THE CARGO
In that vast and gloomy interior the great beams showed like the ribs
of some eviscerated monster and the honest light of day fell sick upon
the cargo,—a cargo of skulls, ribs, vertebræ, and entire skeletons,
piled high, as though five hundred men had struggled aft for exit in
one mad rush and died heaped one upon the other like refuse. A charnel,
limy smell rose, poisoning the air.
“Good God!” said Ratcliffe.
“Slaver,” said Satan. “What did I tell you? _Nombre de Dios_ be
sugared! She’s an old slaver, wrecked with the men under hatches.
Here’s Sellers!”
Sellers, panting, his face all mottled, and followed by Cleary, had
gained the deck.
“Boys, what is it?” cried Sellers.
“Gold!” cried Satan. “Go careful, for the hull deck’s sprung. Get on
your hands and knees. Gold bars an’ di’monds—we’re all rich men!”
The pair of scoundrels, crawling like crabs, stuck their heads over the
break.
“Oh, hell!” said Sellers.
“Slaver,” said Satan.
Cleary spat. He was the first to laugh.
“This is putting it over on Cark, ain’t it?” said Cleary. “How many
dollars d’you think it’s cost our firm to blow the lid off this
damned scrofagus, to say nothin’ of the time? And he packed me off to
Pensacola to get me out of the way! Oh, send for him to have a look!”
“No use sendin’, he’s comin’,” said Satan, pointing to where the gig of
the _Juan_ was approaching the beach.
Carquinez crossed the rock bridge and advanced along the deck,
clutching his old coat together and making birdlike noises. When he
reached the break, crouching like the others, he looked over.
The sight below did not seem to horrify him.
“Slaver,” said Satan for the third time, turning his head for a moment
from the objects that seemed to fascinate him.
“Pst, pst, pst!” said Carquinez. “Vel, I reckon dat is so.”
“No gold ship,” said Sellers.
“Maybe there was gold in the after-cabin,” suddenly broke in Cleary,
“and the niggers broke through the bulkhead and are on top of it.”
“Where’s your bulkheads?” asked Sellers. “There was no after-cabin to
the hooker. It was all one cattle boat below, with niggers for cattle.”
“That is so,” said Carquinez.
The old gentleman seemed taking his setback extraordinarily well; so,
too, seemed Sellers and Cleary. They were evidently used to reverses in
business, and treasure hunting was wildcat anyway, a thousand to one
against the chance of a colossal fortune.
“That is so,” said Carquinez. Then he proceeded to demonstrate what the
hold of a slaver was like,—men lying side by side and sometimes on top
of one another. There was no after-cabin, indeed nothing, no latrines,
no means of washing, nothing: just one vast sty without straw even for
the human beasts to lie on.
The officers and crew slept in deckhouses; sometimes the crew had
nothing to shelter them, sleeping on the bare decks.
Carquinez knew it all. His grandfather had been in the business, and he
mentioned the fact with a sort of pride.
Then he drew back from the break like a reptile balked and retreating;
rose to his feet, and stood contemplating the sea.
Satan rose also, as did Ratcliffe.
“I’m off,” said Satan. “This boneyard don’t please me any. Say, what
you goin’ to do?”
“Von moment,” said Cark.
“Which?” asked Satan.
“Cark means how about the contrac’?” said Sellers.
“Which way?”
“Lord! Why, we’re left, left with a cargo of skelentons, and you—why,
you’ve got a thousand dollars in your pocket.”
“There was nothin’ in the contrac’ about handin’ them back,” said
Satan; “b’sides the contrac’s bust. That thousand dollars was on
account of findin’s. Is it my fault the findin’s is skelentons? But,
see here, you give’s a few hours to turn the thing over, and come
aboard the _Sarah_ gettin’ along sundown, and we’ll have a clack. We’re
all in the soup, seems to me, and I’m not wishin’ to be hard on you.”
“We’ll drop aboard,” said Sellers.
Cleary said nothing.
After his outburst of laughter he had remained dumb.
“Well, I’m off,” said Satan. “I want a drink and that’s the truth. The
smell of them skelentons’s enough to start a Baptis’ minister on the
booze.” Then he turned to Carquinez. “What did I tell you, sittin’
in your cabin? Told you I didn’t bank on this business, maybe you’ll
remember that. Blast treasure liftin’! Leavin’ salvage aside, have
you ever seen an ounce of gold raised in all these years? There was a
hundred million lyin’ off Dry Tortugas—did they ever get it? How many
ships has been down to Trinidad huntin’ for the pirates’ gold? Knight
was the last man there—a lot he made of it! It’s only the chaps that
sell locations to mugs that make money over this business, it’s my
b’lief. Well, see you aboard later on.”
Off he went, Ratcliffe following.
As they came alongside the _Sarah_, Jude was hanging over the rail.
“What’s the luck?” cried Jude as they came aboard.
“Skelentons,” said Satan, “shipload of skulls an’ cross-bones. Slaver,
that’s what she was; dead men’s bones, that’s your treasure.”
“Lord! And I’ve never seen them!”
“Well, there’s nothin’ much to see,” said Satan, with the irritating
nonchalance of the one who has seen the show; “ain’t worth the trouble
of lookin’.”
“I want to see them skelentons,” said Jude.
“Tell you they ain’t wuth lookin’ at!”
“I want to see them—”
“Oh, well then, tumble into the boat, tumble into the boat, and I’ll
row you over.”
Ratcliffe watched while the dinghy passed over to the reef. He saw Jude
on the wreck, kneeling and poring over the cargo, held, evidently, by
the fascination that lies for youth in the horrible.
Then they returned, and Satan ordered the dinghy to be taken on board.
“Are you going to put out now?” asked Ratcliffe.
“Put out!” said Satan, with a grin. “Why, I’ve asked those fellers to
come aboard gettin’ on for sundown, and whether or no if I raised a
foot of chain they’d be on me with the first click of the windlass.
I tell you we’re in a tight place! Cleary said nothin’, you noticed
that, but he’s goin’ to have his forty dollars back if he knows how,
and Sellers is the same,—he wants his thousand. We’re held for one
thousand and forty dollars, and we’re not strong enough to fight them.”
“Well, see here,” said the peacemaker. “Pay them. I’ll stand the
racket. It’s only a little over two hundred pounds, and I’ll give you a
check.”
“You don’t get me,” said Satan. “It’s not the dollars I’m thinkin’ of
so much as the game. Cark played me a low-down trick lightin’ out for
here to scoop the boodle, and Cleary laughed at me with his old cod
boat outsailin’ us. They’ve got to pay. B’sides, if I was to hand over
that money, I’d never be able to show my nose again in Havana.”
“How so?”
“Why, them two would put the laugh on me, and it’d be ‘what price
skelentons’ wherever I went, see? I’d be the mug then. They’re the mugs
now, seem’ they’ve paid a thousand and forty for what they’ve got.”
“I see. But considering that they’ll be after you if you move, and that
we’re not strong enough to fight them, what’s to be done?”
“Well,” said Satan, “when they come aboard it’ll be either to get the
dollars back or fight. You’ve noticed I asked them to come, seein’
they’d have come whether I asked them or not. Well, if I can foozle
them into hanging on for their answer till tomorrow, I’ll give them the
slip tonight. Moon’s not up till late.”
“But they’ll hear you getting the anchor up and handling the sails!”
“Not with an ear trumpet,” said Satan, “if I can only foozle them into
waitin’ till tomorrow. Now then, Jude, lend a hand with the dinghy.”