, though his surprise did not prevent his remembering he

was a gentleman, and, from the distance, taking off his hat to her

while he put away his pipe. She stood before him, surrounded by all

that luxuriance of colour and tropical vegetation, a girl "something

more than common tall," and of, perhaps, nearly twenty years of age. A

girl dressed in a light cotton gown--a very West Indian robe, both in

its plain quality and pattern--that hung loosely upon her, yet did not

conceal the shapely form beneath. On her head she wore a large napping

straw hat, but it was not at her hat, but at what was beneath it, that

Reginald looked. Her features were beautiful--there is no other word

but this simple one to describe them--her colouring that which is

often found in these regions, but scarcely anywhere else; the eyes a

dark, lustrous hazel, the eyebrows black, the hair, which hung down

like a mane upon her back, golden, with a tinge of copper red in it.

"Who are you?" she asked again, though he noticed that her voice was

not a harsh one, nor, in spite of the question, an angry one. "What do

you require?"

"Pardon me," replied Reginald, still spellbound at her appearance.

"Pardon me. I hope this is no intrusion. I am yachting in a small way

about the islands here. And among other places that attracted my

attention was this river. I trust my presence is not objectionable."

"No," the girl replied quietly. Then she said, "Do you belong to the

islands, or are you English or American?"

"I am English," he answered. "A sailor in Her Majesty's service."

She paused a moment, as though, it seemed to him, scarce knowing what

to say, then she spoke again.

"Are you going to land?"

"If I may do so. If it is permissible."

"Oh, yes," she said. "You may do so. Sometimes people land here."

He took her permission at once, and, dropping the cutter's anchor,

drew up the dinghy that was aft of her, and, getting into it, stepped

on shore close by her side. And, as he did so, he wondered, "Was it

here that Nicholas landed?"

Then once more taking off his hat as he came near to her, he said:

"Why do people sometimes land here? Have you any particular object of

interest in your island?" He would like to have added in a gallant

fashion, and sailor-like, "besides yourself," but, on consideration,

refrained from doing so.

The girl smiled, as he could see, while she bent down to quiet

the dog that was jumping about Reginald as though welcoming a new

acquaintance. Then she replied--

"No, not any particular object. Yet people come here because there is

a history attached to my family, or, perhaps I should say, my family

really has a history connected with this island--though I for one do

not believe it."

"And that history is?" Reginald asked eagerly.

"An ancestor of mine was supposed to have buried a treasure, or to

have found one, and never been able to remove it. Yet, since he lived

a wild life--for I fear he was a pirate--he left with his wife, a mere

girl, a full description of where it could be found should he at any

time fail to return to her. He did fail at last to return, and the

place which he had named was this island, the exact spot being a

cellar under a hut." She paused a moment, then she added, "The hut was

found and the cellar, but--the treasure was gone."

Whether the faintness which came over Reginald at this moment--a thing

he had never experienced before--was caused by the change from the

cool sea breezes to the warmth exhaled by the thick vegetation of the

island and the rich odour sent forth by the flowers, he has never yet

been able to tell. All he knows is that, at her words, the place where

they were standing swam round him, the palms seemed to be dancing a

stately measure with each other and the island spinning, too, while he

heard the girl's voice exclaiming:

"You are not well. What has overcome you?"

"I do not know," he replied. "It must be the heat ashore; yet I am

used to all kinds of heat. A little water would revive me. I will go

back to the cutter."

"There is a rill close by," she said; "come and drink from that."

He went towards it, following the direction she indicated, his mind

still confused, his brain whirling. "Where had he heard of a rill

before in connection with the island?" he asked himself; yet as he did

so he knew very well it was somewhere in Nicholas's narrative. And the

hut and the cellar beneath! Above all, a girl whose red mane was

thrown behind her! Where had he heard of one such as that?

He drank from the well and cooled his hands and face--still

remembering that Nicholas had in some portion of his story described

how he had done this same thing--and all the time the girl stood

watching him.

"You will pardon me this exhibition of weakness, I hope," he said.

"But I am all right now. And your story is so interesting, so much

like a romance, that--if I may stay a little longer--I should like to

hear some more of it. That is, if my curiosity is not offensive."

"No," the girl said simply, and her very ease before him and her lack

of ceremony showed how much a stranger she was to any worldly

conventionality. "I am very glad to have anyone to talk to. One gets

tired of living always, or nearly always, alone."

"Alone! But surely you don't live alone in Coffin Island? I had heard

there were at least two--two men here."

"There are sometimes--my father and brother; but they go away to sea

for weeks together, especially since they have almost abandoned the

thought of our finding the fabulous treasure. They are away now,

though I expect them back soon."

"And you are not afraid to live here all by yourself?"

"Afraid! Why should I be? We cannot find the buried treasure,

therefore it is not likely anyone else could do so. And there is

nothing else here to tempt anyone."

"Was there not?" Reginald reflected. "Was there not?" Yet she seemed

so innocent and simple that he could not tell her his thoughts. He

could not tell her, as he might have told a more worldly girl, that to

many men there was a greater temptation in that graceful form and

those hazel eyes and tawny golden hair than in all the dross beneath

the surface of the earth. So he only said--

"But if you found the treasure? What would you do then?"

"We should go away, I suppose--though I should be sorry to leave this

island. We should go into the world then--perhaps to Antigua or

Trinidad." Reginald here politely concealed a smile, and she went on,

"But I hope we shall never find it. My father and brother are used to

the life they lead here; I do not think the outer world would suit

them."

"But they are sailors and have seen it, you say?"

"They are sailors, but not such as you. They are simple, rough men,

scarcely able to read or to write. That was, I think, why they--why my

father--sent me to school at Antigua."

"But how do you live while they are away?" he asked her now.

"Very well. I have the hut, and there is always plenty of dried meat

and fresh fruit. And sometimes I fish, or shoot a bird. There are

plenty here of both kinds." Then she stopped and, looking at him,

said, "Would you like to see our home? It is not far."

The girl's _naïveté_ won on him so that there was but one reply

possible--an immediate and fervent assent to this invitation; and a

few moments later they were treading a path through the wood.

"The path," Reginald said to himself, "that doubtless he walked,

leading to the hut where he saw Alderly die. The same, yet all so

different!"

"A little glade on which the moon did shine as though on a sweet

English field at home," he remembered Nicholas had written--and, lo!

they were in it now. "A little glade bordered on all sides by golden

shaddocks, grapefruits, citrons and lime-trees, with, at their feet

and trailing round them, the many-hued convolvuli of the tropics,

passion-flowers and grandillos." Only, instead of seeking for a

bloodstained sea-robber, Reginald was following in the footsteps of

this woodland nymph--this girl whose beauty and innocence acted like a

charm upon him.

Then, next, they entered the tangled forest that Nicholas had passed

through, and here again all was as he had described it. The gleaming

leaves of the star-apple shone side by side with the palms and

cotton-trees; the fresh cool plantains and the cashews stopped their

way sometimes; the avocados and yams and custard-apples were all

around them. And turning a bend of the path they came upon the hut,

even as, two centuries ago, Nicholas had come upon the hut where

Alderly had played host to the spectres of his drunken imagination.

Of course it could not be the same; the old one must long ago have

rotted away, even if not pulled down. This to which the girl led him

was a large, substantial wooden building, painted white and green,

with all around it--which made it appear even larger--a balcony, or

piazza, and with jalousies thrown over the rails of the piazza from

above the windowless frames. On the balcony were rude though

comfortable chairs covered with striped Osnaburgh cloths; against the

railing there stood a gun--it was hers!--and there were large

calabashes standing about, some full of water and some empty, with

smaller ones for drinking from.

"This is my home," the girl said. "And it is here that we have lived

for nearly two hundred years, the house being rebuilt as it fell into

disrepair from time to time. I pray you to be seated. Later, when you

have rested, you shall see where the diggings have been made in the

searches for the supposed treasure."

"And where," said Reginald, speaking as one in a stupor, "is the spot

you told me of, the cellar where the treasure once had been?"

"It is below the floor of this verandah we are standing on. Why do you

ask?"

"Your story interests me so," he replied. "It seems so like a dream.

But," he continued, "later on, another day, perhaps you will tell me

all of it. For instance, I should so much like to know how your

ancestor, who at last never returned, came to possess the treasure and

to leave it buried here."

"He found it here," she said, "by chance, and ever afterwards he made

this island a resort of his. I have told you he was a bad man--I am

afraid, a pirate."

Again there came a feeling into Reginald's mind that he was losing his

senses, that he was going mad. And the next question he asked, with

the answer he received, might, indeed, have justified him in so

thinking.

"Will you tell me," he said, "to whom I owe this hospitable reception

on Coffin Island? Will you tell me your name?"

"My name," she replied, "is Barbara Alderly."

CHAPTER XXXI.

SOME LIGHT UPON THE PAST.

Her name was Barbara Alderly! This girl whose beauty was as fresh and

pure as her mind was innocent, the girl who--in spite of being able to

shoot birds for her food and cook them too, or to sail a boat as well

as Reginald himself could do--looked as delicate as any girl brought

up in an English country house, was Barbara Alderly, _his_, the

pirate's, descendant! It seemed impossible--impossible that she could

claim relationship with such as he had been; yet it was so!

A week passed from the time she had divulged her name, a week in which

they were always together during the daytime--he going to his boat at

night, and joining her again in the early morning--and in that week

each had told the other their story, Barbara being the first to relate

hers. But in justice to Reginald it must be said that, never from the

moment he had heard who she was, had he had one thought of keeping

back from her the secret of where the treasure was hidden, or of

depriving her and her relations of one farthing of it.

"It must all be theirs," he said to himself, "all, all. I could not go

away from this island with one penny of it in my pocket and continue

to think myself an honest man."

But first he had to hear her family story--in itself a romance, if

ever there was one--she telling it to him a few days after their

acquaintance, as they sat on the verandah, while he drank some water

from one of the calabashes, flavoured with a dash of whisky brought up

by him from the _Pompeia_, and she played with her inseparable

companion, the dog, Carazo.

"You must know," she began, "that it was not until some years after

Simon Alderly--who was the man I think to have been a pirate--failed

to return to Port Royal, where he lived, that his still young wife,

Barbara--her name being the same as mine--found the paper telling her

of the treasure in this island."

"Barbara!" Reginald interrupted, memory recalling Nicholas's words

once more. "Barbara! A portrait of a girl with blue eyes, red gold

hair, and a sweet mouth!"

"What do you mean, sir?" exclaimed his young hostess, looking at him

for the first time with something like surprise, if not alarm. "How do

you know she was like that? She has been dead for," and she counted

rapidly on her fingers--"for one hundred and seventy years!"

"Miss Alderly," Reginald replied, "will you believe me if I tell you

that I think I shall be able to throw some light upon your family

history when I have heard it? I have something to tell you as well as

to listen to."

"Then," said the girl, "your presence here is not due to accident. You

have come purposely to this island in connection with the hidden

wealth it is supposed to contain."

"Yes!" he said, "yes, I could not tell you an untruth. I have come

purposely here to find out about that wealth. Believe me, my presence

bodes no harm to you or yours, no deprivation of what belongs rightly

to you."

"Oh!" she said, "how happy that will make father. But will you not

tell me----"

"With your permission," he replied, "I will not tell you anything

until you have told me your story. Then I will keep nothing back from

you--I will, indeed, help you to recover that which has been sought

for so long----"

"You know where it is?"

"I think so. I discovered the secret in England, and I came out here

to dig----"

"But," she again interrupted, "if you discovered the secret, then this

treasure is yours, not ours."

"No," he said hastily, "no; it would have been mine had I not found

that there were people in existence who are more righteously entitled

to it. Now I shall find it, if I can, for you. Pray continue your

tale. When that is concluded I will begin mine."

For some time he could not bring her to do so, his words having caused

her much excitement; but at last she took up the thread of her

narrative--the narrative interrupted so early in its commencement.

"This Barbara," she said at last--while all the time her clear eyes

had a searching, almost troubled, look, as she kept them fixed on

him--"this Barbara of whom you seem to know, or to have guessed the

appearance, though I cannot say if it is a correct one, had herself a

strange history. Simon Alderly had found her, a child of about four

years old, alone and deserted on one of the Lucayos group, and, since

there was a boat washing about on the coast of the island, he thought

that possibly she had drifted ashore in it, while her parents, or

those who had saved her, had fallen into the sea from the boat after

escaping from some sinking ship. He took her off, however, carried her

to Port Royal, and, after bringing her up, married her when she was

fifteen. Then he left her in charge of his house there, while he,

following the calling of a sea-captain, was frequently away from home,

sometimes for weeks at a time, sometimes for months, sometimes for

more than a year. But whenever he returned he always brought a great

deal of money--generally composed of the coins of several different

nations--half of which he always gave to her for future household

expenses, spending the remainder in great rejoicing while he stayed on

shore."

"This is, of course, family history," Reginald hazarded, "handed down

from generation to generation? Is it not?"

"You shall hear, though you have guessed right. Our family records

since that time have been carefully kept."

"I beg your pardon for interrupting you," Reginald said. "Pray go on."

"However," the girl continued, stroking Carazo's ears all the while as

she did so, "the time came when he returned no more; he disappeared

finally in 1687."

"Ah!" exclaimed Reginald involuntarily.

Again her soft hazel eyes stared full at him as she exclaimed, "You

are aware of that; you know it as well as I do!"

"Yes," he answered, "I know it. Once more forgive me."

"Perhaps," she said, "you know as much, or more than I do!"

"No," he replied, "after that I know no more. After the year 1687 down

to this period I know nothing further of Simon Alderly--indeed I did

not even know that his name was Simon; what you tell me of incidents

after that period will be new to me."

"And you will tell me all you know when I have finished?" she asked,

looking at him with such trusting eyes that no man, unless he were a

scoundrel, could have had one thought of obtaining her confidence and

yet holding his own.

"On my honour I will," he answered, "even to telling you where I

believe your wealth is hidden."

She made a gesture as though deprecating the word "your," and then,

seeing he was waiting eagerly for her to continue, she did so.

"He disappeared finally in 1687--Barbara never heard of him again.

Then as time went on she grew very poor. There had been a son born to

them whom she had brought up to be a sailor, too, hoping thereby that,

when he also became a roamer, he might somehow gather news of his

father; and by turning the house into an inn, she managed to exist. In

that way years passed and she began to grow old, while her son still

followed the sea, though never rising to be anything more than a

humble seaman. But more years after, when she was getting to be quite

an old woman, her house was blown down in a hurricane--though it had

survived the terrible one of 1722, when all the wharves at Port Royal

were destroyed--and then--she found something."

"What?" asked Reginald. "What was it?" He remembered what David Crafer

had found under circumstances not dissimilar, and, perhaps, because he

was a sailor--and thereby given even in these modern days to belief in

strange and mysterious things--he wondered if the hand of Fate had

pointed out to that old Barbara some marvellous clue to where the

treasure was. Yet he knew that it could scarce have told her of the

removal of the chests of treasure from the island to the Key.

"She found," went on the Barbara of to-day, "a little walled-up wooden

cupboard----"

"Great Heaven!" he muttered beneath his breath, so that, this time,

she did not hear him.

"Close to the place where he used to sit and drink when at home, but

of the existence of which she was ignorant. Yet, she remembered, he

had often told her that there were secret hiding-places in the house,

and that, if he died suddenly or never came back, she was to search

diligently and she would find them. Especially he bade her search in

that room; but, what with waiting and watching for his return, she had

forgotten his instructions. And now that it was burst open, the wall

that secured it being only a plank of wood which fell out at the first

violence of the hurricane, she found this cupboard full of various

pieces of money, gold and silver, and a paper in his writing telling

her of his treasure in this island."

"Then it was his!" exclaimed Reginald.

"By discovery. He wrote that he had put into Coffin Island--as it was

called even so long ago as his time--in a storm, and that, while

roaming about the place, he and his comrades had come upon a hut, old

and long since built, but quite deserted now. Then he went on to

write--my father has the paper now, and I have often seen it--that the

sloop he had was sent to Tortola to fetch provisions----"

"Was it in charge of a man named Martin, by any chance?" asked

Reginald.

But now he saw how imprudent he was. As he mentioned that name the

girl started from her seat and retreated from him to the other end of

the verandah.

"You frighten me," she said. "I do not understand. How do you know

this?"

"Do not be alarmed, I beg," he answered in return. "When you have told

your story I will put into your hands a paper that has been found,

written by a forerunner of mine who knew Simon Alderly. Then you will

see how I know what I do. Pray feel no alarm. I mean you nothing but

goodwill, nothing. The treasure shall be yours and no one else's.

Will you trust in me?"

"Yes," she said, once more calmed. "Yes, I will." Then she seated

herself again and at his persuasion continued the narrative, while

Reginald could not but reflect how little fear Nicholas need have had

of "Martin coming back with the sloop."

The bewildered mind of the drink-inflamed pirate had mixed up two

separate sojourns in Coffin Island!

"The sloop went to Tortola to purchase provisions, and, since they

were short-handed, there being but three men excepting my ancestor, all

went in her but him. And then it was he found the treasure, it being

in a vault or cavern beneath the floor of the hut. It was the simplest

way in which he unearthed it, he wrote, and had he not been alone it

must have been discovered by the others as well as he. There was a

trap-door in the flooring, with a great ring to it, quite visible to

anyone, and opening easily. And when he went down some steps into the

cavern he found it all--all! Only he had no chance to take it away

then, he wrote to his wife; so, putting a vast number of gold pieces

in his pocket, he carefully closed the trap-door up again and covered

it over with earth, which he stamped down with his feet so that his

companions should observe nothing. And in the paper which he left,

giving such instructions as were necessary, which were not many--the

place was so easily to be found--he wrote down that he had since,

whenever opportunity offered, paid visits to Coffin Island, but, being

always accompanied by comrades, he never yet had had a chance of

removing it. And, he said, if he never brought it home and she found

the paper, then she must go to Coffin Island after his death and get

it for herself. It was a large treasure, a great fortune, he wrote, it

must not be lost."

"So," said Reginald, "she came here?"

"She came here," the girl continued, "and with her came her son and a

woman he had married, a Barbadian. But through all the generations

from the day she came--which was in the year 1723--and I am the eighth

in descent from her, they have never found the treasure. The vault was

there, but there was nothing in it."

"Yet your family have continued to seek for it," exclaimed Reginald.

"I should almost have thought they would have desisted."

"No," Barbara replied, "they never desisted. For first, they thought

that Simon might have changed the hiding-place after he had left the

paper in Jamaica--the life he led would probably necessitate his

doing so, since his companions might otherwise have also found the

vault--and, next, the island had become their home. Simon's son bought

it for half-a-crown an acre, his wife having some little money, and we

have lived here ever since, while every man who has succeeded to it

has made further search."

So the tale was told, and now the time had come for Reginald to tell

his.

And as that night he took farewell of Barbara, he said--

"To-morrow I shall tell you why the treasure has never been found by

your family. To-morrow I shall bring you a narrative left by that

connection of mine, saying where the treasure is hidden. He knew Simon

Alderly, and he found out the hiding-place."

"And was Simon indeed a pirate?" Barbara asked.

"Would it grieve you to hear he was?"

She thought a moment before replying, and then she said--

"No, for we have always thought him to be one. No, not if it will not

make you think worse of me for having descended from him."

"I knew that was so," Reginald replied, "when you told me your name.

And I do not think I showed by my manner that I thought any the worse

of you."

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE SOLITUDE IS INTERRUPTED.

The weather had changed, and, as is always the case in the tropics,

the change was extreme.

The wind blew now from the northeast, dashing the sea up in mountains

on to the strip of beach around that quarter of Coffin Island, hurling

it with a roar like great claps of thunder over the beach on to the

vegetation beyond it, crashing down trees and saplings, and entirely

obliterating for a time the three little Keys, in the middle one of

which was Simon Alderly's treasure. This Key Reginald had gazed upon

more than once since he had been in the island; he had even pointed it

out to Barbara on the morning after she had told her tale, and had

added the few missing links to the knowledge she already possessed;

and he had also informed her that therein lay her fortune.

"So," the girl said on that morning, as she gazed down from the cliff

on which they stood to where the already fast-rising waves were

washing over the spot in question, "it is there they ought to have

searched. It has laid there all the time! Yet no one ever thought of

those little islets. Well! I am glad!"

"Why?" asked Reginald, as he looked round at her. He had given her his

arm to steady her against the fierce wind blowing now under the

purple, sun-coloured clouds rolling up from the northeast, and she

had taken it. Yet, as she did so, she scarcely knew why she should

accept that proffered arm. She was used to all changes of weather in

this, her island; she could stand as easily upon the tallest crags

that it possessed as any of her goats, or even the sea-birds that

dwelt upon them, could do. Yet, still, she had taken it!

"Oh! I don't know," she replied in answer to his question; "yet--yet,

I think I am. Because--" she paused again, and then went on. "Because,

you see, if any of my people had found it before now--before you came

here--why, you would have found nothing yourself when you arrived,

after you had made so long a journey. And, we should have been

gone--you and I would never have met."

Something in the sailor's nature tingled as she said those words in

her simplicity--something, he knew not what. Still, in response, he

turned his eyes on her, and gazed into those other clear eyes beside

him, shaded with their long, jet-black lashes. Then he said--

"For us never to have met would have been the worst thing of all,

Barbara."

It seemed absurd to call her Miss Alderly, here in this wild tropical

garden inhabited only by themselves; to give her the stilted prefix

that would have been required in the midst of civilisation. So, not

for the first time, he had addressed her by her Christian name. And to

her--who perhaps in her schooldays only, in Antigua, had ever known

what it was to be spoken of as Miss Alderly--it appeared not at all

strange that he should so address her.

"But," he went on, "as for the treasure, as for the finding of

it--that might as well have happened fifty or a hundred years ago as

now. It is yours and your family's; not a farthing of it belonged to

my relative, nor belongs to me."

"That shall never be," she replied. "My father, although a rough,

simple sailor, is an honest, straightforward man; he, at least, would

never hear of such a thing as your not having your share. And for my

brother----" but here she paused.

"Why," asked Reginald, after a moment had elapsed--"why do you

hesitate at the name of your brother?"

"Because," she replied, "he is different. He is," and she buried her

face in her hands for a moment and then uncovered it again--"he is a

cruel, grasping man, selfish and greedy. He rules us more as if he

were father than father himself, and he tyrannises even over him. He

takes all the money they both earn while they are away together, and,

generally, he spends it. When they went to Aspinwall, at the time they

were so busy about the Canal, he took all they had both earned and

spent it at the Faro and Monte tables, as they call them down there.

And once he struck father before me, when they were both at home,

because he wanted to go over to Porto Rico, where the Spaniards gamble

day and night, and father would not give him the money for some goats

he had sold to a Tortola dealer. Oh!" she continued, "he is terrible!

and when he takes his share of what is in the Key, I dread to think of

what he will do with it."

As she finished, the storm increased with such violence that it was

necessary for them to leave the crag on which they stood--otherwise

they would possibly be blown off it ere many moments had elapsed.

Moreover, the hot rain was beginning now--and in these regions only a

few moments elapse between the fall of the first drop and the

drenching downpour of a tropical storm; it was time for them to seek

the refuge of Barbara's home. The thunder, too, was very near now, so

at once they hurried onwards, gaining the desired shelter before the

worst of the storm had set in.

It was to-day--the day following Barbara's account of Simon

Alderly--that Reginald had promised to read to her Nicholas's

narrative. He had it in his pocket now; indeed he regarded it as too

precious a thing to leave carelessly about, and consequently it was

always with him, and to-day he proposed ere leaving her to get through

some portion of it. He meant to read it all through, partly as a story

that he thought would interest the girl, partly as a justification of

Nicholas. For, he considered, if, since she already believed her

ancestor to be a pirate, he proved to her that he was indeed such,

then Nicholas must be acquitted in her mind for having himself removed

and hidden away that which did not belong to him. So they, having

reached the house, sat themselves down to the narrative, he to read

and she to listen. They were no longer able to sit upon the verandah

since the rain now beat down pitilessly and as though it never meant

to cease, and the wind, even in the middle of the little island, was

very boisterous. And so, when the jalousies had been fastened tightly

to prevent the flapping they had previously made, Reginald began

Nicholas's story, prefacing it with the account of how it had been

found.

It was about ten o'clock in the day when this young couple, who had so

strangely been brought together in this island, began that story--for

they met and parted early; it was nearly nightfall when Reginald

arrived at the description of how Alderly died singing his drunken

song. And amidst the swift-coming darkness--a darkness made more

intense by the heavy pall of clouds that hung above the island--there

seemed to come over them both that feeling of creepiness, of

melancholy horror, which Nicholas had described himself as becoming

overwhelmed with.

The girl seemed far more overcome by this feeling than Reginald was.

She started again and again at every fresh gust that shook the frail

fabric in which she dwelt, her eyes stared fixedly before her as

though she saw the spectre of her pirate ancestor rising up, and once

she begged him to desist for a moment from his reading.

"It was below here," she whispered, "below the very spot where we sit,

that that wretch, that murderous villain, died in his sin. Oh! it is

horrible! horrible to think that we have all lived here so long, that

I was born here. Horrible!"

"Barbara," said Reginald, "do not regard it so seriously. I was wrong

to read you all I have--yet, think. Think! It is two hundred years

since it all happened--we have nothing to do with that long-buried

past."

"Yes, yes," she said. "I know that we have not. Yet--yet--this is the

very spot--the very place. That makes it all so much more horrible, so

much more ghostly. And to-night, I know not why, I feel as I have

never felt before, nervous, frightened, alarmed, as though at some

danger near at hand. Let me light the lamp ere you continue."