PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 Being the Authentic Narrative of a 
 
 Treasure discovered in the Bahama 
 
 Islands in the year 1903^ 
 
 now first given to 
 
 the Pubhc 
 
 RICHARD LE GALLIENNE 
 
 LONDON: 48 PALL MALL 
 
 VV. COLLINS SONS & CO. LTD, 
 
 GLASGOW MELBOURNE AUCKLAND 
 
Copyright 1 91 9 
 
^r 
 
 LIFE, BEING OF THE NATURE BOTH OF A 
 TREASURE-HUNT AND A PIRATICAL EXPEDI- 
 TION, I DEDICATE THIS NARRATIVE TO THE 
 FOLLOWING SAILING COMPANIONS OF MINE 
 ON THIS ENTERTAINING OLD PIRATE CRAFT 
 WE CALL THE EARTH, IN THE HOPE THAT 
 EACH MAY FIND HIS TREASURE, AND AT 
 LEAST ESCAPE HANGING AT THE END OF 
 THE TRIP — TO WIT : HARRY DASH JOHNSON, 
 SAM NICHOLSON, BERT WILLSIE, AND 
 CHARLEY BETHEL, ALL ENGAGED IN ONE OR 
 ANOTHER OF THE PIRATICAL PROFESSIONS. 
 
 493871 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK I 
 
 CHAP. PACE 
 
 I. INTRODUCES THE SECRETARY TO THE 
 TREASURY OF HIS BRITANNIC MAJESTY'S 
 GOVERNMENT AT NASSAU, NEW PROVI- 
 DENCE, BAHAMA ISLANDS ... 3 
 
 II. THE NARRATIVE OF HENRY P. TOBIAS, EX- 
 PIRATE, AS DICTATED ON HIS DEATH-BED, 
 IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD, 1859 • ^3 
 
 III. IN WHICH I CHARTER THE 'MAGGIE DAR- 
 
 LING' ....... 21 
 
 IV. IN WHICH TOM CATCHES AN ENCHANTED 
 
 FISH AND DISCOURSES OF THE DANGERS 
 
 OF TREASURE HUNTING . . . 30 
 
 V. IN WHICH WE BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND OUR 
 
 UNWELCOME PASSENGER . . . 40 
 
 VI. THE INCIDENT OF THE CAPTAIN . . 48 
 
 VII. IN WHICH THE SUCKING-FISH HAS A CHANCE 
 
 TO snow ITS VIRTUE .... 56 
 
 VIII. IN WHICH I ONCE AGAIN SIT UP AND BEHOLD 
 
 THE SUN 63 
 
 IX. IN WHICH TOM AND I ATTEND SEVERAL 
 
 FUNERALS ...... 68 
 
 X. IN WHICH TOM AND I SERIOUSLY START 
 
 IN TREASURE HUNTING • « > 73 
 
 XL AN UNFINISHED GAME OF CARDS . . 82 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Vll 
 
 CHAP. 
 I. 
 
 II. 
 III. 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 ONCE MORE IN JOHN SAUNDERS'S SNUG- 
 GERY ..... 
 
 IN WHICH I LEARN SOMETHING 
 
 IN WHICH I AM AFFORDED GLIMPSES 
 INTO FUTURITY— POSSIBLY USEFUL 
 
 IV. IN WHICH WE TAKE SHIP ONCE MORE 
 
 V. IN WHICH WE ENTER THE WILDERNESS 
 
 VI. DUCK 
 
 VII. MORE PARTICULARLY CONCERNS OUR 
 YOUNG COMPANION .... 
 
 VIII. BETTER THAN DUCK .... 
 
 91 
 
 96 
 
 104 
 119 
 
 147 
 161 
 
 BOOK III 
 
 I. IN WHICH WE GATHER SHELLS — AND 
 OTHER MATTERS .... 
 
 II. IN WHICH I CATCH A GLIMPSE OF A DIF 
 FERENT KIND OF TREASURE . 
 
 III. UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF THE MOON 
 
 IV. 
 
 IN WHICH I MEET A VERY STRANGE 
 INDIVIDUAL .... 
 
 V. CALYPSO 
 VI. DOUBLOONS 
 
 171 
 
 178 
 184 
 
 191 
 203 
 213 
 
Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 VII. IN WHICH 'the king' DREAMS A DREAM 
 — AND TELLS US ABOUT IT . 
 
 VIII. NEWS ! 
 
 IX. OLD FRIENDS . . . 
 
 X. THE HIDDEN CREEK 
 
 XI. AN OLD ENEMY .... 
 
 Xn. IN WHICH I BECOME 'THE KING'S ' PRISONER 
 
 XIII. WE BEGIN TO DIG .... 
 
 XIV. IN WHICH I LOSE MY WAY 
 
 XV. IN WHICH I PURSUE MY RESEARCHES AS A 
 TROGLODYTE .... 
 
 XVI. IN WHICH I UNDERSTAND THE FEELINGS OF 
 A GHOST ..... 
 
 XVII. ACTION ..... 
 
 XVIII. GATHERING UP THE THREADS . 
 
 POSTSCRIPT ...... 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 221 
 
 227 
 
 240 
 
 245 
 252 
 
 268 
 
 276 
 
 290 
 299 
 
 304 
 310 
 
 314 
 
INTRODUCTORY 
 
 The following MS., the authorship of which I 
 am not at liberty to divulge, came to me in a curious 
 way. Being recently present at a performance of 
 'Treasure Island,' at the Punch and Judy Theatre, 
 in New York City, and seated at the extreme right 
 hand end of the front row of the stalls, so near to 
 the ground-floor box that its occupants were within 
 hut a yard or two of me, and, therefore, very clearly 
 to be seen; I, in common with my immediate neigh- 
 bours, could not fail to remark the very striking and 
 beautiful woman who was the companion of a dis- 
 tinguished military-looking man on the youthful side 
 of middle age. Still young, a little past thirty, maybe, 
 she was unusually tall and stately of figure, and, 
 from her curious golden skin and massive black 
 hair, one judged her to be a Creole, possibly a 
 Jamaican. Her face, which was rather heavily, but 
 finely, moulded, wore an expression of somewhat 
 poetic melancholy, a little like that of a beautiful 
 animal, but readily lit up with a charming smile 
 now and again at some sally of her companion, with 
 whom she seemed to be on affectionate terms, and 
 with whom, as the play proceeded, she exchanged 
 glances, and whispered confidences, such as two who 
 
X INTRODUCTORY 
 
 have shared an experience together, which the play 
 seemed to bring to mind, are seen sometimes to ex- 
 change in a theatre. But there was one particular 
 which especially accentuated the singularity of her 
 appearance, and was responsible for drawing upon 
 her an interested observation, and seemed indeed even 
 in her eyes to condone it {for she, as well as her com- 
 panion, were obviously conscious of it) , the two strange- 
 looking gold ornaments which hung from her delicately- 
 shaped ears. These continually challenged the eye, 
 and piqued the curiosity. Obviously they were two 
 old coins, of thick gold, stamped with an antique 
 design. They were Spanish doubloons. 
 
 As, in common with the rest of the audience, I 
 looked at this picturesque pair, my eyes forsook the 
 lady of the doubloons, and fastened them with a half- 
 certainty of recognition upon her companion : why ! 
 
 surely it was ■ , an old dare-devil comrade 
 
 of mine, whose disappearance from New York some 
 ten years before had piqued the curiosity of the two 
 or three clubs to which we both belonged. 
 
 A curious blending of soldier and poet- — and 
 mining engineer, he had been popular with all of us, 
 and, when he had disappeared without warning, we 
 were sure that he was off on some knight-errant 
 business — to Mexico or the moon ! The more I 
 looked at the man in the box, the surer I was that it 
 was he. He was, indeed, wearing that disguise of 
 
INTRODUCTORY xi 
 
 Time, which we all come involuntarily to wear — an 
 unquestioned grayness of his hair at the temples, 
 and a moustache that will soon he a distinguished 
 white : yet the disguise was not sufficient to conceal 
 the youthful vigour of his personality from one who 
 had known him so well as I. The more I looked at 
 him, the more certain I grew that it was he, and I 
 determined to go round to his box at the conclusion 
 of the second act. 
 
 Then, becoming absorbed in the play, I forgot him 
 and his companion of the doubloons for a while, 
 and, when I looked for them again, they had vanished. 
 However, a letter in my mail next morning told me 
 that the observation had not been all on my side. My 
 eyes had not deceived me. It was my friend — and, 
 at dinner with him and his lady, next evening, I 
 heard the story of some of those lost years. Moreover, he 
 confided to me that a certain portion of his adven- 
 tures had seemed so romantic that he had been tempted 
 to set them down in a narrative, merely, of course, 
 for the amusement of his family and friends. On 
 our parting, he entrusted me with this manuscript, 
 which I found so interesting that I was able to per- 
 suade him to consent to its publication to that larger 
 world which it seemed to me unfair to rob of one of 
 those few romances that had been really lived, and 
 not merely conjured up out of the imagination of 
 professional romancers. 
 
xii INTRODUCTORY 
 
 His consent was given with some reluctance, for, 
 apart from a certain risk which the publication of the 
 MS. entailed, it contained also matters which my 
 friend naturally regards as sacred — though, in this 
 respect, I feel sure that he can rely upon the delicacy 
 of his readers. He made it a condition that every 
 precaution should be taken to keep the name and 
 identity of his wife and himself secret; and so, in 
 presenting to the world the MS. thus entrusted to me, 
 I have made various changes of detail, with the 
 purpose of more surely safeguarding the privacy of 
 my two friends: but, in all essentials, the MS. is 
 printed as it came originally into my hands. 
 
 R. Le G. 
 
BOOK I 
 
 Out of the constant east the breeze 
 Brings morning, like a wafted rose, 
 Across the glimmering lagoon. 
 And wakes the still palmetto trees. 
 And blows adrift the phantom moon. 
 That paler and still paler glows — 
 
 Up with the anchor — lei's be going ! 
 
 O hoist the sail — and let's be going ! 
 
 Glory and glee 
 
 Of the morning sea — 
 
 Ah I let's be going. 
 
 Under our keel, a glass of dreams, 
 
 Still fairer than the morning sky, 
 
 A jewel shot with blue and gold, 
 
 The swaying clearness streams and gleams; 
 
 A crystal mountain smoothly rolled 
 
 O'er magic gardens flowing by — 
 
 Over we go the sea-fans waving, 
 
 Over the rainbow corals paving 
 
 The deep-sea floor; 
 
 No more, no more. 
 
 Would I seek the shore 
 
 To make my grave in — 
 
 O sea-fans ivaving. 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 INTRODUCES THE SECRETARY TO THE TREASURY OF 
 HIS BRITANNIC MAJESTY'S GOVERNMENT AT 
 NASSAU, NEW PROVIDENCE, BAHAMA ISLANDS. 
 
 Some few years ago — to be precise, it was during 
 the summer of 1903 — I was paying what must 
 have seemed Uke an interminable visit to my old 
 friend, John Saunders, who at that time filled 
 with becoming dignity the high-sounding office 
 of Secretary to the Treasury of His Majesty's 
 Government, in the quaint little town of Nassau, 
 in the island of New Providence, one of those 
 Bahama Islands that lie half-lost to the world 
 to the north-east of the Caribbean Sea, and form 
 a somewhat neglected portion of the British West 
 Indies. Time was when they had a sounding 
 name for themselves in the world, during the 
 American Civil War, for instance, when the block- 
 ade runners made their dare-devil trips \vith 
 contraband cotton, between Nassau and South 
 Carohna; and before that again, when the now 
 sleepy Httle harbour gave shelter to rousing free- 
 booters and tarry pirates, tearing in there under 
 
 3 
 
4 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 full sail with their loot from the Spanish main. 
 How often those quiet moonlit streets must have 
 roared with brutal revelry, and fierce clamour of 
 pistol-belted scoundrels round the wine-casks have 
 gone up into the still tropic night. But those 
 heroic days are gone, and Nassau is given up to 
 a sleepy trade in sponges and tortoise-shell, and 
 peace is no name for the drowsy tenor of the 
 days under the palm-trees and the scarlet poin- 
 cianas. A little group of government buildings 
 surrounding a miniature statue of Queen Victoria, 
 flanked by some old Spanish cannon and murmured 
 over by the foliage of tropic trees, gives an air of 
 old-world distinction to the long Bay street, 
 whose white houses, with their jalousied verandas, 
 run the whole length of the water-front; and all 
 the long sunny days the air is lazy with the sound 
 of the shuffling feet of the child-like 'darky' 
 population, and the chatter of the bean-pods of the 
 ' women's tongues ' overhead. Here a handful of 
 Englishman clothed in the white linen suits of 
 the tropics carry on the government after the 
 traditional manner of British colonies from time 
 immemorial, each of them, like my friend, not 
 without an English smile at the humour of the 
 thing, supporting the dignity of offices with im- 
 pressive names — Lord Chief Justice, Attorney- 
 General, Speaker of the House, Lord High Admiral, 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 5 
 
 Colonial Secretary, and so forth — and occasionally 
 a figure in gown and barrister's wig flits across the 
 green from the little courthouse, where the Lord 
 Chief Justice in his scarlet robes, on a dais sur- 
 mounted by a gilded lion and unicorn, sustains 
 the majesty of British justice, with all the pomp 
 of Westminster or Whitehall. 
 
 My friend, the Secretary of the Treasury, is a 
 man possessing in an uncommon degree that rare 
 and most attractive of human qualities, companion- 
 ableness. He is a quiet man of middle age, an old 
 white-headed bachelor with a droll twinkling 
 expression, speaking seldom and then in a curious 
 silent fashion, as though the drowsy heat of the 
 tropics had soaked him through and through. 
 With his white hair, his white clothes, his white 
 moustache, his white eyelashes, over eyes that 
 seem to hide away among quiet, mirthful wrinkles, 
 he carries about him the sort of silence that goes 
 with a miller, surrounded by the white dusty 
 quiet of his mill. 
 
 As we sit together in the hush of his snuggery 
 of an evening, surrounded by guns, fishing-lines, 
 and old prints, there are times when we scarcely 
 exchange a dozen words between dinner and bed- 
 time, and yet we have all the time a keen and 
 satisfying sense of companionship. It is John 
 Saunders's gift. Companionship seems quietly to 
 
6 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 ooze out of him — without the need of words. He 
 and you are there in your comfortable arm-chairs, 
 with a good cigar, a whisky-and-soda, or a glass 
 of that old port on which he prides himself, and 
 that is all that is necessary. Where is the need 
 of words? And occasionally we have as third 
 in those evening conclaves, a big, slow-smiling, 
 broad-faced young merchant, of the same kidney. 
 In he drops with a nod and a smile, selects his 
 cigar and his glass, and takes his place in the 
 smoke-cloud of our meditations, radiating, without 
 the effort of speech, that good thing — humanity; 
 though one must not forget the one subject on 
 which now and again the good Charlie Webster 
 achieves eloquence in spite of himself. Duck- 
 shooting. That is the only subject worth breaking 
 the pleasant brotherhood of silence for. John 
 Saunders's subject is shark-fishing. Duck-shooting 
 and shark-fishing. It is enough. Here, for sensible 
 men, is a sufficient basis for life-long friendship, and 
 unwearying, inexhaustible companionship. 
 
 It was in this peace of John Saunders's snuggery, 
 one July evening, in 1903, the three of us being 
 duly met, and ensconced in our respective 
 arm-chairs, that we got on to the subject of 
 buried treasure. We had talked more than 
 usual that evening — talked duck and shark, till 
 those inexhaustible themes seemed momentarily 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 7 
 
 exhausted. Then it was I who started us off 
 again by asking John what he knew about 
 buried treasure. 
 
 At this, John laughed his funny little quiet laugh, 
 his eyes twinkling out of his wrinkles, for all the 
 world like mischievous mice looking out of a cup- 
 board, took a sip of his port, a pull at his cigar, 
 and then, — 
 
 'Buried treasure !' he said, 'well, I have little 
 doubt that the islands are full of it — if one only 
 knew how to get at it.' 
 
 'Seriously?' I asked. 
 
 'Certainly. Why not? When you come to think 
 of it, it stands to reason. Weren't these islands 
 for nearly three centuries the stamping ground of 
 all the pirates of the Spanish Main? Morgan was 
 here. Blackbeard was here. Avery was here. The 
 very governors themselves were little better than 
 pirates. This room we are sitting in was the den 
 of one of the biggest rogues of them all. John 
 Tinker — the governor when Bruce was here build- 
 ing Fort Montague, at the east end yonder — building 
 it against pirates — and little else but pirates at 
 the government house all the time. A great old 
 time Tinker gave the poor fellow. You can read 
 all about it in his Memoirs. You should read 
 them. Great stuff. There they are,' pointing to 
 an old quarto on some well-lined shelves, for John 
 
8 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 is something of a scholar too, 'borrow them some 
 time ' 
 
 'Yes, but I want to hear more about the treasure,' 
 interrupted I, bringing him back to the point. 
 
 'Well, as I was saying, Nassau was the ren- 
 dezvous for all the cut-throats of the Caribbean 
 Sea. Here they came in with their loot, their 
 
 doubloons and pieces of eight ' and John's 
 
 eyes twinkled with enjoyment of the rich old 
 romantic words, as though they were old port. 
 
 'Here they squandered much of it, no doubt, 
 but they couldn't squander it all. Some of them 
 were thrifty knaves too, and these, looking around 
 for some place of safety, would naturally think of 
 the bush. The niggers keep their little hoards 
 there to this day. Fawcett over at Andros, was 
 saying the other night, that he estimates that 
 they have something like a quarter of a million 
 dollars buried in tin cans among the brush over 
 there now ' 
 
 'It is their form of stocking,' put in Charlie 
 Webster. 
 
 'Precisely. Well, as I was saying, those old 
 fellows would bury their hoards in some cave or 
 other, and then go off — and get hanged. Their 
 ghosts perhaps came back. The darkies have lots 
 of ghost-tales about them. But their money is 
 still here, lots of it — you bet your life.' 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 9 
 
 'Do they ever make any finds?' I asked. 
 
 'Nothing big that I know of. A jug full of old 
 coins now and then. I found one a year or two 
 ago in my garden here — buried down among the 
 roots of that old fig-tree.' 
 
 'Then,' put in Charlie, 'there was that mysteri- 
 ous stranger over at North Cay. He's supposed to 
 have got away with quite a pile.' 
 
 'Tell me about him,' said I. 
 
 'Well, there used to be an old eccentric character 
 in the town here — a half-breed by the name of 
 Andrews. John will remember him ' 
 
 John nodded. 
 
 'He used to go around all the time with a big 
 umbrella, and muttering to himself. We used to 
 think him half crazy. Gone so brooding over this 
 very subject of buried treasure. Better look out, 
 young man !' — smiling at me. 'He used to be 
 always grubbing about in the brush, and they 
 said that he carried the umbrella so that he could 
 hide a machete in it — a sort of heavy cutlass, 
 you know — for cutting down the brush. Well, 
 several years ago, there came a visitor from New 
 York, and he got thick with the old fellow. They 
 used to go about a lot together, and were often 
 off on so-called fishing- trips for days on end. 
 Actually, it is beheved, they were after something 
 on North Cay. At all events, some months 
 
10 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 afterwards, the New Yorker disappeared as he had 
 come, and has not been heard from since. But 
 since then, they have found a sort of brick vault 
 over there which has evidently been excavated. 
 I have seen it myself. A sort of walled chamber. 
 There, it's supposed, the New Yorker found some- 
 thing or other. . . .' 
 
 'An old tomb, most likely,' interrupted John 
 sceptically. 'There are some like that over at 
 Spanish Wells.' 
 
 'Maybe,' said CharHe, 'but that's the story, for 
 what it's worth.' 
 
 As Charlie finished, John slapped his knee. 
 
 'The very thing for you !' he said, 'why have 
 I never thought of it before !' 
 
 'What do you mean, John?' we both asked. 
 
 'Why, down at the office, I've got the very 
 thing. A pity I haven't got it here. You must 
 come in and see it to-morrow.' 
 
 And he took a tantalising sip of his port. 
 
 'What on earth is it? Why do you keep us 
 guessing?' 
 
 'Why, it's an old manuscript.' 
 
 'An old manuscript !' I exclaimed, 
 
 'Yes, an old document that came into my 
 hands a short time ago. Charlie, you remember 
 old Wicks — old Billy Wicks — 'Wrecker' Wicks, 
 they called him ■' 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT ii 
 
 'I should say I did. A wonderful old villain ' 
 
 'One of the greatest characters that ever lived. 
 O and shrewd as the devil. Do you remember 
 the story about his ' 
 
 'But the document, for Heaven's sake/ I said. 
 'The document first — the story will keep.' 
 
 'Well, they were pulling down Wicks 's own 
 house just lately, and out of the rafters there 
 fell a roll of paper. Now, I'm coming to it. A 
 roll of paper, purporting to be the account of the 
 burying of a certain treasure, telling the place 
 where it is buried, and giving directions for finding 
 it ' 
 
 'Why the devil haven't you got it here?' broke 
 out Charlie and I together; 'and who is supposed 
 to have made the statement?' 
 
 'It's in the safe, down at the office, you shall 
 see it to-morrow. It's a statement purporting to 
 be made by some fellow on his death-bed — some 
 fellow dying out in Texas — a quondam pirate, 
 anxious to make his peace at the end, and to give 
 his friends the benefit of his knowledge.' 
 
 'What a tantalising fellow you are, John ! I 
 shan't sleep a \\ink to-night.' 
 
 'O I don't take much stock in it,' said John. 
 'I'm inclined to think it's a hoax. Some one 
 trying to fool the old feUow. If there'd been any 
 treasure. I guess one could have trusted old 
 
12 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'Wrecker' Wicks to get after it. . . . But, boys, 
 it's bed-time, anyhow. Come down to the office 
 in the morning, and we'll look it over.' 
 
 So our meeting broke up for the time being, 
 and taking my candle, I went upstairs, to dream 
 of caves overflowing with gold pieces, and John 
 Tinker, fierce and moustachioed, standing over 
 me, a cutlass between his teeth, and a revolver 
 in each hand. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE NARRATIVE OF HENRY P. TOBIAS, EX-PIRATE, 
 AS DICTATED ON HIS DEATH-BED, IN THE YEAR 
 OF OUR LORD, 1859. 
 
 The good John had scarcely made his leisurely, 
 distinguished appearance at his desk on the morrow, 
 immaculately white, and breathing his customary 
 air of fathomless repose, when I entered too by 
 one door, and Charlie Webster by the other. 
 
 'Now for the document,' we both exclaimed in 
 a breath, 
 
 'Here it is,' he said, taking up a rather grimy 
 looking roll of foolscap in front of him. 
 
 'A little like hurricane weather,' said the broadly 
 smiling Charlie Webster, mopping his brow. 
 
 The room we were in, crowded with pigeon- 
 holes and dusty documents from ceiling to floor, 
 looked out into an outer office, similarly dreary, 
 and painted a dirty blue and white, furnished with 
 high desks and stools, and railed off with ancient 
 painted iron-work, forlornly decorative, after the 
 manner of an old-fashioned counting-house, or 
 shipping office. It had something quaintly 'colonial' 
 
 13 
 
14 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 about it, suggesting supercargoes, and West India 
 merchants of long ago. 
 
 John took a look into the outer office. There 
 was nothing to claim his attention, so he took up 
 the manuscript, which, as he pointed out, was 
 evidently the work of an ilhterate person, uncouthly 
 written, and ill-spelled, and began to read as 
 follows : — 
 
 * County of Travas, 
 ' State of Texas, 
 'December, 1859. 
 
 '/, being in very poor health and cannot last long, 
 feeling my end is near, I make the following state- 
 ment of my own free will and without solicitation. 
 In full exercise of all my faculties, and feel that I 
 am doing my duty by so doing. 
 
 'My friends have shown me much kindness and 
 taken care of me when sick, and for their kindness 
 I leave this statement in their hands to make the 
 best of it, when I will now proceed to give my state- 
 ment, which is as follows : — 
 
 '/ was born in the city of Liverpool, England {on 
 the 5th day of December, 1784). My father was a 
 seaman, and when I was young I followed the same 
 occupation. And it happened, that when on a passage 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 15 
 
 from Spain to the West Indies, our ship was attacked 
 by free-traders, as they called themselves, but they 
 were pirates. 
 
 'We all did our best, but were overpowered, and 
 the whole crew, except three, were killed. I was 
 one of the three they did not kill. They carried iis 
 on board their ship and kept us until next day, when 
 they asked us to join them. They tried to entice us, 
 by showing us great piles of money and telling us 
 how rich we could become, and many other ways, 
 and they tried to get us to join them willingly, but 
 we would not, when they became enraged and loaded 
 three cannon and lashed each one of us before the 
 mouth of each cannon and told us to take our choice 
 to join them, as they would touch the guns, and that 
 dam quick. It is useless to say we accepted every- 
 thing before death, so we came one of the pirates' 
 crew. Both of my companions were killed in less 
 time than six months, but I was with them for more 
 than two years, in which time we collected a vast 
 quantity of money from different ships we captured, 
 and we buried a great amount in two different lots. 
 I helped to bury it with my own hands. The location 
 of which it is my purpose to point out, so that it 
 can be found without trouble in the Bahama Islands. 
 After I had been with them for more than two years 
 we were attacked by a large warship and our com- 
 mander told us to fight for our lives, as it would be 
 
1 6 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 death if we were taken. But the guns of our ship 
 were too small for the warship, so our ship soon 
 began to sink, when the man-of-war ran alongside 
 of our vessel and tried to bore us, but we were sinking 
 too fast, so she had to haul off again, when our vessel 
 sunk with everything on board, and I escaped by 
 swimming under the stern of the ship, as ours sunk, 
 without being seen, and holding on to the ship until 
 dark, when I swam to a portion of the wrecked vessel 
 floating not far away. And on that I floated. The 
 next morning the ship was not seen. I was picked 
 up by a passing vessel the next day as a shipwrecked 
 seaman. 
 
 'And let me say here, I know that no one escaped 
 alive from our vessel except myself and those that 
 were taken by the man-of-war. And those were all 
 executed as pirates — so I know that no other man 
 knows of this treasure except myself, and it must 
 be and is where we buried it until to-day, and unless 
 you get it through this statement it will remain there 
 always and do no one any good. 
 
 'Therefore, it is your duty to trace it up and get 
 it for your own benefit, as well as others, so delay 
 not, but act as soon as possible. 
 
 'I will now describe the places, locations, marks, etc., 
 etc., so plainly that it can be found, without any trouble. 
 
 'The first is a sum of one million and a half 
 dollars — ($1,500,000) . . .' 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 17 
 
 At this point, John paused. We all took a 
 long breath, and Charlie Webster gave a soft 
 whistle, and smacked his lips. 
 
 'A million and a half dollars — what ho !' 
 
 Then I, happening to cast my eye through the 
 open door, caught sight of a face gazing through 
 the iron-work of the outer office with a fixed and 
 ghttering expression, a face anything but pre- 
 possessing, the face of a half-breed, deeply pock- 
 marked, with a coarse hook nose, and evil-looking 
 eyes, unnaturally close together. He looked for 
 all the world Uke a turkey buzzard, eagerly hang- 
 ing over offal, and it was evident from his expres- 
 sion, that he had not missed a word of the reading. 
 
 'There is some one in the outer office,' I said, 
 and John rose and went out. 
 
 'Good-morning, Mr Saunders,' said an unpleas- 
 antly soft and cringing voice. 
 
 'Good-morning,' said John, somewhat grumpily, 
 'what is it you want?' 
 
 It was some detail of account, which, being 
 despatched, the man shuffled off, with evident 
 reluctance, casting a long inquisitive look at us 
 seated at the desk, and John, taking up the MS. 
 once more, resumed. 
 
 '. . . a sum of one million and one-half dollars 
 — buried at a cay known as " Dead Men's Shoes," 
 near Nassau, in the Bahama Islands.' 
 
1 8 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'Dead Men's Shoes !' I don't know any such 
 place, do you?' interrupted Charhe. 
 
 'No, I don't — but, never mind, let's read it 
 through first and discuss it afterwards,' and John 
 went on : — 
 
 '. . , buried at a cay known as " Dead Men's 
 Shoes," near Nassau, in the Bahama Islands; about 
 fifty feet (50 ft.) south of this " Dead Men's Shoes " 
 is a rock, on which we cut the form of a compass. 
 And twenty feet {20 ft.) east from the cay is another 
 rock on which we cut a cross {X). Under this rock 
 it is buried four feet (4 ft.) deep. 
 
 'The other is a sum of one million dollars 
 ($1,000,000). It is buried on what was known as 
 Short Shrift Island; on the highest point of this 
 Short Shrift Island is a large cabbage wood stump 
 and twenty feet (20 ft.) south of that stump is the 
 treasure, buried five feet (5 ft.) deep and can be found 
 without difficulty. Short Shrift Island is a place 
 where passing vessels stop to get fresh water. No 
 great distance from Nassau, so it can be easily found. 
 
 ' The first pod was taken from a Spanish merchant 
 and it is in Spanish silver dollars. 
 
 The other on Short Shrift Island is in different 
 kinds of money, taken from different ships of different 
 nations . . . it is all good money. 
 
 'Now, friends, I have told you all that is neces- 
 sary for you to know, to recover these treasures, and 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 19 
 
 I leave it in your hands and it is my request that 
 when you read this, you will at once take steps to 
 recover it, and when you get it, it is my wish that 
 you use it in a way most good for yourself and others. 
 This is all I ask. 
 
 'Now, thanking you for your kind^iess and care, 
 and with my best wishes for your prosperity and 
 happiness, I will close, as I am so weak I can hardly 
 hold the pen. 
 
 'I am, truly your friend, 
 
 'HENRY P. TOBIAS.' 
 
 'Henry P. Tobias?' said Charlie Webster. 'Never 
 heard of him. Did you, John?' 
 
 'Never !' 
 
 And then there was a stir in the outer office. 
 Some one was asking for the Secretary of the 
 Treasury. So John rose. 
 
 'I must get to work now, boys. We can talk 
 it over later to-night.' And then handing me the 
 MS. — 'take it home mth you, if you like, and 
 look it over at your leisure.' 
 
 As CharUe Webster and I passed out into the 
 street, I noticed the fellow of the sinister pock- 
 marked visage standing near the window of the 
 inner office. The window was open, and any one 
 standing outside, could easily have heard every- 
 thing that passed inside. As the fellow caught 
 
20 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 my eye, he smiled unpleasantly, and slunk off 
 down the street. 
 
 'Who is that fellow?' I asked Charlie. 'He's a 
 queer looking specimen.' 
 
 'Yes ! he's no good. Yet he's more half-witted 
 than bad, perhaps. His face is against him, poor 
 devil.' 
 
 And we went our ways, till the evening, I to 
 post home to the further study of the narrative. 
 There, seated on the pleasant veranda, I went over 
 it carefully, sentence by sentence. While I was 
 reading, some one called me indoors. I put down 
 the manuscript on the little bamboo table at my 
 side, and went in. When I returned, a few moments 
 afterwards — the manuscript was gone. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 IN WHICH I CHARTER THE 'MAGGIE DARLING' 
 
 As luck would have it, the loss, or rather the theft, 
 of Henry P. Tobias's narrative, was not so serious 
 as it at first seemed, for it fortunately chanced 
 that John Saunders had had it copied; but the 
 theft remained none the less mysterious. What 
 could be the motive of the thief— with whom, 
 quite unreasonably, and, doubtless unjustly, my 
 fancy persisted in connecting that unprepossessing 
 face so keenly attentive in John Saunders's outer 
 office, and again so plainly eavesdropping at his 
 open window. 
 
 However, leaving that mystery for later solu- 
 tion, John Saunders, Charlie Webster, and I spent 
 the next evening, in a general and particular 
 criticism of the narrative itself. There were 
 several obvious objections to be made against 
 its authenticity. To start with, Tobias, at the 
 time of his deposition, was a very old man— seventy- 
 five years old— and it was more than probable 
 that his experiences as a pirate would date from 
 his early manhood. They were hardly likely to 
 
22 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 have taken place as late as his fortieth year. The 
 narrative, indeed, suggested their taking place 
 much earlier, and there would thus be a space of 
 at least forty years between the burial of the treasure 
 and his death-bed revelation. It was natural to 
 ask : why, during all those years, did he not 
 return and retrieve the treasure for himself? 
 Various circumstances may have prevented him, 
 the inability from lack of means to make the 
 journey, or what not; but certainly one would 
 need to imagine circumstances of peculiar power 
 that should be strong enough to keep a man with 
 so valuable a secret in his possession so many 
 years from taking advantage of it. 
 
 For a long while too, the names given to the 
 purported sites of the treasure caches puzzled us. 
 Modern maps give no such places as 'Dead Men's 
 Shoes' and 'Short Shrift Island,' but John, who 
 is said to be writing a learned history of the 
 Bahamas — has been for a long time collecting old 
 maps and prints and documents relating to them; 
 and, at last, in a map dating back to 1763, we 
 came upon one of the two names. So far the 
 veracity of Tobias was supported. 'Dead Men's 
 Shoes' proved to be the old name for a certain 
 cay some twenty miles long, about a day and a 
 half's sail from Nassau, one of the long string of 
 coral islands now known as the 'Exuma Cays.' 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 23 
 
 But of 'Short Shrift Island' we sought in vain 
 for a trace. 
 
 Then the details for identification of the sites 
 left something to be desired in particularity. But 
 that, I reasoned, rather made for Tobias's veracity 
 than otherwise. Were the document merely a 
 hoax, as John continued to suspect, its author 
 would have indulged his imagination in greater 
 elaboration. The very simplicity of the directions 
 argued their authenticity, Charlie Webster was 
 inclined to back me in this view, but neither of 
 my friends showed any optimism in regard to 
 the possible discovery of the treasure. ♦ 
 
 The character of the brush on the out-islands 
 alone, they said, made the task of search well- 
 nigh hopeless. To cut one's way through twenty 
 miles of such stubborn thickets, would cost almost 
 as much in labour as the treasure was worth. 
 And then the peculiar nature of the jagged coral 
 rock, like endless wastes of clinker, almost denuded 
 of earth, would make the task the more arduous. 
 As well look for a particular fish in the sea. A 
 needle in a haystack would be easy in comparison. 
 
 'All the same,' said I, 'the adventure calls me 
 —the adventure and that million and a half 
 dollar? — and those " Dead Men's Shoes " — and 
 I intend to undertake it. I am not going to 
 let your middle-aged scepticism discourage me. 
 
24 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 Treasure or no treasure, there will be the excite- 
 ment of the quest, and all the fun of the sea.' 
 
 'And some duck, perhaps,' added Charlie. 
 
 'And some shark-fishing for certain,' said John. 
 
 The next thing was to set about chartering a 
 boat, and engaging a crew. In this Charlie Web- 
 ster's experience was invaluable, as his friendly 
 zeal was untiring. 
 
 After looking over much likely and unlikely 
 craft, we finally decided on a two-masted schooner 
 of trim but solid build, the Maggie Darling, fifty- 
 two feet over all, and thirteen beam, and something 
 under twenty tons, with an auxiliary gasolene 
 engine of twenty-four horse-power, and an alleged 
 speed of ten knots. A staunch, as well as a pretty 
 little boat, with good lines, and high in the bows; 
 built to face any seas — 'cross the Atlantic in her.' 
 said the owner. Owners of schooners always say 
 that. But the Maggie Darling spoke for herself, 
 and I fell in love with her on the spot. 
 
 Next, the crew. 
 
 'You will need a captain, a cook, an engineer, 
 and a deck-hand,' said Charhe, 'and I have the 
 captain, and the cook all ready for you.' 
 
 That afternoon we rounded them all up, in- 
 cluding the engineer and the deck-hand, and, 
 weather permitting, we arranged to start with 
 the morning tide, which set east about six o'clock 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 25 
 
 on July 13, 1903. Charlie was a little doubtful 
 about the weather, though the glass was steady. 
 
 'A north-easter's about due,' he said, 'but unless 
 it comes before you start, you'll be able to put 
 in for shelter at one or two places, and you will 
 be inside the reef most of the way.' 
 
 Ship's stores were the next detail, and these, 
 including fifty gallons of gasolene, over and above, 
 the tank and three barrels of water, being duly 
 got aboard, all was ready for the start on the 
 evening of July 12; an evening which was natur- 
 ally spent in a parting conclave in John Saunders's 
 snuggery. 
 
 'Why, one important thing you've forgotten,' 
 said Charhe, as we sat over our pipes and glasses. 
 'Think of forgetting that. Machetes and spades 
 and pick-axes. And I'd take a few sticks of 
 dynamite along with you too. I can let you have 
 the lot, and, if you hke, we'll get them aboard 
 to-night.' 
 
 'It's a pity you have to give it away that it's a 
 treasure hunt,' said John, 'but, then, you can't 
 keep the crew from knowing. And they're a queer 
 lot on the subject of treasure, have some of the 
 rummest superstitions — I hope you won't have 
 any trouble with them.' 
 
 'Had any experience in handhng niggers?' 
 asked Charlie. 
 
2 6 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'Not the least.' 
 
 'That makes me wish I was coming with you. 
 They are rum beggars. Awful cowards, and just 
 like a pack of children. You know about sailing 
 anyhow. That's a good thing. You can captain 
 your own boat, if need be. That's all to the good. 
 Particularly if you strike any dirty weather. 
 Though they're cowards in a storm, they'll take 
 orders better than white men — so long as they 
 see that you know what you are about. But let 
 me give you one word of advice. Be kind, of 
 course, with them — but keep your distance all 
 the same. And be careful about losing your 
 temper. You get more out of them by coaxing 
 — hard as it is, at times. And, by the way, how 
 would you like to take old "Sailor" with you?' 
 
 Sailor was a great Labrador retriever, who, at 
 that moment, lifted up his big head, with a 
 devoted sigh, from behind his master's chair. 
 
 'Rather,' I said. So Sailor was thereupon 
 enrolled as a further addition to the crew. 
 
 And then Charlie and I went off, after the 
 machetes, dynamite, et cetera, and putting them 
 into the dingh}^ rowed out with them under the 
 stars, and stowed them safe aboard the sloop; 
 parting at length, with a promise to meet for the 
 start in the morning. 
 
 'Of course, you needn't expect to start on 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 27 
 
 time/ said Charlie, with a laugh, 'you'll be lucky 
 if the crew turns up an hour after time. But 
 that's all in the game. I know them — lazy 
 beggars. 
 
 And the morning proved the truth of Charlie's 
 judgment. 
 
 'Old Tom,' the cook, was first on hand. I took 
 to him at once, A simple, kindly old 'darky' of 
 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' type, with faithfulness written 
 all over him, and a certain sad wisdom in his old 
 face. 
 
 'You'll find Tom a great cook,' said Charlie, 
 patting the old man on the shoulder. 'Many a 
 trip we've taken together after duck, haven't 
 we, Tom?' said he kindly. 
 
 'That's right, suh. That's right,' said the old 
 man, twinkHng with pleasure. 
 
 Then came the captain — Captain Jabez Williams 
 — a younger man, with an intelligent, self-respect- 
 ing manner, somewhat non-committal, business-like, 
 evidently not particularly anxious as to whether 
 he pleased or not, but looking competent, and 
 civil enough, without being sympathetic. 
 
 Next came the engineer, a young hulking bronze 
 giant, a splendid physical specimen, but rather 
 heavy and sullen and not over-intelUgent to look 
 at. A slow-witted young animal, not suggesting 
 any great love of work, and rather loutish in his 
 
2 8 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 manners. But he knew his engine, said CharHe. 
 And that was the main thing. The deck-hand 
 proved to be a shackly, rather silly, effeminate 
 fellow, suggesting idiocy, but doubtless wiry and 
 good enough for the purpose. 
 
 So we all piled in together into the dinghy, and 
 with a last handshake to CharHe, we pulled out 
 to the Maggie Darling. 
 
 While they were busy getting up the anchor, 
 I went down into my cabin, to arrange various 
 odds and ends, and presently came the captain, 
 touching his hat. 
 
 'There's a party,' he said, 'outside here, wants 
 to know if you'll take him as passenger to Spanish 
 Wells.' 
 
 'We're not taking passengers,' I answered, 'but 
 I'll come and look him over. 
 
 A man was standing up in a row-boat, leaning 
 against the ship's side. 
 
 ' You '11 do me a great favour, sir,' he began to 
 say, in a soft ingratiating voice. 
 
 I looked at him with a start of recognition. He 
 was my pock-marked friend, who had made such 
 an unpleasant impression on me, at John Saunders's 
 office. He was rather more gentlemanly looking 
 than he had seemed at the first view, and I saw 
 that, though he was a half-breed, the white blood 
 predominated. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 29 
 
 ' I don't want to intrude,' he said, ' but I have 
 urgent need of getting to Spanish Wells, and 
 there's no boat going that way for a fortnight. 
 I've just missed the mail. 
 
 I looked at him, and though I liked his looks no 
 more than ever, I was averse from being disobhg- 
 ing, and the favour asked was one often asked and 
 granted in those islands, where communication is 
 difficult and infrequent. 
 
 'I didn't think of taking any passengers,' I said. 
 
 'I know,' he answered. 'I know it's a great 
 favour I ask.' 
 
 He spoke with a certain cultivation of manner. 
 'But I am willing, of course, to pay anything you 
 think well for my food and passage.' 
 
 I waved that suggestion aside, and stood irreso- 
 lutely looking at him, with no very hospitable 
 expression in my eyes, I dare say. But really my 
 distaste for him was an unreasoning prejudice, and 
 Charlie Webster's phrase came to my mind — ' His 
 face is against him, poor devil !' 
 
 It certainly was. 
 
 Then at last I said, surely not over graciously, 
 'Very well. Get aboard. You can help work the 
 boat,' and turned away to my cabin. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 IN WHICH TOM CATCHES AN ENCHANTED FISH, AND 
 DISCOURSES OF THE DANGERS OF TREASURE 
 HUNTING 
 
 The morning was a little overcast, but a brisk 
 north-east wind soon set the clouds moving, as 
 it went humming in our sails, and the sun coming 
 out in its glory over the crystalline waters, made 
 a fine flashing world of it, full of exhilaration and 
 the very breath of youth and adventure, very up- 
 lifting to the heart. My spirits, that had been 
 momentarily dashed by my unwelcome passenger, 
 rose again, and I felt kindly to all the earth, and 
 glad to be alive. I caught sight of old Tom, busy 
 with his cooking utensils for'ard. 
 
 'That's right, Tom,' I called, 'give us break- 
 fast. Some coffee would taste good, eh?' 
 
 'Ay, ay, sar,' he called back. 
 
 'And you, boys, there; haven't you got a song 
 you can put up? How about the " John B. sails? " ' 
 And I led them off. The hiss and swirl of the sea, 
 and the wind making a brisk undertone as we sang 
 one of the quaint Nassau ditties : — 
 
 30 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 31 
 
 Come on the sloop John B., 
 
 My grandfather and me, 
 Round Nassau town we did roam, 
 
 Drinking all night, ve got in a fight, 
 Ve feel so break-up, ve vant to go home. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 So hist up the John B sails, 
 
 See how the mainsail set. 
 
 Send for the captain ashore, let us go licn^e 
 
 Let me go home, let me go home, 
 
 I feel so break-up, I vant to go home. 
 
 The first mate he go drunk. 
 Break up the people trunk. 
 Constable come aboard, take him away; 
 Mr John-stone, leave us alone, 
 I feel so break-up, I vant to go home. 
 
 CHORUS : 
 
 So hist up the John B. sails, etc., etc. 
 
 Nassau looked very pretty in the morning sun- 
 light, with its pink and white houses nestling 
 among palm-trees and the masts of its sponging 
 schooners, and soon we were abreast of the pic- 
 turesque low-lying fort, Fort Montague, that Major 
 Bruce, nearly two hundred years ago, had had 
 such a time building as a protection against pirates 
 entering from the east end of the harbour. It 
 looked like a veritable piece of the past made 
 visible, and set the imagination dreaming of those 
 old days of Spanish galleons and the black flag, 
 and brought my thoughts eagerly back to the object 
 
32 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 of my trip, those doubloons and pieces of eight 
 that lay in glittering heaps somewhere out in these 
 island wildernesses. We were passing cays of 
 jagged cinder-coloured rock covered with low 
 bushes and occasional palms, very savage and 
 impenetrable. It was beneath miles of such 
 ferocious vegetation that my treasure was lying. 
 Certainly it was tough-looking stuff to fight one's 
 way through, but those sumptuous words of Henry 
 P. Tobias's narrative kept on making a glorious 
 glitter in my mind : 'The first is a sum of one 
 million and one-half dollars. . . . The other is a 
 sum of one million dollars. . . . The first pod was 
 taken from a Spanish merchant and it is in Spanish 
 silver dollars. The other on Short Shrift Island is in 
 different kinds of money, taken from different ships 
 of different nations . . . it is all good money.' 
 
 In fact, I found to my surprise that I had the 
 haunting thing by heart, as though it had been 
 a piece of poetry; and over and over again it kept 
 on going through my head. 
 
 Then Tom came up with my breakfast. The 
 old fellow stood by to serve me as I ate, with a 
 pathetic touch of the old slavery days in his 
 deferential, half-fatherly manner, dropping a quaint 
 remark every now and again, as when drawing 
 my attention to the sun bursting through the 
 clouds, he said, 'The poor man's blanket is coming 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 33 
 
 out, sar' — phrases in which there seemed a whole 
 world of pathos to me. 
 
 Presently, when breakfast was over, and I 
 stood looking over the side into the incredibly 
 clear water, in which it seems hardly possible 
 that a boat can go on floating, suspended as she 
 seems over gleaming gulfs of liquid space, down 
 through which at every moment it seems she must 
 dizzily fall, Tom drew my attention to the indes- 
 cribably lovely 'sea-gardens' over which we were 
 passing, waving purple fans, and fairy coral grottoes, 
 and jewelled fishes, lying hke a rainbow dream 
 under our rushing keel. Well might the early 
 mariners people such submarine paradises with 
 sirens and beautiful water-witches, and imagine 
 a fairy realm down there far under the sea. 
 
 As Tom and I gazed down, lost in those rainbow 
 deeps, I heard a voice at my elbow saying with 
 peculiarly sickening unction, — 
 
 'The wonderful works of God!' 
 
 It was my unwelcome passenger, who had 
 silently edged up to where we stood. I looked at 
 him, with the question as to what kind of dis- 
 agreeable animal he was very clear in my 
 eyes. 
 
 'Precisely,' I said, and moved away. 
 
 I had been trying to feel more kindly towards 
 him, wondering whether I could summon up the 
 
34 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 decency to offer him a cigar, but 'the wonderful 
 works of God' finished me. 
 
 'Hello! captain,' I said presently, pointing to some 
 sails coming up rapidly behind us, 'What's this? 
 I thought we'd got the fastest boat in the harbour,' 
 
 'Evidently not !' 
 
 It was the voice of my charming passenger once 
 more, and the words had clearly escaped him, out 
 of an unguarded excess of malice, for though there 
 was an unmistakable chuckle in them, he looked 
 scared at himself for having said them. 
 
 'Perhaps you would like us to put you aboard 
 her,' I said. 
 
 'O I meant no offence, I'm. sure,' he said, and 
 shuffled away for'ard. 
 
 'It's the Susan B., sponger,' said the captain, 
 'Yes, she's a fast boat.' 
 
 And that was all. The captain was a man of 
 few words. 
 
 The Susan B. was a rakish-looking craft with 
 a black hull, and she certainly could sail. It made 
 me feel ashamed to watch how fast she was over- 
 hauling us, and, as she finally came abreast and 
 then passed us, it seemed to me that in the usual 
 salutations exchanged between us, there was mingled 
 some sarcastic laughter, and no doubt it was pure 
 fancy, but I certainly did fancy that I noticed 
 our passenger signal to them in a peculiar way. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 35 
 
 But I confess that his presence was beginning 
 CO get on my nerves, and I was ready to get 'edgy' 
 at anything or nothing, an irritated state of mind 
 which I presently took out on George the engineer, 
 who did not behe his hulking appearance, and 
 who was for ever letting the engine stop, and 
 taking for ever to get it going again. One could 
 almost have sworn he did it on purpose. 
 
 My language was more forcible than classical, 
 had quite a piratical flavour, in fact; and my 
 friend of 'the wonderful works of God' looked up 
 with a deprecating air. Its effect on George was 
 nil, except perhaps to further deepen his sulks. 
 
 And this I did notice, after a while, that my 
 remarks to George seemed to have set up a certain 
 sympathetic acquaintance between him and my 
 passenger, the shackly deck-hand being apparently 
 taken in as a humble third. They sat for'ard, 
 talking together, and my passenger read to them, 
 on one occasion, from a piece of printed paper that 
 fluttered irf the wind — to which they Hstened with 
 fallen lower jaws, and occasional attem.pts to seem 
 intelligent. 
 
 Meanwhile, the captain, as usual, was occupied 
 with his helm, and the thoughts he didn't seem 
 to feel the necessity of sharing; a quiet, poised, 
 probably stupid man, for whom I could not deny 
 the respect we must always give to content, 
 
36 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 however simple. His hand was on the wheel, and 
 his eyes on the sails and the horizon, and, though 
 I was but a yard away from him, you would have 
 said I was not there at all, judging by his face. In 
 fact, you would have said that he was all alone on 
 the ship, with nothing to think of but her and the 
 sea. He was a sailor, and I don't know what 
 better to say of a man. 
 
 So for society I was thrown back upon Tom, 
 and I might easily have had worse. I felt, too, 
 that he was my only friend on board, and a vague 
 feeUng had come over me that, within the next 
 few hours, I might need a friend. 
 
 Fishing occurred to me as a way of passing the time. 
 
 'Are we going too fast for fishing, Tom?' I 
 asked. The Maggie Darling was not doing the 
 ten knots promised by her owner, but she was 
 doing eight, easily eight. 
 
 'Not too fast for a barracouta,' said Tom; so 
 we put out lines, and watched the stretched 
 strings, and listened to the sea. And, after a 
 while, Tom's line grew taut, and we hauled in, 
 and it was a five-foot barracouta, a bar of silver, 
 with a long flat head, all speed and ferocity, and 
 wonderful teeth. 
 
 'And look !' said Tom, as he pointed to a little 
 writhing eel-like shape, about nine inches long, 
 attached to the belly of the barracouta. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 37 
 
 'A sucking-fish !' said Tom. 'That's good kick;' 
 and he proceeded to turn over the poor creature 
 and cut from his back, immediately below his 
 head, a flat inch and a half of skin lined and stamped 
 like a rubber sole — the device by which he held 
 on to the belly of the barracouta, much as the 
 circle of wet leather holds the stone in a school- 
 boy's shng. 
 
 'Now,' he said, when he had it clean and neat 
 in his fingers. 'We must hang this up and dry 
 it in the north-east wind, and the wind is just 
 right — nor'-nor'-east, and there is no mascot like 
 it — particularly when ' and old Tom hesi- 
 tated, with a slyly innocent smile in his eyes. 
 
 'What is it, Tom?' I said. 
 
 'Have I your permission to speak, sar?' he 
 said. 
 
 Of course, you have, Tom,' I said. 
 
 'Well, sar, then I meant to say that this par- 
 ticular part of a sucking fish, properly dried in 
 the north-east wind is a wonderful mascot — when 
 you're going after treasure' — and Tom looked 
 frightened again, as though he had gone too far. 
 
 'Who said I was going after treasure?' I asked. 
 
 'Aren't you, sar?' said Tom, 'asking your 
 pardon ? ' 
 
 I looked for'ard where the three delegates 
 seemed to have lost interest for a while in their 
 
 D 
 
38 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 conversation and the fluttering paper, and seemed 
 to be noticing Tom and me. 
 
 'Let's talk it over later on, when you bring me 
 my dinner, Tom.' 
 
 As Tom stood, serving my coffee, I took it up 
 with him again. 
 
 'What was that you were saying about treasure, 
 Tom?' I asked. 
 
 'Well, sar, what I meant was this; that going 
 after treasure is a dangerous business — it's not 
 only the living you've got to think of — and Tom 
 threw a careful eye for'ard. 
 
 'The crew, you mean?' 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 'But it's the dead too.* 
 
 'The dead, Tom?' - 
 
 'Yes, sar — the dead !' 
 
 'AH right, Tom,' I said, 'go on.' 
 
 'Well, sar,' Tom continued, 'there was never 
 a buried treasure yet that didn't claim its victim. 
 Not one or two either. Six or eight of them, to 
 my knowledge — and the treasure just where it 
 was for all that. I das 'say it sounds all foolish- 
 ness, but it's true all the same. Something or 
 other'll come, mark my word — just when they 
 think they're got their hand on it, a hurricane, 
 or a tidal wave, or an earthquake — as sure as 
 you live — something'll come — a rock'll fall down, 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 39 
 
 or a thunderbolt, and somebody gets killed — and, 
 well, the ghost laughs, but the treasure stays 
 there all the same ' 
 
 'The ghost laughs?' I asked. 
 
 'Eh ! of course — didn't you know every treasure 
 is guarded by a ghost. He's got to keep watch 
 there till the next fellow comes along, to relieve 
 sentry duty, so to speak. He doesn't give it away. 
 My no ! He dassn't do that. But the minute 
 some one else is killed coming looking for it- 
 then he's free — and the new ghost has got to go 
 on sitting there waiting for ever so long, till some 
 one else comes looking for it ' 
 
 'But what has this sucking fish got to do with 
 it?* And I pointed to the red membrane already 
 drying up in Tom's hand. 
 
 'Well, the man who carries this in his pocket 
 won't be the next ghost,' said Tom. 
 
 'Take good care of it for me then, Tom,' I said, 
 'and when it's properly dried, let me have it. For 
 I've a sort of idea I may have need of it after all.' 
 
 And just then, old Sailor, the quietest member 
 of the crew, put up his head into my hands, as 
 though to say that he had been unfairly lost 
 sight of. 
 
 'Yes, and you too, old chap — that's right. Tom, 
 and you, and I.' 
 
 And then I turned in for the night. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 IN WHICH WE BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND OUR 
 UNWELCOME PASSENGER 
 
 Charlie Webster had hinted at a nor'-easter 
 — even a hurricane. As a rule, Charlie is a safe 
 weather-prophet. But, for once, he was mis- 
 taken. There hadn't been much of any wind as 
 we made a lee at sunset; but as I yawned and 
 looked out of my cabin soon after dawn, about 
 4.30 next morning, there was no wind at all. 
 
 There was every promise of a glorious day, 
 calm, still, and untroubled. But for men whose 
 voyaging depended on sails, it was, as the lawyers 
 say, a dies non. In fact, there was no wind, and 
 no hope of wind. 
 
 As I stood out of the cabin hatch, however, 
 there was enough wind to flutter a piece of paper 
 that had been caught in the mainsail halyard — it 
 fluttered there lonely in the morning— nothing 
 else was about and ahve but it and I, and I took 
 it up in my hand, idly — and as I did so George 
 reared his head for'ard. 
 
 "Morning, George,' I said, 'I guess we've got 
 40 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 41 
 
 to run on gasolene to-day. No wind in sight — 
 so far as I can see.' 
 
 'That's right, sar/ said George, rubbing the sleep 
 out of his eyes. And then Tom tumbled out. 
 
 'Soon have some coffee, sar,' he called. 
 
 Presently George came to me in his big hulking 
 way and said, — 
 
 'There ain't no gasolene, sir ' 
 
 'No gasolene?' I said. 
 
 'It's run out in the night.' 
 
 'Run out in the night !' I said. 
 
 'Yes, sir.' 
 
 'The tanks were filled when we started, weren't 
 they?' I asked. 
 
 'Yes, sar. 
 
 'We can't have used them up so soon ' 
 
 'No, sir — but some one has turned the cocks ' 
 
 I stood dazed for a moment, wondering how this 
 could have happened — then a thought slowly 
 dawned upon me. 
 
 'Who has charge of them?' I asked. 
 
 George looked a little stupid, then defiant. 
 
 'I see,' I said; and, suddenly, without remem- 
 bering Charlie Webster's advice not to lose your 
 temper with a negro — 'I see,' I repeated, and I 
 suppose I saw what is called red, for I realised 
 that this was no accident, but a deliberate trick, 
 something, indeed, in the nature of a miniature 
 
42 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 mutiny. That fluttering paper I had picked from 
 the halyard lay near my breakfast table. I had 
 only half read it. Now its import came to me 
 with full force. I had no firearms with me. Having 
 a quick temper, I have made it a habit all my 
 life never to carry a gun — because they go off so 
 easily — but one most essential part of a gentle- 
 man's education had been mine — so I applied it 
 instantly on George, with the result that a well- 
 directed blow under the peak of the jaw sent him 
 sprawling, and for a while speechless in the cock- 
 pit. 
 
 'No gasolene !' I said. 
 
 And then my passenger — I must give him credit 
 for the courage — put up his head for'ard, and 
 called out, — 
 
 T protest against that . . . it's a cowardly 
 outrage . . . you wouldn't dare to do it to a 
 white man ' 
 
 'O I see,' I said. 'So you're the author of this 
 precious paper here, are you? Come over here 
 and talk it over, if you've the courage ' 
 
 'I've got the courage,' he answered, in a shaking 
 voice. 
 
 'AH right,' I said — 'you're safe for the present 
 — and George, who is so fond of sleep, will take 
 quite a nap for a while, I think.' 
 
 'You English brute !' he said. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 43 
 
 'You English brute !' he had said; and the 
 words had impelled me to invite him aft; for I 
 cannot deny a certain admiration for him that 
 had mysteriously grown up in me. It can only 
 have been the admiration we all have for courage; 
 for, certainly, I cannot have suggested that he 
 had any other form of attractiveness. 
 
 'Come here !' I said, 'for your life is safe for 
 the time being. I would hke to discuss this paper 
 with you.' 
 
 He came and we read it together, fluttering as 
 I had seen it flutter in his fingers as he read it 
 for'ard to the engineer and to the deck-hand. 
 George, meanwhile, was lying oblivious to the 
 rhetoric with which it was plentifully garnished, 
 not to speak of the Latin quotations, taking that 
 cure of bleeding, which was the fashionable cure 
 of a not unintelligent century, 
 
 'Think How Many We Are!' it began — 'Think 
 What We Could Do ! It isn't either that we haven't 
 intelligence — if only we were to use it. We don't 
 lack leaders — we dont lack courage — we don't lack 
 martyrs; All are ready ' 
 
 I stopped reading. 'Why don't you start, then?' 
 I said. 
 
 'We have a considerable organisation,' he went on. 
 
 'You have.?' I said. 'Why don't you use it 
 then ? ' 
 
44 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'We're waiting for Jamaica,' he answered, 'she's 
 almost ready.' 
 
 'It sounds a pretty good idea to me,' I said, 
 'from your point of view. ..." From your point 
 of view, remember," I said, but you mustn't think 
 that yours is mine — not for one moment — O 
 dear no ! On the contrary, my point of view is 
 that of the Governor of Nassau, or his represen- 
 tative, quite near by, at Harbour Island, isn't it?' 
 
 My pock-marked friend grew a trifle green as 
 I said this. 
 
 'We have sails still, remember,' I said. 'George 
 and the lost gasolene are not everything.' 
 
 'Five hours, with anything of a wind, would 
 bring us to Harbour Island, and — with this paper 
 in my hand — what do you think yourself? — the 
 gallows ? ' 
 
 My friend grew sad at that and seemed to be 
 thinking hard inside, making resolutions the full 
 force of which I didn't understand till later, but 
 the immediate result of which was a graciousness 
 of manner which did not entirely deceive me. 
 
 'O,' he said, 'I don't think you quite mean 
 that. You're impulsive — as when you hit that poor 
 boy down there ' 
 
 'Who seems to be coming to all right,' I said, 
 'and wants nothing worse than a bandage and a 
 drink. We'll get Tom to fix him ' 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 45 
 
 And I called for Tom, who, with hardly less 
 distaste than I should have had, bandaged George's 
 head, and gave him a long hooker of Jamaica rum, 
 for which he received no thanks, but, while he 
 was ministering to him, he took the opportunity of 
 whispering to me : 'Watch out for yourself, sar.' 
 
 'Well,' I said, taking Tom's hint, 'I'm willing 
 to treat you better than you deserve. At the 
 same time, you must admit that your manifesto, 
 as I suppose you would call it, is neither justified 
 by conditions nor by your own best sense. You 
 yourself are far more English than you are any- 
 thing else — you know it; you know how hard it 
 is for white men to live with black men, and all, 
 to tell the truth, they do for them. The mere 
 smell of negroes is no more pleasant to you than 
 it is to many other white men. Englishmen have 
 exiled themselves for absurdly small salaries, to 
 try and make life finer and cleaner for those dark 
 and, I'll admit, pathetic barbarians. You can't 
 deny it. And you've too much sense to deny it. 
 So I'll say nothing about this, if you like' — point- 
 ing to the MS. — 'and if the wind holds, put you 
 ashore to-morrow at Spanish Wells. I Uke you 
 in spite of myself. ... Is it a bargain?' 
 
 He shook hands with me on this, and we parted, 
 as I thought, friends of sorts. 
 
 There was no sailing wind, so there was nothing 
 
46 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 to do but stay where we were all day. The boys 
 fished and lay around; and I spent most of the 
 day in my cabin, reading a novel, and soon after 
 nine I fell asleep in a frame of mind unaccountably 
 trustful. 
 
 I suppose that I had been asleep about three 
 hours when I was disturbed by a tremendous roar. 
 It was Sailor, who always slept near me, out on 
 the cockpit, with a man under his paws and his 
 jaws at his throat. I called him off, and saw that 
 it was my pock-marked friend, with his right 
 hand extended in the cockpit, and a revolver a 
 few inches away from it. So far as I knew, it was 
 the only firearm on the ship. 'Let's get hold of 
 that first, Sailor,' I said, and I slipped it into my 
 hip-pocket. 
 
 'It's too bad that we can't be decent to people. 
 Sailor, isn't it? It makes life awfully sad,' I said. 
 
 Sailor wagged his tail. 
 
 The stars were fading on the eastern islands. 
 
 'Wake up, Tom,' I called, and 'wake up, 
 captain ! ' — and meanwhile, I took out the revolver 
 from my hip-pocket — and held it over the man 
 I seemed to grow more and more sorry for. 
 
 'We've not only got a mutiny aboard,' I said 
 to the captain, 'but we've got treason to the 
 British Government. Do you want to stand for 
 that ? ... Or shall I put you ashore with the rest ? ' 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 47 
 
 Unruffled as usual, he had nothing to say 
 beyond 'Ay, ay, sir!' 
 
 'Take this cord, then,' I said to him and Tom, 
 and bind the hands and feet of this pock-marked 
 gentleman here, also of George, engineer, and 
 also of Theodore, the deck-hand. Bind them well. 
 And throw them into the dinghy, with a bottle of 
 water apiece, and a loaf of bread. By this noon, 
 we'll have some wind, and can make our way 
 to Harbour Island, and there I'll have a httle 
 talk with the commandant.' 
 
 And as I ordered, all was done, and Tom and 
 I rowed the dinghy ashore, with our three captives 
 bound like three silly fowls, and presently threw 
 them ashore with precious httle ceremony, I can 
 tell you, for the coral rock is not all it sounds in 
 poetry ; and so we got back to the Maggie Darling 
 with imprecations in our ears, and particularly 
 the promises of the pock-marked rebel, who 
 announced the certainty of our meeting again. 
 
 Of course, we laughed at such threats, but I 
 confess as I went down to my cabin, and picked 
 up the 'manifesto' that had been forgotten in all 
 the turmoil, I could not escape a certain thrill 
 as I read the signature — for it was : 'Henry P. 
 Tobias, Jr.' 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE INCIDENT OF THE CAPTAIN 
 
 As we hove up the sails and the sun came up in 
 all his glory, the smell of Tom's coffee seeming to 
 my prosaic mind the best of all in that beautiful 
 world, — 
 
 'Let's give 'em a song, boys, to cheer 'em up,' 
 I said. 'How about "Delia gone.'" 
 
 At this suggestion even the imperturbability of 
 
 the captain broke into a smile. He was a man 
 
 hard to move, but this suggestion seemed to tickle 
 
 him. 
 
 'Some gave a nickel, some gave a dime, 
 
 I never gave no red cent — 
 She was no girl of mine — 
 Delia gone ! Delia gone !' 
 
 seemed to throw him into convulsions, and I took 
 the helm awhile to give him a chance to recover. 
 The exquisiteness of its appeal to the scoundrels, 
 so securely trussed there on the island we were 
 swiftly leaving behind, seemed to get him to such a 
 degree that I was almost afraid that he might 
 die of laughing, as has been heard of. He laughed 
 
 48 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 49 
 
 as only a negro can laugh, and he kept it going 
 so infectiously, that Tom and I got started, just 
 watching him. Even Sailor caught the infection, 
 his big tongue shaking in his jaws with the huge 
 joke of it. And I don't know what they thought 
 had happened to us, the three poor devils there 
 on the jagged coral rock. At all events, the 
 laughter did us good, by relieving the tension of our 
 feelings, and when at last we had recovered, and 
 the captain was at the wheel again, once more 
 sober as a judge, you couldn't have believed such 
 an outbreak possible of him. 
 
 The Maggie Darling was sailing so fast, that 
 it hardly seemed necessary to trouble to call at 
 Harbour Island; but, then, the wind might go 
 down and our adventure was far from over, and 
 gasolene might at any moment be a prime neces- 
 sity. So we kept her going, with her beautiful 
 sails filled out against the bluest sky j^ou can 
 dream of and the ripple singing at her bow all 
 day long — the lovehest sight and sound in the 
 world for a man who loves boats and the sea. 
 
 'Is there anything hke it, Tom?' I said. 'Do 
 you read your Bible, Tom? You should; it's the 
 greatest book in the world.' Tom hastened to 
 acquiesce. 
 
 'You remember in the Book of Job? Three things 
 are wonderful to me — The way of a ship on the sea 
 
50 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 — the i&ay of an eagle in the air — and the way of a 
 man with a maid. 
 
 'Ay, ay, sir,' said Tom, 'the way of a ship on 
 the sea — but the way of a man with a maid ' 
 
 'What's the matter wit"h that, Tom?' I said. 
 
 'They're all very pretty — just like the boat — but 
 you'll not find one near so true. We're better 
 without them, if you ask my advice. A man's 
 all right as long as he keeps on his boat — but the 
 minute he lands, the girls and the troubles begin.' 
 
 'Ah ! Tom,' I said, 'but I think you told me 
 you've a family ' 
 
 'Yas ! sar, but the only good one amongst them 
 is in the churchyard, this fifteen years.' 
 
 'Your wife, Tom?' 
 
 'Yes, sar, but she was more than a woman. 
 She was a saint. When I talk of women I don't 
 think of her. No, God be kind to her, she is a 
 saint, and I only wait around till she calls me.' 
 
 'Tom, allow me to shake hands with you,' I 
 said, 'and call myself your friend for good.' 
 
 The tears rolled down the old fellow's cheeks, 
 and I realised how little colour really matters, and 
 how few white men were really as white as Tom. 
 
 And so that night we made Harbour Island, 
 and met that welcome that can only be met at 
 the lonely ends of the earth. 
 
 The commandant and the clergyman took me 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 51 
 
 under their wings on the spot, and, though there 
 was a good hotel, the commandant didn't con- 
 sider it good enough for me. 
 
 Bless them both ! I hope to be able some day 
 to offer them the kind of hospitality they brought 
 me so generously in both hands; lonely men, 
 serving God and the British Empire, in that 
 apparently God-forsaken outpost of the world. 
 
 I liked the attitude they took towards my 
 adventure. Their comments on 'Henry P. Tobias, 
 Jr.,' and the paper I had with me, were especially 
 enlightening. 
 
 'The black men themselves,' they both agreed, 
 'are all right, except, of course, here and there. 
 It's fellows like this precious Tobias, real white 
 trash — the negroes' name for them is true enough 
 — that are the danger for the friendship of both 
 races. And it's the vein of a sort of a literary 
 idealism in a fellow like Tobias that makes him 
 the more dangerous. He's not all to the bad ' 
 
 'I couldn't help thinking that too,' I interrupted. 
 
 'O no,' they said, 'but he's a bit mad, too. 
 That's his trouble. He's got a personal, as well 
 as aft abstract, grudge against the British Govern- 
 ment.' 
 
 'Treasure?' I laughed. 
 
 'How did you know?' they asked. 
 
 'Never mind,' I said, 'I somehow got the idea.' 
 
52 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'And he thinks by championing the nigger, he 
 can kill two birds, see?' 
 
 'I see,' I said. 'I'm sorry I didn't nab him 
 while I had him.' 
 
 'Never mind,' they rejoined, 'if you stick to your 
 present object, you're bound to meet him again 
 and soon. Only take a word of advice. Have a 
 few guns with you. For you're liable to need 
 them. We're not afraid about nabbing the whole 
 bunch; but we don't want to lose good men going 
 after bad men. And there's such a thing as having 
 too much courage.' 
 
 'I agree,' I said. 'I'll take the guns all right, 
 but I'm afraid I'll need some more crew. I mean 
 I'll want an engineer, and another deck-hand.' 
 
 And, just as I said this, there came up some 
 one poste-haste from the village; some one, too, that 
 wanted the clergyman as well as me, for my 
 captain was ill, and at the point of death. 
 
 It was an hour or so after dinner-time, and we 
 were just enjoying our cigars,' 
 
 'What on earth can be the trouble?' I said, but, 
 the three of us, including the commandant, went. 
 
 We found the captain lying in his berth writhing 
 with cramps. 
 
 'What on earth have you been doing with your- 
 self, Cap?' I asked. 
 
 'I did nothing, sir, but eat my dinner, and 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 53 
 
 drink that claret you were kind enough to give 
 me.' 
 
 'That half a bottle of claret,' I said. 
 
 'Yes, sir, the very same.' 
 
 'Well, there was nothing to hurt you in that,' I said. 
 
 'Did you take it half and half with water, as 
 I told you?' I asked. 
 
 'I did indeed, sir.' 
 
 'And what did you eat for your dinner?' 
 
 'Some pigeon peas, and some rainbow fish.' 
 
 'Sure, nothing else?' 
 
 'God's truth, sir.' 
 
 'It's very funny,' I said, and then he began to 
 writhe and stiffen. 'Get some rum, Tom,' I said, 
 'and make it boiling hot quick — quick !' 
 
 And Tom did. 
 
 'We must get him into a sweat.' 
 
 Very soon he was. Then I said to Tom, — 
 
 'What do you make out of this smell that's 
 coming from him, Tom?' 
 
 'Kerosene, sar,' said Tom. 
 
 'I thought the very same,' I said, and Tom 
 beckoned me to go with him to the galley, and 
 showed me several quart bottles of water standing 
 on a shelf. 'Two of these were kerosene,' Tom 
 said, 'and I suppose Cap made a mistake,' for 
 one looked as clear as the other. 
 
 Then I took one of them back to the captain. 
 
 £ 
 
54 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'Was it a bottle like this you mixed with the 
 claret?' I asked. 
 
 'Sure it was, sar,' he answered, writhing hard 
 with the cramps. 
 
 'But my God, man !' I said, 'couldn't you tell 
 the difference between that and water?' 
 
 'I thought it tasted funny, boss, but I wasn't 
 used to claret ' 
 
 And then we had to laugh again, and I thought 
 old Tom would die. 
 
 'A nigger's stomach and his head,' said the 
 commandant, 'are about the same. I really don't 
 know which is the strongest.' 
 
 And Tom started laughing so that I believe if 
 the wind had been blowing that way you could 
 have heard him in Nassau. 
 
 The captain didn't die, though he came pretty 
 near to it. In fact, he took so long getting on his 
 feet, that we couldn't v/ait for him; so we had 
 practically to look out for a new crew, with the 
 exception of Tom, and Sailor. The commandant 
 proved a good friend to us in this, choosing three 
 somewhat characterless men, with good characters. 
 
 'I cannot guarantee them,' he said, 'that's 
 impossible, but, so far as I know, and the parson'U 
 bear me out, they're all quiet, good-living men, 
 and the engineer's in love, and got it bad, and 
 is engaged to be married, and is all the gladder 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 55 
 
 of the good pay you're offering — more than usually 
 comes their way — and that always keeps a man 
 straight until at least after he's married.' 
 
 The commandant was a splendid fellow, and he 
 had a knowledge of human nature that was almost 
 Shakespearean, particularly when you considered 
 the few and poor specimens he had to study it by. 
 
 As we said good-bye, with a spanking south- 
 west breeze blowing, I could see that he was a 
 little anxious about me. 
 
 'Take care of yourself,' he said, 'for you must 
 remember none of us can take care of you. There's 
 no settlement where you're going, no telegraph 
 or wireless — you could be murdered and none of 
 us hear of it for a month, or for ever. And the 
 fellows you're after are a dangerous lot, take my 
 word for it. Keep a good watch on your guns, 
 and we'll be on the look out for the first news of 
 you, and anything we can do we'll do, you bet.' 
 
 And so the Maggie Darling once more bared her 
 whiteness to the breeze, and the world seemed 
 once more a great world— and 'It's good to be 
 alive, Tom,' I said, 'on a day like this, though we 
 get killed to-morrow.' 
 
 Tom agreed to this, and so did Sailor, and so, 
 I felt, did the Maggie Darling, the loveliest full- 
 sailed creature that ever leaned over and laughed 
 in the grasp of the breeze. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 IN WHICH THE SUCKING FISH HAS A CHANCE TO 
 SHOW ITS VIRTUE 
 
 The breeze was so strong, that we didn't use 
 our engine that day. Besides, I wanted to take 
 a Httle time thinking over my plans. I spent 
 most of the time studying the charts and ponder- 
 ing John P. Tobias's narrative, which threw very 
 httle light on the situation. There was httle 
 definite to go by, but his mark of the compass 
 engraven on a certain rock in a wilderness of rocks, 
 and such rocks as they were at that. As I thought 
 of that particular kind of rock, I wondered, too, 
 about my three friends, like trussed fowls, on 
 their ostermoor couches. Of course, they had long 
 since cut each other free, and were somewhere 
 active and evil-doing; and the thought of their 
 faces seemed positively sweet to me, for of such 
 faces are made 'the bright face of danger' that 
 all men are born to love. 
 
 Still, the thought of that set me thinking, too, 
 of my defences. I looked well to my guns. The 
 commandant had made me accept the loan of a 
 
 56 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 57 
 
 particularly expert revolver that was, I could see, 
 as the apple of his eye. He must have cared for 
 me a great deal to have lent it me, and it was 
 bright as the things we love. 
 
 Then I called Tom to me : 'How about that 
 sucking-fish, Tom?' I asked. 
 
 'It's just cured, sar,' he said. 'I was going to 
 offer it to you this lunch-time. It's dried out 
 fine. Couldn't be better. I'll bring it to you this 
 minute.' And he went and was back again in a 
 minute. 'You must wear it right over your heart,' 
 he said, 'and you'll see there's not a bullet can 
 get near it. It's never been known for a bullet 
 to go through a sucking-fish. Even if they come 
 near, something in the air seems to send them 
 aside. It's God's truth.' 
 
 'But, Tom,' I said, 'how about you?' 
 
 'I've worn one here, sar,' he said, 'for twenty 
 years, and you can see for yourself,' and he bared 
 the brown chest beneath which beat the heart 
 that like nothing else in the world has made me 
 believe in God. 
 
 And so we went spinning along, and, if only 
 I had the gift of words, I could make such pictures 
 of the islands we sailed by, and the colours of the 
 waters, and the joy of our going — and the white 
 coral sand beaches, and the big cocoa-nut palms 
 leaning over them, and the white surges that 
 
58 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 curled along and along the surf reef, over and 
 over again, running like children to meet each 
 other, and join each other's hands, or like piano 
 ke3^s rippling white under some master's fingers. 
 
 That night we made a good lee, and lay in a pool 
 of stars, very tranquil, and alive with travelling 
 lights, great globed fishes filled with soft radiance, 
 and dreaming glimmers and pulsating tremors of 
 glory and sudden errands of fire; and Sailor and 
 I stayed up quite late watching the wonder in 
 which we so spaciously floated, and of the two of 
 us I am sure that Sailor knew more than I. 
 
 But one thought I had which I am sure was 
 not his, because it was born of shallower conditions 
 than those with which his instincts have to deal. 
 I thought what treasure sunk into the sea by 
 whatsoever lost ship, galleons piled up and burst- 
 ing with the gold and silver of Spain, or strange 
 triangular-sailed boats sailing from Tripoli with 
 the many-coloured jewels of the east, 'ivory, apes, 
 and peacocks,' what treasure sunk there by man 
 could be compared with the treasure-trove already 
 stored there by nature, dropped as out of the dawn 
 and the sunset into these unvisited waters by the 
 lavish hand of God. What diver could hope to 
 distinguish among all these glories the peculiar 
 treasures of kings? 
 
 We awoke to a dawn that was a rose planted in 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 59 
 
 the sky by the mysterious hand that seems to 
 love to give the fairest thing the loneHest setting. 
 
 But there was no wind, and to-day we ran on 
 gasolene. We had some fifty miles to go to where 
 the narrative pointed, a smaller ca}^ the cay 
 which, it will be remembered, was according to 
 John Saunders's old map known in old days as 
 'Dead Men's Shoes,' but since known by another 
 name which, for various reasons, I do not deem 
 it politic to divulge — near the end of the long 
 cay down which . we were running. 
 
 Tom and I talked it over, and thought that it 
 might be all the better to take it easy that day 
 and arrive there next morning, when, after a good 
 night's sleep, we were more likely to feel rested, 
 and ready to grapple with whatever we had to face. 
 
 So about twilight we dropped anchor in another 
 quiet bay, so much like that of the night before, 
 as all the bays and cays are along that coast, 
 that you need to have sailed them from boyhood 
 to know one from another. 
 
 The cove we were looking for, known by the 
 cheery name of Dead Men's Shoes, proved farther 
 than we expected, so that we didn't come to it 
 till towards the middle of the next afternoon, an 
 afternoon of the most innocent gold that has ever 
 thrown its soft radiance over an earth inhabited 
 for the most part by ruffians and scoimdrels. 
 
6o PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 The soft lapping beauty of its little cove, in 
 such odd contrast to its sinister name — sunshine 
 on coral sand, and farther inland the mangrove 
 trees, like walking laurel stepping out into the 
 golden ripples. . . . Ah ! I should like to try my 
 hand on the beauty of that afternoon; but we 
 were not allowed to admire it long, for we were 
 far from being alone. 
 
 'She's changed her paint,* said Tom, at mj^ elbow. 
 And, looking round, I saw that our rakish schooner 
 with the black hull was now white as a dove, and, 
 in that soft golden water hardly a foot and a half 
 deep, five shadowy young sharks floated, with 
 outstretched fins like huge bats. Our engineer, 
 who was already wading fearlessly in the water, 
 beautifully naked, 'shooed' them off like chickens. 
 But it was soon to be evident that more dangerous 
 foes waited for us on the shore. 
 
 Yet there was seemingly nothing there but a pile 
 of sponges, and a few black men. The Susan B. 
 had changed her colour, it was true, but she 
 was a well-known sponger, and I noticed no one 
 among the group ashore that I recognised. 
 
 There was one foolish fellow that reminded me 
 of my shackly deck-hand, whom I had always 
 thought out of his mind, standing there on his 
 head on the rocks, and waving his legs to attract 
 attention. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 6i 
 
 'Why ! There's Silly Theodore/ called out the 
 captain. 
 
 'Look out !' murmured Tom at my elbow. 
 
 'I'm going ashore all the same, Tom,' I said. 
 
 'I'm going with you too,' said the captain. 'You 
 needn't be afraid of me. You're the sort I like. 
 But look after your guns. There's going to be 
 something doing — quiet as it looks.' 
 
 So we rowed ashore, and there was Theodore 
 capering in front of a pile of sponges, and no other 
 face I knew. But there were seven or eight negroes 
 whose faces I took no great fancy to. 
 
 'Like some fancy sponges to send home?' said 
 one of these, coming up to me. 'Cost you five 
 times as much in Nassau.' 
 
 'Certainly, I'd like a few sponges,' I said. 
 
 And then Theodore came up to me, looking as 
 though he had lost his mind over the rather fancy 
 silk tie I happened to be wearing. 
 
 'Give me dat !' he said, touching it, like a crazy 
 man. 
 
 'I can't afford to give you that, Theodore,' I 
 said. 
 
 'I'd die for dat,' he repeated. 
 
 'Take this handkerchief instead;' but, meanwhile, 
 my eyes were opening. 
 
 'Take this instead, Theodore,' I said. 
 
 'I'd die for dat,' he repeated, touching it. 
 
62 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 His voice and touch made me sick and afraid, 
 just as people in a lunatic asylum make one afraid, 
 
 'Look out,' murmured Tom again at my elbow. 
 
 And just then I noticed, hiding in some bushes 
 of seven-year-old apple-trees, two faces I had good 
 reason to know. 
 
 I had barely time to pull out the commandant's 
 revolver from my pocket. I knew it was to be 
 either the pock-marked genius or the engineer. 
 But for the moment I was not to be sure which 
 one I had hit. For, as my gun went off, some- 
 thing heavy came down on my head, and for the 
 time I was shut off from whatever else was going 
 on. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 IN WHICH I OMCE AGAIN SIT UP AND BEHOLD THE 
 
 SUN 
 
 'Which did I hit, Tom?' were my first words 
 as I came back to the glory of the world; but 
 I didn't say them for a long time, and, from what 
 Tom told me, it was a wonder I ever said them 
 at all. 
 
 'There he is, sar,' said Tom, pointing to a long 
 dark figure stretched out near by. 'I'm afraid 
 he's not the man you were looking for.' 
 
 'Poor fellow !' I said; it was George, the en- 
 gineer; 'I'm sorry, but I saw the muzzles of their 
 guns sticking out of the bush there. It was them 
 or me.' 
 
 'That no lie, sar, and if it hadn't been for that 
 sucking-fish's skin you wouldn't be here now.' 
 
 'It didn't save me from a pretty good one on 
 the head, Tom, did it?' 
 
 'No, sar, but that was just it — if it hadn't been 
 for that knock on the head, pulUng you down 
 just that minute, that thar pock-marked fellow 
 would have got you. As it was, he grazed your 
 
 63 
 
64 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 cheek, and got one of his own men killed by 
 mistake — the very fellow that hit you. There he 
 is — over there.' 
 
 'And who's that other, Tom?' I said, pointing 
 to another dark figure a few yards away. 
 
 'That the captain, sar,' said Tom. 
 
 'The captain !' I said. 'Oh, I'm sorry for that. 
 God knows I'm sorry for that.' 
 
 'Yas, sar, he was one of the finest gentlemen I 
 ever knowed was Captain Tomlinson — a brave 
 man, and a good navigator. And he'd taken a 
 powerful fancy to you. For, when you got that 
 crack on the head, he picked up your gun, and 
 began blazing away, with words I should never 
 have expected from a religious man. The others, 
 except our special friend ' 
 
 'Let's call him Tobias from now on,' I said. 
 
 'Well him, sar, kept his nerve, but the others 
 ran for the boats as if the devil was after them, 
 but the captain's gun was quicker, and only four 
 of them got to the Susan B. . . . The other two 
 fell on their faces, as if something had tripped 
 them up, in a couple of feet of water. But just 
 then Tobias hit the captain right in the heart 
 — ah ! if only he had had one of those skins — but 
 he always laughed off such things as superstitions. 
 There was only me and Tobias then and the dog, 
 for the engineer boy had gone on his knees to the 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 65 
 
 Susan B. fellows at the first crack, and begged 
 them to take him away with them. I wouldn't 
 have thought it of him — for he wasn't afraid of 
 them sharks, sar, as you saw, but I suppose it 
 was thinking of his gal — anyway he went off 
 a-praying and blubbering with what was left of 
 the crew of the Susan B., who seemed too scared 
 to notice him, and so let him come; and, as I was 
 saying, there was no one left but Tobias and the 
 dog and me . . . and I was sure my end was 
 not far off, for I was never much of a shot. As 
 God is my witness, sar, I was ready to die, and 
 there was a moment when I thought that the 
 moment had come and Martha was calling me — 
 but Tobias suddenly walked away to the top of 
 the bluff, and called out to the Susan B. that was 
 just running up her sails. At his word, they put 
 out a boat for him, and, while he waited, he came 
 down the hill towards me and the dog, that stood 
 growling over you . . . and for sure I thought 
 it was the end. "But," he said, " tell that fellow 
 there that I'm not going to kill a defenceless man. 
 He might have killed me once, but he didn't. 
 It's bound to be one of us some day or other, 
 but — despise me all he likes — I'm not such carrion 
 as he thinks me — and, if he only likes to keep 
 out of my way, I'm willing to keep out of his. 
 Tell him. when he wakes up, that as long as he 
 
66 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 gives up going after what belongs to me — for it 
 was my grandfather's — he is safe, but the minute 
 he sets his foot or hand on what is mine, it's either 
 his Hfe or mine." And then he turned away and 
 rowed to the Susan B. and they soon sailed 
 away.' 
 
 'With the black flag at the peak, I suppose, 
 Tom,' said I. 'Well, that was a fine speech, quite 
 a flight of oratory, and I'm sure I'm obliged to 
 him for the life that's still worth having, in spite 
 of this ungodly aching in my head. But how 
 about the poor captain there ! Where does all 
 his eloquence come in there? He can't call it 
 self-defence. They were waiting ready to murder 
 us all right behind that seven-year apple-tree, as 
 you saw. I'm afraid the captain and the law 
 between them are all that is necessary to cook 
 the goose of our friend Henry P. Tobias, Jr., with- 
 out any help from me — though, as the captain 
 died for me, I should prefer they allowed me to 
 make it a personal matter.' 
 
 And then I got on my feet, and went and looked 
 at the captain's calm face. 
 
 'It's the beginning of the price,' said Tom. 
 
 'The beginning of the price?' 
 
 'It's the dead hand,' continued Tom, 'I told 
 you you'll remember, that wherever treasure is, 
 there's a ghost of a dead man keeping guard, and 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 67 
 
 waiting till another dead man comes along to 
 take up sentry dutj^ so to say.' 
 
 'That's what you said, Tom,' said I, willing to 
 humour the old fellow, who, after all, was right 
 in a sense, for here was plainly a dead hand work- 
 ing its will through ink and paper, and claiming 
 its toll of the living. 
 
 'Yes, but as far as we know, Tom, no one's 
 relieved of sentry duty. Several men have been 
 killed, it's true, but no one's put his hand on the 
 treasure.' 
 
 'All the worse for that !' said Tom, shaking his 
 head. 'These are only a beginning. The ghost 
 is getting busy. And it makes me think that 
 we're coming pretty near to the treasure, or we 
 wouldn't have had all this happen.' 
 
 'Growing warm, you mean, as the children say?' 
 
 'The very thing !' said Tom. 'Mark me, the 
 treasure's near by — or the ghost wouldn't be so 
 malicious.' 
 
 And then, looking around where the captain, 
 and the engineer, and silly Theodore lay, — 
 
 'The first thing we've got to do,' I said, 'is to 
 bury these poor fellows — but where,' I added, 
 'are the other two that fell in the water?' 
 
 'O,' said Tom, 'a couple of sharks got them 
 just before you woke up.' 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 IN WHICH TOM AND I ATTEND SEVERAL FUNERALS 
 
 When Tom and I came to look over the ground 
 with a view to finding a burial-place for the dead, 
 I realised with grim emphasis the truth of Webster's 
 remarks — in those snuggery nights that seemed 
 so remote and far away — on the nature of the soil 
 which would have to be gone over in quest of mj^ 
 treasure. No wonder he had spoken of dynamite. 
 'Why, Tom,' I said, 'there isn't a wheel-barrow 
 of real soil in a square mile. We couldn't dig a 
 grave for a dog in stuff like this,' and, as I spoke, 
 the pewter-like rock under my feet clanged and 
 echoed with a sound like coarse pot. It was 
 indeed a terrible land from the point of view of 
 the husbandman. No wonder the government 
 couldn't dispose of it as a gift. It was a marvel 
 that anything had the fierce courage to grow on 
 it at all. For the most part, it was of a gray, 
 clinker-like formation, tossed, as by fiery convul- 
 sions, in shelves of irregular strata, with holes 
 every few feet, suggesting the circular action of 
 
 the sea, some of these holes no more than a foot 
 
 68 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 69 
 
 wide, and some as wide as an ordinary sized well, 
 and in these was the only soil to be found. In 
 these the strange and savage trees, spined and sown 
 thick with sharp teeth, found their rootage, and 
 writhed about, splitting the rock into endless 
 cracks and fissures with their fierce effort — sea- 
 grape with leaves like cymbal-shaped plates of 
 green metal, and gumelemi trees, with trunks of 
 gHstening bronze, and seven-year apples with 
 fruit like painted wood. Here and there was a 
 thatch-palm stunted, and looking like the head- 
 dress of some savage African warrior. Inland, the 
 creek, all white sand and golden sunny water at 
 its opening, spread out far and near into noisome 
 swamps overgrown with mangroves. Those strang- 
 est of all trees, that had something tender and idyllic 
 as they stepped out into the ripple with their 
 fresh child-like laurelline leaves and dangling rods 
 of emerald, that were reaUy the suckers of their 
 banyan-like roots, had grown into an obscene and 
 bizarre maturity, like nightmares striding out in 
 every direction with skeleton feet planted in 
 festering mud, and stretching out horned clawing 
 hands that seemed to take root as one looked, and 
 threw out other roots of horror like a dream. 
 
 Twilight was beginning to add to its sugges- 
 tions of diablerie, and the whole land to seem more 
 and more the abode of devils. 
 
 F 
 
70 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'Come along, Tom, I can't stand any more of 
 this. We'll have to leave our funerals till to- 
 morrow, and get aboard for the night' — for the 
 Maggie Darling was still floating there serenely 
 as though men and their violence had no existence 
 on the planet. 
 
 'We'd better cover them up, against the turkey- 
 buzzards,' said Tom, two of those unsavoury birds 
 rising in the air as we returned to the shore; and 
 we did this as well as we were able with rocks 
 and the wreckage of an old boat strewn on the 
 beach, and before we rowed aboard, Tom and 
 Sailor and I, we managed to shoot a couple of 
 them — potir encourager les autres. 
 
 I don't think two men were ever so glad of the 
 morning, driving before it the haunted night, as 
 Tom and I; and Sailor seemed as glad as our- 
 selves, for he too seemed to have been troubled 
 by bad dreams, and woke me more than once, growl- 
 ing and moaning in his sleep in a frightened way. 
 
 After breakfast, our first thought was naturally 
 to the sad and disagreeable business before us. 
 
 'I tell you what I've been thinking, sar,' said 
 Tom, as we rowed ashore, and I managed to pull 
 down a turkey-buzzard that rose at our approach 
 — happily our coverings had proved fairly effec- 
 tive — 'I've been thinking that the only one of the 
 three that really matters is the captain, and we 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 71 
 
 can find sufficient soil for him in one of these big 
 holes.' 
 
 'How about the others?' 
 
 'Why, to tell the truth, I was thinking that 
 sharks are go 3d enough for them.' 
 
 'They deserve no better, Tom, and I think we 
 may as well get rid of them first. The tide's run- 
 ning out strong, and we won't have them knocking 
 about for long.' 
 
 So it was done as we said, and carrying George 
 and silly Theodore, and the nameless giant who had 
 knocked me down so opportunely, by the feet and 
 shoulders to the edge of the bluff, we skilfully flung 
 them in, and they glided off with scarce a splash. 
 
 'See that fin yonder!' cried Tom eagerly, and next 
 minute one of the floating figures was drawn under. 
 
 'Got him already!' said Tom, with a certain 
 grim satisfaction, 'That's what I call quick work.' 
 
 And then we turned to the poor captain, and 
 carried him as gently as we could over the rough 
 ground to the biggest of the banana holes, as the 
 natives call them, and there we were able to dig 
 him a fairly respectable grave. 
 
 'Do you know the funeral service, Tom?' Tasked. 
 
 'No, sar, can't say as I do, though I seem to 
 have heard it pretty often.' 
 
 'Wait a minute. I've got a Bible aboard, I'll 
 go and get it ' 
 
72 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 •I'd rather go with you, sar, if you don't mind,' 
 said Tom. 
 
 'Why, you're surely not frightened of the poor 
 fellow here, are you, Tom?' 
 
 ' 'Well, sar, I don't say as I'se exactly that— 
 but somehow he seems a kind of lonesome; and, 
 
 if you don't mind ' 
 
 So we went off, and were back in a few moments 
 with the Bible, and I read those passages from 
 Job and the Psalms, immemorially associated with 
 the passage of the dead : 'Man that is born of 
 woman is of few days, and full of trouble. He cometh 
 forth like a flower, and is cut down : he fleeth also 
 as a shadow, and continueth not . . .;' and again : 
 'Behold, Thou hast made my days as an handbreadth: 
 and mine age is as nothing before Thee : verily 
 every man at his best state is altogether vanity. 
 Surely every man walketh in a vain show: surely 
 they are disquieted in vain : he heapeth tip riches, 
 and knoweth not who shall gather them. When 
 Thou with rebukes dost correct man for iniquity. 
 Thou makest his beauty to consume away like a 
 moth : surely every man is vanity. Have mercy, 
 Lord, and give ear unto my cry : hold not Thy 
 peace at my tears, for I am a stranger with Thee, 
 and a sojourner, as all my fathers were . . .' and 
 by the time we had got to the end, our tears were 
 faUing Uke rain together into a brave man's grave. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 IN WHICH TOM AND I SERIOUSLY START IN 
 TREASURE HUNTING 
 
 Tom and Sailor and I were now, to the best of our 
 belief, alone on the island, and a lonesomer spot 
 it would be hard to imagine, or one touched at 
 certain hours with a fairer beauty, a beauty wraith- 
 Uke, and, like a sea-shell, haunted with the marvel 
 of the sea. But we alas ! — or let me speak for 
 myself — were sinful, misguided men, to whom 
 the gleam and glitter of God's making spoke all 
 too seldom, and whose hearts were given to the 
 baser shining of such treasure as that of which I 
 for one still dreamed — with an obstinacy all the 
 more hardened by the opposition we had encoun- 
 tered, and by the menace of danger the enterprise 
 now held beyond peradventure — a menace, indeed, 
 to which Tobias's words had given the form of a 
 precise challenge. Perhaps but for that, remem- 
 bering the count of so many dead men, men who 
 had lost their lives in the prosecution of my probably 
 vain desire, I would have given the whole thing 
 •up, and sailed the boat back to less haunted regions, 
 
 73 
 
74 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 as Tom and I might easily have done; and, as 
 Tom, I could plainly see, would himself have 
 preferred. 
 
 But Tobias's challenge made such a course 
 impossible for any man worthy of the name, and 
 I never gave the alternative a moment's considera- 
 tion. But I did give Tom his choice of staying 
 or going — a choice made possible that day by a 
 schooner sailing close in shore and easy to signal. 
 Yet Tom, while making no secret of his real feel- 
 ings, would not hear of quitting. 
 
 'I shan't think a cent worse of you, Tom,' I 
 assured him. 'Indeed, I won't. It's no doubt 
 a mad business an3rway, and I'm not sure I've 
 the right to endanger in it any other lives than 
 my own.' 
 
 'No, sar,' said Tom, 'I came with you, you have 
 treated me right, and I am going to see you 
 through.' 
 
 'You're the real thing, God bless you, Tom,' I 
 said. But I doubt if I've the right to take advan- 
 tage of your goodness. I'm not sure that I 
 oughtn't to signal those fellows to take you off 
 with them willy-nilly.' 
 
 'No, sar, you wouldn't do that, I'm sure. I'm 
 a free man, God be praised, though my mother 
 and father were slaves,' and he drew himself up 
 with pathetic pride, 'and I can choose my own 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 75 
 
 course, as they couldn't. Besides, there's no one 
 needs me at home, all my girls and boys are well 
 fixed, and, if I have to go, perhaps there's some 
 one needs me more in heaven.' 
 
 'All right, Tom, and thank you,' I said, 'and 
 we'll say no more about it;' and so we let the 
 schooner go by, and turned to the consideration 
 of our plans. 
 
 First we went over our stores, and, thanks to 
 those poor dead mouths that need not be reckoned 
 any more, we had plenty of everything to last us 
 for at least a month, not to speak of fishing, at 
 which Tom was an expert. When, however, we 
 turned to our plans for the treasure-hunting, we 
 soon came to a dead stop. No plans seemed 
 possible in face of that rocky wilderness, all knives 
 to the feet, and writhing serpents of fanged and 
 toothed foliage to the eye, with brambles like 
 barbed wire fences at every yard. The indications 
 given by Tobias seemed, in the face of such a 
 terrain naive to a degree. Possibly the land had 
 changed since his day. Some little, of course, it 
 must have. Tom and I went over Tobias's direc- 
 tions again and again. Of course, there was the 
 compass carved on the rock, and the cross. There 
 was something definite — something that, if it 
 was ever there at all, was there still — for in that 
 climate the weather leaves things unperished 
 
76 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 almost as in Egypt. Sitting on the highest bluff 
 we could find, Tom and I looked around. 
 
 'That compass is somewhere among these in- 
 fernal rocks — if it ever was carved there at all — 
 that's one thing certain, Tom; but look at the 
 rocks !' 
 
 Over twenty miles of rocks north and south, and 
 from two to six from east to west. A more hope- 
 less job the mind of man could not conceive. Tom 
 shook his head, and scratched his graying wool. 
 
 T go most by the ghost, sar,' he said. 'AH these 
 men had never been killed if the ghost hadn't 
 been somewhere near. It's the ghost I go by. 
 Mark me, if we find the treasure, it'll be by the 
 ghost.' 
 
 'That's all very well,' I laughed. 'But how are 
 we going to get the ghost to show his hand? He's 
 got such bloodthirsty ways with him.' 
 
 'They always have, sar,' said Tom, no doubt 
 with some ancestral shudder of voodoo worship 
 in his blood. 'Yes, sar, they always cry out for 
 blood. It's all they've got to live on. They drink 
 it like you and I drink coffee or rum. It's terrible 
 to hear them in the night.' 
 
 'Why, you don't mean to say you've heard them 
 drinking it, Tom,' I asked. 'That's all nonsense.' 
 
 'They'll drink any kind — any they can get hold 
 of — chickens' or pigs' or cows' . . . you can hear 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 77 
 
 them any night near the slaughterhouse.' And 
 Tom lowered his voice. T heard them from the 
 boat, the other night, when I couldn't sleep — 
 heard them as plain as you can hear a dog lapping 
 water. And it's my opinion there was two of 
 them. But I heard them as plain as I hear you.' 
 
 As Tom talked, I seemed to hear Ulysses telling 
 of his meeting with Agamemnon in Hades, and 
 those terrible ghosts drinking from the blood- 
 filled trench, and I shuddered in spite of myself; 
 for it is almost impossible to refuse entire credence 
 to beliefs held with such certitude of terror across 
 so many centuries and by such different people. 
 
 'Well, Tom,' I said, 'you may be right, but of 
 one thing I'm certain — that, if the ghost's going to 
 get any one, it shan't be you.' 
 
 'We've both got one good chance against 
 them ' Tom was beginning. 
 
 'Don't tell me again about that old sucking- 
 fish.' 
 
 'Mind you keep it safe, for all that,' said Tom 
 gravely. 'I wouldn't lose mine for a thousand 
 pounds.' 
 
 'Well, all right, but let's forget the damned 
 old ghosts for the present,' and I broke out into 
 the catch we had sung on so momentous an 
 occasion : — 
 
78 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'Some gave a nickel, some gave a dime. 
 
 But I didn t give no red cent — 
 She was no girl of mine — 
 Delia's gone ! Delia's gone ! ' 
 
 And it did one good to hear Tom's honest 
 laughter resounding in that beautiful haunted 
 wilderness, as the song brought back to both 
 of us the memories of that morning that already- 
 seemed so long ago. 
 
 'I wonder what's become of our friend of the 
 wonderful works of God,' I said. 
 
 'Wherever he is, he's up to no good, we may 
 be sure of that,' said Tom, 
 
 At last we decided to try a plan that was really 
 no plan at all — that is to say, to seek more or 
 less at random, till we got our food down as far 
 as there was just enough to take us home. Mean- 
 while, we would, each of us, every day, cut a sort 
 of radiating swathe, working single-handed, from 
 the cove entrance. Thus we would prospect as 
 much of the country as possible in a sort of fan, 
 both of us keeping our eyes open for a compass 
 carved on a rock. In this way we might hope 
 to cover no inconsiderable stretch of the country 
 in the three weeks, and, moreover, the country 
 most likely to give some results, as being that 
 lying in a semicircle from the little harbour where 
 the ships would have lain. It wasn't much of a 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 79 
 
 plan, perhaps, but it seemed the most possible 
 among impossibles. 
 
 So the next morning, bright and early, we 
 started work, I letting Tom take Sailor with 
 him, as company and protection against the 
 spirits of the waste, also we took a revolver apiece 
 and cartridge belts, and it seemed to me the old 
 fellow showed no little courage to go alone at 
 all, with such hair-raising beUefs as he had. We 
 each took food, and a flask of rum and water 
 to last us the day, and we promised to hallo now 
 and again to each other for company, as soon 
 as we got out of sight of each other. This, however, 
 did not happen the first day. Of course, we 
 carried a machete and a mattock apiece, though 
 the latter was but Uttle use, and, if either of us 
 should find any spot worth dynamiting, we agreed 
 to let the other know. 
 
 Harder work than we had undertaken no men 
 have ever set their hands to. It would have 
 broken the back of the most able-bodied navvy; 
 and, when we reached the boat at sunset, we had 
 scarce strength left to eat our suppers and roll 
 into our bunks. A machete is a heavy weapon 
 that needs no little skill in handling with economy 
 of force, and Tom, who had been brought up to 
 it, was, in spite of his years, a better practitioner 
 than I. I have already hinted at the kind of 
 
8o PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 devil's underbrush we had to cut our way through, 
 but no words can do justice to the almost intelli- 
 gent stubbornness with which those weird growths 
 seemed to oppose us. It really seemed as though 
 they were inspired by a diabolic will-force pitting 
 itself against our wills, vegetable incarnations of 
 evil strength and fury and cunning, 
 
 Battahons of actual serpents could scarcely 
 have been harder to fight than those writhing, 
 tormented shapes, that shrieked and hissed and 
 bled strangely under our strokes, and seemed to 
 swarm with new life at each onset. And the 
 rock was almost more terrible to grapple with 
 than they. Jagged and pointed, it was like 
 needles or razors to walk on, and it was brittle as 
 it was hard, and, while it could sometimes resist 
 a hammer, it would at others smash under our 
 feet like a tea-cup. It looked like some metallic 
 dross long since vomited up from the furnaces 
 of hell. 
 
 Only once in a while was a softer, lime-stone 
 formation, like the pit in which we had buried 
 the captain, with hints at honeycombing, and 
 possibilities that invariably came to nothing. 
 Now and again we would come upon a rock of 
 this kind that seemed for a second to hint at 
 mysterious markings made by the hand of man, 
 but they proved to be nothing but some decorative 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 8i 
 
 sea-fossilisation, making an accidental pattern 
 like the marking you sometimes come across on 
 some old weathered stone on a moor. Nothing 
 that the fondest fancy could twist into the like- 
 ness of a compass or a cross ! 
 
 And, day after day, Tom and I returned home 
 dead-beat, with hardly a tired word to exchange 
 with each other. 
 
 We had now been at it for about a fortnight, 
 and I loved the old chap more every day for the 
 grit and courage with which he supported our 
 terrible labours and kept up his spirits. We had 
 long since passed out of sight of each other, and 
 much time was necessarily wasted by our going 
 to and fro to the place where we left off each 
 day, and many a time I halloed to the old man to 
 keep his heart up, and received back his cheery 
 hallo far and far away. Once or twice we had 
 made fancied discoveries which we called off the 
 other to see, and once or twice we had tried some 
 blasting on rocks that seemed to suggest mysterious 
 tunnellings into the earth. But it had all proved 
 a vain thing, and a weariness of the flesh — and 
 the ghost of John P. Tobias still kept his secret. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 AN UNFINISHED GAME OF CARDS 
 
 One evening, as I returned to the ship particularly 
 worn out and disheartened, I asked Tom how the 
 stores were holding out. He answered cheer- 
 fully that they would last another week, and leave 
 us enough to get home. 
 
 'Well, shall we stick out the other week, or 
 not, Tom? I don't want to kill you, and I confess 
 I'm nearly all in myself.' 
 
 'May as well stick it out, sar, now we've gone 
 so far. Then we'll have done all we can, and 
 there's a certain satisfaction in doing that, 
 sar.' 
 
 'Good old Tom !' and I believe that the wise 
 old man had the thought behind that perhaps 
 when there was evidently nothing more to be 
 done, I might get rid of the bee in my bonnet, 
 and once more settle down to the business of a 
 reasonable being. 
 
 So next morning we went at it again, and the 
 
 next, and the next again, and then on the fourth 
 
 day, when our week was drawing to its close, 
 
 82 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 83 
 
 something at last happened to change the grim 
 monotony of our days. 
 
 It was shortly after the lunch hour, and Tom 
 and I, who were now working too far apart to 
 hear each other's halloes, had fired our revolvers 
 once or twice to show that all was right with us. 
 But, for no reason I can give, I suddenly got a 
 feeling that all was not right with the old man, 
 and I fired my revolver, and gave him time for 
 reply. But there was no answer. Again I fired. 
 Still no answer. I was on the point of firing again, 
 when I heard something coming through the 
 brush behind me. It was Sailor racing towards 
 me over the jagged rocks. Evidently there was 
 something wrong. 
 
 'Something wrong with old Tom, Sailor?' I 
 asked, as though he could answer me. And indeed 
 he did answer as plain as dog could do, wagging 
 his tail, and whining, and turning to go back with 
 me in the direction he had come. 
 
 But I stopped to shoot off my revolver again. 
 Still no answer. 
 
 'Off we go, then, old chap,' and as he ran 
 ahead, I followed him as fast as I could over 
 those damnable rocks. 
 
 It took me the best part of an hour to get where 
 Tom had been working. It was an extent of 
 those more porous limestone rocks of which I 
 
84 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 have spoken, almost cliff-like in height, and 
 covering a considerable area. Sailor brushed his 
 way ahead, pushing through the scrub with canine 
 importance, and presently, at the top of a sHght 
 elevation, I came among the bushes to a softer 
 spot where the soil had given way, and saw that 
 it was the mouth of a shaft like a wide chimney 
 flue, the earth of which had evidently recently 
 fallen in. Here Sailor stopped and whined, paw- 
 ing the earth, and at the same time, I heard a 
 moaning underneath. 
 
 'Is that you, Tom?' I called. Thank God, the 
 old chap was not dead at all events. 
 
 'Thank the Lord, it's you, sar,' he cried. 'I'm 
 all right, but I've had a bad fall — and I can't 
 seem able to move.' 
 
 'Hold on and keep up your heart — I'll be with 
 you in a minute,' I called down to him. 
 
 'Mind yourself, sar,' he called cheerily, and, 
 indeed, it was a problem to get down to him 
 without precipitating the loose earth and rock 
 that was ready to make a landslide down the 
 hole and perhaps bury him for ever. 
 
 But, looking about, I found another natural 
 tunnel in the side of the hill, and in there I was 
 able to worm myself, and in the dim light found 
 the old man, and put my flask to his lips. 
 
 'Anything broken, do you think?* Tom didn't 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 85 
 
 think so. He had evidently been stunned by his 
 fall, and another pull at my flask set him on his 
 feet. But, as I helped him up, and, striking a 
 light, we began to look around the hole he had 
 tumbled into, he gave a piercing shriek, and fell 
 on his knees, jabbering with fear. 
 
 'The ghosts ! the ghosts !' he cried. 
 
 And the sight that met our eyes was certainly 
 one to try the nerves. We had evidently stumbled 
 upon a series of fairly lofty chambers hollowed out 
 long ago first by the sea, and probably further 
 shaped by man — caverns supported here and 
 there by rude columns of the same rock, and 
 dimly lit in one or two places from above by holes 
 like mine shafts, down one of which fell masses 
 of snake-like roots of the fig-tree, a species of 
 banyan. 
 
 Within the circle of this light two figures sat 
 at a table — one with his hat tilted shghtly, and 
 one leaning sideways in his chair in a careless sort 
 of attitude. They seemed to be playing cards, 
 and they were strangely white — for they were 
 skeletons. 
 
 I stood hushed, while Tom's teeth rattled at 
 my side. The fantastic awe of the thing was 
 beyond telling. And then, not without a qualm 
 or two, which I should be a har to deny, I went 
 and stood nearer to them. Nearly all their clothes 
 
86 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 had fallen away, hanging but in shreds here and 
 there. That the hat had so jauntily kept its place 
 was one of the grim touches Death, the terrible 
 humorist, loves to add to his jests. The cards, 
 which had apparently just been dealt, had suffered 
 scarcely from decay — only a little dirt had sifted 
 down upon them, as it had into the rum glasses 
 that stood, too, at each man's side. And, as I 
 looked at the skeleton jauntily facing me, I noticed 
 that a bullet hole had been made as clean as if 
 by a drill in his forehead of bone — while, turning 
 to examine more closely his silent partner, I 
 noticed a rusty sailor's knife hanging from the 
 ribs where the lungs had been. Then I looked 
 on the floor and found the key to the whole story. 
 For there, within a few yards, stood a heavy 
 sailor's chest, strongly bound around with iron. 
 Its lid was thrown back, and a few coins lay 
 scattered at the bottom, while a few lay about 
 on the floor, I picked them up. 
 
 They were pieces of eight ! 
 
 Meanwhile, Tom had stopped jabbering, and 
 had come nearer, looking on in awed silence. I 
 showed him the pieces of eight. 
 
 T guess these are all we'll see of one of John 
 P. Tobias's treasures, Tom. And it looks as if 
 these poor fellows saw as little of it as ourselves. 
 Can't you imagine them with it there at their 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 87 
 
 feet — perhaps playing to divide it on a gamble; 
 and, meanwhile, the other fellows stealing in 
 through some of these rabbit runs, and one with 
 a knife, and another with the gun — and then off 
 with the loot and up with the sails. Poor devils ! 
 It strikes me as a very pretty tragedy — doesn't 
 it you?' 
 
 Suddenly — perhaps with the vibration of our 
 voices — the hat toppled off the head of the fellow 
 facing us, in the most weird and comical fashion 
 — but that was too much for Tom, and he screamed 
 and made for the exit hole. 
 
 But I waited a minute to replace the hat on 
 the rakish one's head. As I was likely often to 
 think of him in the future, I preferred to remember 
 him as at the moment of our first strange acquain- 
 tance. 
 
BOOK II 
 
 The dotted cays, 
 
 With their little trees. 
 Lie all about on the crystal floor; 
 
 Nothing but beauty — 
 
 Far off is duty, 
 Fur off the folk of the busy shore. 
 
 The mangroves stride 
 
 In the coloured tide. 
 With leafy crests that will soon be isles. 
 
 And all is lonely — 
 
 White sea-sand only, 
 Angel-pure for untrodden miles. 
 
 In sunny bays 
 
 The young shark plays, 
 Among the ripples and nets of light; 
 
 And the conch-shell crawls 
 
 Through the glimmering halls 
 The coral builds for the Infinite; 
 
 And every gem 
 
 In his diadem. 
 From flaming topaz to moon-hushed pearl, 
 
 Glitters and glances 
 
 In swaying dances 
 Of waters adream like the eyes of a girl. 
 
90 
 
 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 The sea and the stars, 
 
 And the ghostly bars 
 0/ the shoals all bright 'neath the feet of the moon; 
 
 The night that glistens, 
 
 And stops and listens 
 To the half-heard beat of a timeless tune. 
 
 Here Solitude 
 
 To itself doth brood, 
 At the farthest verge of the reef -spilt foam. 
 
 And the world's lone ends 
 
 Are met as friends, 
 And the homeless heart is at last at home. 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 ONCE MORE IN JOHN SAUNDERS'S SNUGGERY 
 
 Need I say that it was a great occasion when I 
 was once more back safe in John Saunders's 
 snuggery, telHng my story to my two friends, 
 comfortably enfolded in a cloud of tobacco smoke, 
 John with his old port at his elbow, and Charhe 
 Webster and I flanked by our whiskies and soda, 
 all just as if I had never stirred from my easy- 
 chair, instead of having spent an exciting month 
 or so among sharks, dead men, blood-lapping 
 ghosts, card-playing skeletons, and such like. My 
 friends listened to my yarn in characteristic fashion, 
 John Saunders's eyes more Hke mice peeping out 
 of a cupboard than ever, and Charlie Webster's 
 huge bulk poised almost threateningly, as it were, 
 with the keenness of his attention. His deep-set 
 kind brown eyes glowed like a boy's as I went 
 on, but by their dangerous kindling at certain 
 points of the story, those dealing with our pock- 
 marked friend, Henry P. Tobias, Jr., I soon 
 reahsed where for him the chief interest of the 
 
 story lay. 
 
 91 
 
92 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'The rebel!' he roared out once or twice, 
 
 using an adjective pecuharly Enghsh. 
 
 When I come to thipk of it, perhaps there 
 is no one in His Britannic Majesty's dominions 
 so wholeheartedly English as Charlie Webster. 
 He is an Englishman of a larger mould than 
 we are accustomed to to-day. He seems 
 rather to belong to a former more rugged 
 era — an EngHshman say of EUzabeth's or Nelson's 
 day; big, rough, and simple, honest to the core, 
 slow to anger, but terrible when roused, a true 
 heart of oak, a man with massive slow-moving, 
 but immensely efficient, 'governing' brain. A 
 born commander, utterly without fear, yet always 
 cool-headed and never rash. If there are more 
 EngUshmen like him, I don't think you will find 
 them in London or anywhere in the British Isles. 
 You must go for them to the British colonies. 
 There, rather than at home, the sacred faith in 
 the British Empire is stiU kept passionately alive. 
 And, at all events, Charlie Webster may truly be 
 said to have one article of faith — the glory of 
 the British Empire. To him, therefore, the one un- 
 forgivable sin is — treason against that; as probably 
 to die for England — after having notched a good 
 account of her enemies on his unerring rifle — would 
 be for him not merely a crown of glory, but the 
 purest and completest joy that could happen to him. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 93 
 
 Therefore it was, somewhat I will own to my 
 disappointment, that for him my story had but 
 one moral — the treason of Henry P. Tobias, Jr. 
 The treasure might as well have had no existence, 
 so far as he was concerned, and the grim climax 
 in the cave drew nothing from him but a pre- 
 occupied nod. And John Saunders was little 
 more satisfactory. Both of them allowed me to 
 end in silence. They both seemed to be thinking 
 deeply. 
 
 'Well?' I said, somewhat dashed, as one whose 
 story has fallen down on an anti-cHmax. Still 
 no response. 
 
 'I must say you two are a great audience,' I 
 said presently, perhaps rather childishly nettled. 
 'What's happened to your imagination !' 
 
 'It's a very serious matter,' said John Saunders, 
 and I reaUsed that it was not my crony, but the 
 Secretary to the Treasury of His Britannic Majesty's 
 Government at Nassau that was talking. As he 
 spoke, he looked across at Charlie Webster, almost 
 as if forgetting me. 
 
 'Something should be done about it, eh, CharHe?' 
 he continued. 
 
 ' traitor,' roared out Charlie, once more 
 
 applying that British adjective. 
 
 And then Charlie turned to me. 
 
 'Look here, old pal,' he said, 'I'll make a bargain 
 
94 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 with you, if you like. I suppose you're keen for 
 that other treasure now, eh?' 
 
 'I am,' said I, rather stiffly. 
 
 'Well, then, I'll go after it with you — on one 
 condition. You can keep the treasure — if you'll 
 give me Tobias !' 
 
 'Give you Tobias?' I laughed. 
 
 'Yes ! if you go after the treasure, he'll probably 
 keep his word, and go after you. Now, it would 
 do my heart good to get the drop on him, as you 
 had the chance of doing that afternoon. What- 
 ever were you doing to miss him ! ' 
 
 'I proposed to myself the satisfaction of making 
 good that mistake,' I said, 'on our next meeting. 
 I feel I owe it to the poor old captain.' 
 
 'Never mind, hand the captain's rights over to 
 me — and I'll help you all I know with your 
 treasure. Besides, Tobias is a job for an English- 
 man — eh, John? It's a matter of " King and 
 Country " with me. With you it would be mere 
 private vengeance. With me it will be an execu- 
 tion; with you it would be a murder. Isn't that 
 so, John?' 
 
 'Exactly,' John nodded. 
 
 'Since you were away,' Charlie began again, 
 'I've bought the prettiest yawl you ever set eyes 
 on — the Flamingo — forty-five over all, and this 
 time, the very fastest boat in the harbour. Yes ! 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 95 
 
 she's faster even than the Susan B. . . . Now, I've 
 a hohday due me in about a fortnight. Say the 
 word, and the Flamingo's yours for a couple of 
 months, and her captain too. I make only that 
 
 one condition ' 
 
 'All right, Charlie,' I said, 'he's yours.' 
 Whereat Charlie shot out a huge paw like a 
 shoulder of mutton, and grabbed my hand with 
 as much fervour as though I had saved his life, 
 or done him some other unimaginable kindness. 
 And, as he did so, his old broad sweet smile came 
 back again. He was thinking of Tobias. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 IN WHICH I LEARN SOMETHING 
 
 While Charlie Webster was arranging his affairs 
 so that he might be able to take his holiday with 
 a free mind, I busied myself with provisioning the 
 Flamingo, and in casually chatting with one and 
 another along the water-front, in the hope of 
 gathering some hint that might guide us on our 
 coming expedition. I thought it possible, too, 
 that chance might thus bring me some informa- 
 tion as to the recent movements of Tobias, 
 
 In this way, I made the acquaintance of several 
 old salts, both white and black, one or two of 
 whom time and their neighbours had invested 
 with a legendary savour of the old 'wrecking 
 days' — which, if rumour speaks true, are not 
 entirely vanished from the remoter corners of 
 the islands. But, either their romantic haloes 
 were entirely due to irnaginative gossip, or they 
 themselves were too shrewd to be drawn; for I 
 got nothing out of them to my purpose. They 
 seemed to be more interested in talking religion 
 
 than the sea, and as navigators of Biblical deep- 
 
 96 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 97 
 
 seas little visited except by professional theologi- 
 ans, they were remarkable. Generally speaking, 
 indeed, piety would seem to have taken the place 
 of piracy among the sea-going population of Nassau; 
 a fact in which, no doubt, right-thinking folk 
 rejoice, but which I, I am ashamed to say, found 
 disappointing. 
 
 Those who would master the art of talking to 
 the Nassau negro should first brush up their 
 Bibles, and a pious salutation might almost be 
 said to be Nassau etiquette for opening a con- 
 versation. Of course, this applies mainly to 
 negroes or those 'conchs' in whom negro blood 
 predominates. The average white man in Nassau 
 must not be considered as imphcated in this 
 statement, for he seems to take his religion much 
 as the average white man takes it in any other 
 part of the world. One afternoon, in the course 
 of these rather fruitless, if interesting, investiga- 
 tions among the picturesque shipyards of Bay 
 Street, I had wandered farther along that historic 
 water-front than is customary with sight-seeing 
 pedestrians, had left behind the white-palm-shaded 
 houses, the bazaars of the sellers of tortoise-shell, 
 the negro grog-shops and cabins, and had come 
 to where the road begins to be left alone with 
 the sea, except for a few country houses here and 
 there among the surrounding scrub — when my eye 
 
98 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 was caught by a little store that had seemed to 
 have strayed away from the others — a small timber 
 erection painted in blue and white with a sort of 
 sea-wildness and loneliness about it, and with large 
 naive lettering across its lintel announcing itself 
 as an emporium, I think that was the word, of 
 'marine curiosities.' 
 
 A bladder-shaped fish, set thick with spikes like 
 a hedge-hog, swung in the breeze over the door- 
 way, and the windows on each side of the door- 
 way displayed, without any attempt at artificial 
 arrangement, all sorts of motley treasures of the 
 sea — purple sea-fans, coral in every fairy shape, 
 white as sea-foam, conchs patterned like some 
 tesselated pavement of old Rome, monster star- 
 fish, sharks' teeth, pink pearls, and shells of every 
 imaginable convolution and iridescence, and many 
 a weird and lovely thing, which I had not the 
 knowledge to name; objects, indeed, famihar 
 enough in Nassau, but here amassed and presented 
 with this attractive difference — that they had not 
 been absurdly polished out of recognition, or 
 tortured into horrible 'artistic' shapes of brooch, 
 or ear-ring, or paper-knife, or ash-tray, but had 
 been left with all their simple sea-magic upon 
 them — as they might have been heaped up by 
 the sea itself in some moonht grotto, paved with 
 white sand. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 99 
 
 I pushed open the door. There was no one 
 there. The httle store was evidently left to take 
 care of itself. Inside, it was like an old curiosity 
 shop of the sea, every available inch of space, 
 rough tables and walls, littered and hung with 
 the queer and lovely bric-a-brac of the sea. Pre- 
 sently, a tiny girl came in as it seemed from 
 nowhere, and said she would fetch her father. In 
 a moment or two he came, a tall, weathered English- 
 man of the sailor type, brown and lean, with lonely 
 blue eyes. 
 
 'You don't seem afraid of thieves?' I said. 
 
 'It ain't a jewellery store,' he said, with a curious 
 soft sing-song intonation of the Nassau 'conch.' 
 
 'That's just what I was thinking it was,' I said. 
 
 'I know what you mean,' he replied, his lonely 
 face lighting up, as faces do, at unexpected under- 
 standing in a stranger. 'Of course, there are 
 some that feel that way . . . but they're few and 
 far between.' 
 
 'Not enough to make a fortune out of?' I said. 
 
 'O I do pretty well,' he said, 'mustn't com- 
 plain. Money's not everything, you see, in a 
 business like this. There's going after the things, 
 you know. One's got to count that in too.' 
 
 I looked at him in some surprise. I had met 
 something even rarer than the things he traded in. 
 I had met a merchant of dreams, to whom the 
 
100 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 mere handling of his merchandise seemed suffi- 
 cient profit : 'There's going after the things, you 
 know. One's got to count that in too.' 
 
 Naturally we were neck-deep in talk in a moment. 
 I wanted to hear all he cared to tell me about 
 'going after the things' — such 'things!' — and he 
 was nothing loath, as he took up one strange or 
 beautiful object after another, his face aglow, and 
 quite evidently without a thought of doing busi- 
 ness, and told me all about them, how and where 
 he got them, and so forth. 
 
 'But,' he said presently, encouraged by my 
 unfeigned interest, 'I should Hke to show you a 
 few rarer things I have in the house, and which I 
 wouldn't sell, or even show to every one. If you'd 
 honour me by taking a cup of tea, we might look 
 them over . . .' 
 
 So we left the little store, with its door unlocked 
 as I had found it, and a few steps brought us to 
 a httle house I had not before noticed, with a 
 neat garden in front of it, all the garden beds 
 symmetrically bordered with conch-shells — shells 
 were evidently the simple-hearted fellow's mania, 
 his revelation of the beauty of the world. Here 
 in a neat parlour, also much decorated with shells, 
 tea was served to us by the Httle girl I had first 
 seen, and an elder sister, who, I gathered, made all 
 the lonely dreamer's family; and then, shyly 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT loi 
 
 pressing on me a cigar, he turned to show me the 
 promised treasures. He also told me more of his 
 manner of finding them, and of the long trips to 
 out-of-the-way cays and in dangerous waters which 
 he had to take in seeking them. 
 
 All this I really beheve the reader would find as 
 attractive as I did; still, as I am under an implied 
 contract to tell him a story, I am not going to palm 
 off on him descriptive or informative matter, 
 except in so far as such matter is necessary, and I 
 have only introduced him to my dreamer in 
 'marine curiosities' for a very pertinent reason, 
 which will immediately appear. 
 
 He was showing me the last and rarest of his 
 specimens. He had kept, he said, the best to the 
 last. To me, as a layman, it was not nearly so 
 attractive as other things he had shown me— little 
 more to my eye than a rather commonplace though 
 pretty shell, but, he explained— and he gave me 
 its learned name, which I confess has escaped me, 
 owing doubtless to what he was next to say — that 
 it was found, or had so far been found, only in 
 one spot in the islands, a lovely, seldom- visited cay 
 several miles to the north-east of Andros Island. 
 
 'What is it called?' I asked, for it was part of 
 our plan for Charlie to do a Httle duck-shooting 
 on Andros, before we tackled the business of 
 Tobias and the treasure. 
 
 H 
 
102 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'It's called Cay nowadays,' he said, 'but 
 
 it used to be called Short Shrift Island . . .' 
 
 'Short Shrift Island !' I cried, in spite of myself, 
 immediately annoyed at my lack of presence of 
 mind. 
 
 'Certainly,' he said, looking a little surprised, 
 but evidently without suspicion — he was too 
 simple, and taken up with his shell. 
 
 'It is such an odd name/ I said, trying to 
 recover myself. 
 
 'Yes ! those old pirate chaps certainly did think 
 up some of the rummiest names.' 
 
 'One of the pirate haunts, was it?' I asked with 
 assumed indifference. 
 
 'Supposed to be. But one hears that of every 
 other cay in the Bahamas. I take no stock in 
 such yarns. My shells are all the treasure I 
 expect to find.' 
 
 'What did you call that shell?' I asked. 
 
 He told me the name again, but again I forgot 
 it immediately. Of course I was only asking it 
 for the sake of asking more precisely about Short 
 Shrift Island. He told me, innocently enough, 
 just where it lay. 
 
 'Are you going after it?' he laughed. 
 
 'After what?' I asked in alarm. 
 
 'The ' and again he mentioned the name 
 
 of the shell. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 103 
 
 'O well, . . .' I laughed, 'I am going on a duck- 
 shooting trip to Andros before long, and I thought 
 I might drop around to your cay and pick a few 
 of them up for you.' 
 
 'It would be mighty kind of you,' he said, 'but 
 they're not easy to find — I'll tell you just exactly . . .' 
 and he went off, dear fellow, into the minutest 
 
 description of the habitats of ; while all the 
 
 time I was eager to rush off to Charlie Webster 
 and John Saunders, and shout into their ears — 
 as I did, the first possible moment, that evening : 
 'I've found our missing cay. What's the matter 
 with your old maps, John ? Short Shrift Island 
 
 is .' I mentioned the name of a cay, 
 
 which, as in the case of 'Dead Men's Shoes,' I 
 am unable to divulge. 
 
 'Maybe !' said Charlie, 'maybe ! We can try 
 it ... ; but,' he added, 'did you find out any- 
 thing about Tobias?' 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 IN WHICH I AM AFFORDED GLIMPSES INTO 
 FUTURITY — POSSIBLY USEFUL 
 
 Two or three evenings before we were due to sail, 
 at one of our snuggery conclaves, I put the question 
 if any one had ever tried the divining rod in hunt- 
 ing for treasure in the islands. Charlie took his 
 pipe out of his mouth, the more comfortably to 
 beam his big brotherly smile at me. 
 
 'What a kid you are !' he said. 'You want the 
 whole bag of tricks, eh?' 
 
 But I retorted that he was quite behind the times 
 if he considered the divining rod an exploded super- 
 stition. Its efficacy in finding water, I reminded 
 him, was now admitted by the most sceptical 
 science, and I was able to inform him that a 
 great American railway company paid a yearly 
 salary to a 'dowser' to guide it in the construction 
 of new roads through a country where water was 
 scarce and hard to find. 
 
 Old John nodded, bhnking his mischievous eyes. 
 
 He had more sympathy than CharUe with the 
 
 foolishness of old romance. It was true enough, 
 
 104 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 105 
 
 he said, and added that he knew the man I wanted, 
 a half-crazy old negro back there in Grant's Town 
 — the negro quarter spreading out into the brush 
 behind the ridge on which the town of Nassau 
 proper is built. 
 
 'He calls himself a "king," ' he added, 'and the 
 natives do, I believe, regard him as the head of a 
 certain tribe. Another tribe has its "queen," 
 whom they take much more seriously. You must 
 not forget that it is not so long ago since they 
 all came from Africa, and the oldest negroes still 
 speak their strange African languages, and keep up 
 their old beUefs and practices. 'Obeah,' of course, 
 is still actively practised. . . .' 
 
 'Why,' he went on presently, 'I may even be 
 said to practise it myself; for I protect that part 
 of my grounds here that abuts on to Grant's 
 Town by hanging up things in bottles along the 
 fences, which frighten at least a percentage of 
 would-be tresspasers away . . . you should go and 
 see the old man, if only for fun. The lads call him 
 "Old King Coffee" — a memory, I suppose, of the 
 Ashantee war. Any one will tell you where he 
 lives. He is something of a witch-doctor, as well 
 as "king," and manages to make a Httle out of 
 charms, philtres, and such like, I'm told — enough 
 to keep him in rum anjrway. He has a name too 
 as a preacher — among the Holy Jumpers ! — but 
 
io6 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 he's getting too old to do much preaching nowadays. 
 He may be a Httle off his head, but I think he's 
 more of a shrewd old fraud. Go and see him for 
 fun anyway.' 
 
 So, next morning, I went. 
 
 I had hardly been prepared for the plunge 
 Uterally into 'Darkest Africa' which I found myself 
 taking, as leaving Government House behind, 
 perched on the crest of its white ridge, I walked 
 a few yards inland, and found myself in a region, 
 which, for all its green palms, made a similar 
 sudden impression of pervading blackness on the 
 mind which one gets on suddenly entering on a 
 coal-mining district, after travelling • through 
 fields and meadows. 
 
 There were far more blacks than whites down 
 on Bay Street, but here there were nothing but 
 blacks on every side. The wood of the cabins, 
 most of them neat enough, and pleasantly situ- 
 ated in their little gardens of bananas and cocoa- 
 nut palms, was black, as with age or coal-dust — 
 and the very foliage in its suggestion of savage 
 scenes in one's old picture-books suggested 'natives^' 
 The innumerable smart little pigs that seemed 
 free of the place were black. The innumerable 
 goats too were black. And everywhere, mixed 
 in with the pigs and the goats, were the blackest 
 of picanninies. Everywhere black faces peered 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 107 
 
 from black squares of windows, most of them 
 cheery and round and prosperous looking, but 
 here and there a tragically old crone with witch- 
 like white hair. 
 
 The roads ran in every direction, and along 
 them everywhere were figures of black women 
 shuffling with burdens on their heads, or groups 
 of girls, audaciously merry, most of them bonny, 
 and here and there ahnost a beauty. And here 
 were churches, and dance-halls and saloons all 
 radiating, so to say, a prosperous blackness. It 
 was from these dance-halls came at night that 
 droning and braying of barbaric music, as from 
 some mysterious 'heart of darkness,' as one turned 
 to sleep in one's civiHsed Nassau beds, a music 
 that kept on and on into the inner blackness of the 
 night. 
 
 At first the effect of the whole scene was a little 
 sinister, even a Httle frightening. The strange- 
 ness of Africa, the African jungle, was here, and 
 one was a white man in it all alone among grinning 
 savage faces. But for the figures about one being 
 clothed, the illusion had been complete — but for 
 that, and the kind-hearted salutations from the 
 comely white-turbaned mammies, that soon sprang 
 up about me, and the groups of elfish children 
 that laughingly blocked one's progress with 
 requests — not in any weird African dialect, but in 
 
io8 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 excellent national-school English, for 'a copper, 
 please.' 
 
 This request was not above the maidenly dig- 
 nity of quite big and buxom lasses too. One of these, 
 a really superb young creature, not too hberally 
 clothed to rob one's eyes of her noble contours, 
 had caught my attention by the singularity of 
 something she carried on her head. It was an 
 enormous axe, the shining blade balanced easily 
 on her head, and the handle jutting out horizon- 
 tally Hke some savage head-dress. She looked like 
 a beautiful young beadswoman. Even she asked 
 for 'a copper, please,' but with a saucy coquetry 
 befitting her adolescence. 
 
 'A big girl Uke you too,' I said. She gave a 
 fine savage laugh, without in the least jeop- 
 ardising the balance of the axe. 
 
 'I'll give you one, if you'll tell me where the 
 "king" lives,' said I. 
 
 ''Ole King Coffee !' she asked, and then fell into 
 a very agony of negro laughter. The poor old king 
 was evidently the best of all possible jokes to this 
 irreverent young beauty. Then, recovering, she 
 put her finger to her Hps, suggesting silence. 
 
 'Come along,' she said, 'I'll show you !' 
 
 And, walking by my side, hthe as a young 
 animal, evidently without giving a thought to 
 her gleaming head-dress, she had soon brought 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 109 
 
 me close to a cabin much like the rest, though 
 perhaps a little poorer looking. Stopping a little 
 short of it, she once more put her finger to her lips. 
 
 'Shh !' she said, 'there he is !' and she shook 
 all over again with suppressed giggles. 
 
 I gave her sixpence, told her to be a good girl, 
 and advanced up a little strip of garden to where I 
 had caught a glimpse of a venerable white-haired 
 negro, seated, as if for exhibition, at the window, 
 with a great open book in his hands. This he 
 appeared to be reading with great solemnity, 
 through enormous goggles, though I thought I 
 caught a side-glint of his eye, as though he had 
 taken a swift reconnoitring glance in my direction 
 — a glance which apparently had but deepened his 
 attention and increased the dignity of his demean- 
 our. That dignity indeed was magnificent, and was 
 evidently meant to convey to the passers-by and 
 the world at large that it was in the presence of 
 royalty. 
 
 As I approached the doorway my eye was caught 
 by a massive decoration glittering immediately 
 above it. It was a design of large gilt wooden 
 letters, which I couldn't make out at first, as it 
 had been turned upside down. I didn't realise 
 its meaning till afterwards, but I may as well tell 
 the reader now. It appears that, shortly before. 
 King Coffee, feeling in need of some insignia 
 
no PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 to blazen forth his rank, had appealed to a friend 
 of his, a kindly American visitor, who practically 
 kept the old fellow alive with his bounty. This 
 kind friend was a wag too, and couldn't resist the 
 idea that had come to him. The old man wanted 
 something that glittered. So the American had 
 bethought him of those big lettered signs which 
 on the face of saloons brighten the American 
 landscape — signs announcing somebody or other's 
 'extra.' This it was that now glittered in front of 
 me as — the royal arms ! 
 
 That it was upside down merely added to its 
 mysterious impressiveness for the passer-by, and 
 in no way afflicted the old king, seeing that, in 
 spite of that imposing book at the window, he was 
 quite unable to read. That book, a huge, much 
 gilded family Bible, was merely another portion 
 of the insignia — presented by the same kind friend; 
 as also was the magnificent frock-coat, three sizes 
 too big for the shrunken old figure, in which I 
 found him, installed, shall I say, as I presently 
 stood before him in response to a dignified inclina- 
 tion of his head, welcoming me, at the window. 
 
 Remembering that he was not merely royal, 
 but pious also, I made my salutation at once 
 courtier-like and sanctimonious. 
 
 'Good-day to your majesty,' I said, 'God's good, 
 God looks after his servants.' 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT iii 
 
 'The Lord is merciful,' he answered gravely, 
 'God takes care of His children. Be seated, sar, 
 and please excuse my rising, my rheumatism is 
 a sore affliction to me. But the Lord is good. The 
 Lord giveth and the Lord He taketh away — and 
 the holy text includes rheumatism too — as I have 
 told my poor wandering flock many a Sabbath 
 evening.' 
 
 And he smiled in a sly self-satisfied way at his 
 pious pun. The old fellow was far from being 
 crazy, I said to myself. 
 
 I was not long in getting to the subject of my 
 visit. The old man Hstened to me with great com- 
 posure, but with a marked accession of mysterious 
 importance in his manner. So mediaeval astrol- 
 ogers drew down their brows with a solemn assump- 
 tion of supernatural wisdom when consulted by 
 some noble cUent — noble, but pitiably mortal 
 in the presence of their hidden knowledge. He 
 had put his book down as I talked. I noticed 
 that he had been holding it, Uke his royal arms, 
 — upside down. 
 
 'It's true, sar,' he said when I had finished, 
 'I could find it for you. I could find it for you 
 sure enough — and I'm the only man in all the 
 islands that could — but I should have to go with 
 you — and it's the Lord's will to keep me here in 
 this chair with rheumatics. O I don't murmur. 
 
112 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 It is the Lord's doing and it is marvellous in our 
 eyes. The rods has turned in these old hands 
 many a time, and I have faith in the Lord they 
 would turn again — yes. I'd find it for you — sure 
 enough — I'd find it — if any man could, and it 
 was the Lord's will. But mebbe I can see it for 
 you, without moving from this chair. For when 
 the Lord takes away one gift from His servants, 
 he gives them another. It is His will that these 
 'ere old legs are stiff and can carry me round no 
 more. So wot does the good Lord do? He says, 
 — nebber mind dem ole legs — nebber mind dem 
 old weary eyes — sit jus' whar yuh are, says the 
 Lord, nebber min' no movin' 'round — the Lord 
 do wondrous things to His faithful followers — 
 He opens the eyes of the spirit, so, having no eyes, 
 they shall see — Hallelujah ! Glory be to the Lord ! 
 — see down into de bowels of the earth, see thou- 
 sands of miles away just as plain as this room. . . .' 
 
 He had worked himself up to a sort of religious 
 ecstacy, as I had seen the revivalist sect he belonged 
 to known as the Holy Jumpers do at their curious 
 services. 
 
 'Do you mean, brother,' I asked, 'that the Lord 
 has given you second sight?' 
 
 'That am it ! Glory to His name, Hallelujah !' 
 he answered. 'I look in a glass ball — so — and if 
 the spirit helps me I can see clear as a picture far 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 113 
 
 under the ground — far, far away over the sea. It's 
 the Lord's truth, sar — blessed be His Name !' 
 
 I asked him if he would look into his crystal 
 for me, and, with a burst of profanity as unex- 
 pected as it was vivid, he cursed 'dem boys' that 
 had stolen from him a priceless crystal which once 
 belonged to his old royal mother who had had the 
 same gift of the spirit before him. But, he added, 
 turning to a table with some crockery on it by his 
 side, and, hfting from it a large cut glass decanter 
 of considerable capacity, though at present void 
 of contents, that he had found that gazing into 
 the large glass ball of its stopper produced almost 
 equally good results at times. 
 
 He said this with perfect solemnity, though, 
 as he placed the decanter on top of his Bible in 
 front of him, I observed, with an inner smile, that 
 he tilted it shghtly on one side, as though remark- 
 ing, strictly to himself, that, save for a drain of 
 dark coloured Uquid in one corner, it was painfully 
 empty. 
 
 Then, with a sigh, he apphed himself to his busi- 
 ness of seer. First, he asked me to be kind enough 
 to shut the door. 
 
 We had to be very quiet, he said; the spirit 
 could only work in deep silence. And he asked me 
 to be kind enough to close my eyes. Then I heard 
 his voice muttering in a strange tongue, queer dark 
 
114 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 gobbling kind of words, which may have been 
 ancient African spell-words, or plain gibberish 
 such as magicians in all times and places have 
 employed to mystify their consultants. 
 
 I looked at him through the corner of my eye, 
 as doubtless he had anticipated, for he was 
 glaring with an air of inspired abstraction into the 
 ball of the decanter stopper. So we sat silent for, 
 I suppose, some ten minutes. Then I heard him 
 give another deep sigh, and opening my eyes, I 
 saw him slowly shaking his head — 'The spirits 
 don't seem communicable dis afternoon,' he said, 
 once more tilting the decanter slightly on one side, 
 and observing it drearily as before. 
 
 I had been rather slow, indeed, in taking the 
 hint, but I determined to take it, and see what 
 would happen. 
 
 'Do you think, your majesty,' I asked, with as 
 serious a face as I could assume, 'the spirits might 
 work better — if the decanter was filled?' 
 
 The old man looked at me a little cautiously, 
 as though wondering how to take me. I tried to 
 keep grave, but I couldn't quite suppress a twinkle, 
 and, catching it, he took courage — he seemed to 
 feel that he could trust me; and, slapping his 
 knee, he let himself go in a rush of that deep, 
 chuckling, gurgling, childlike negro laughter which is 
 one of the most appealing gifts of his pathetic race. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 115 
 
 'Mebbe, sar, mebbe,' he said, 'spirits is curious 
 things — they need inspiration sometimes, just 
 like ourselves.' 
 
 'What kind of inspiration do you think gets 
 the best results, your majesty?' I asked. 
 
 'Well, sar, I can't say as dey is very particular, 
 but I'se noticed they do seem powerful 'tached 
 to just plain good old Jamaica rum.' 
 
 'They shall have it,' I said. 
 
 I had noticed that there was a saloon a few 
 yards away, so when a few more minutes had 
 passed I had been there and back again, and the 
 decanter stood ruddily filled, ready for the resump- 
 tion of our seance. But, before we began, I had, 
 of course, accepted the seer's invitation to join 
 him and the spirits in a friendly libation. 
 
 Then, having closed my eyes, we began again, 
 and it was astonishing with what rapidity the thick- 
 coming pictures began to crowd upon that inner 
 vision with which the Lord had endowed His faith- 
 ful follower ! Of course, I was naturally incHned 
 now to take the whole thing as an amusing im- 
 posture; but, presently, as I watched his face 
 and the curious 'seeing' expression of his eyes, 
 together with the exactitude of one or two of his 
 pictures, I began to feel that, however much he 
 might be inventing or elaborating, there was some 
 substratum of truth in what he was telling me. 
 
ii6 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 I had had sufficient experience of mediums and 
 clairvoyants to know that, except in cases of 
 absolute fraud, there was usually, beneath a certain 
 amount of conscious 'imaginativeness,' a mysteri- 
 ous gift at work independent of their volition. 
 Something they did see for which they themselves 
 could not account, and over which they had no 
 control. And, as he proceeded, I became more and 
 more convinced that this was the case with old 
 King Coffee. 
 
 The first pictures that came to him were merely 
 pictures, though astonishingly clear ones, of 
 Webster's boat, The Flamingo, Webster himself, 
 and the men, including the old dog Sailor; but 
 in all this he might have been visualising from 
 actual knowledge. Yet the details were curiously 
 exact. We were all bathed in moonUght, he said 
 — very bright moonlight, moonlight you could read 
 by. Pictures of us out at sea, passing coral islands 
 and so forth followed, all general in character. 
 But presently his gaze became more fixed. 
 
 'I see you anchored under a Httle settlement, 
 he said. 'You are rowing ashore. There are little 
 pathways running up among the coral rock, and a 
 few white houses — and yes ! there is a man in over- 
 alls on the roof of a building, seeming like a little 
 school-house. He waves to you and is getting 
 down from the roof to meet you. But his face 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 117 
 
 is in a mist. I can't see him right. Now he is 
 gone.' 
 
 Then he stopped and waited awhile. Then he 
 began again. 
 
 'Seems to be a forest — big, big trees — not like 
 Nassau trees — and thick brush everywhere — all 
 choked up so thick and dark, can't see nothing. 
 Wait a minute, though. There seems to be old 
 houses all sunk in and lost; Uke old ruins. Can't 
 see them properly for the brush. And wait. Lord 
 love you, sar, but I'm afraid — I seem to see a big 
 Hght coming up through the brush from far under 
 the ground — just like you've seen old rotten wood 
 shining in the dark — deep, deep down — didn't I 
 tell you the Lord give me eyes to see into the bowels 
 of the earth — it's the bowels of the earth for sure 
 — all lit up and shining. Praise the Lord, it am 
 gold, for certain, all hidden away and shining 
 there under the ground.' 
 
 'Can't you see it closer, clearer?' I exclaimed 
 involuntarily. 'Get some idea of the place it's in?' 
 
 The old man gazed with renewed interest. 
 
 'No,' he said presently, and his disappointed 
 tone seemed to me the best evidence of the truth. 
 'I only see a little golden mist deep, deep down 
 under the ground — and now it's fading away. It's 
 gone — and I can only see the woods and the ruins 
 again.' 
 
 I 
 
ii8 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 This brought his visions to an end. The spirits 
 obstinately refused to make any more pictures, 
 though the old man continued to gaze on in the 
 decanter stopper for full five minutes. 
 
 'The wind of the spirit bloweth where it Hsteth,' 
 said he at length, with the note of a more genuine 
 piety in his voice than at the beginning, and there 
 was a certain hushed gravity in his manner as 
 we said good-bye which made me feel that there 
 had been something in his visions that had even 
 surprised himself. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 IN WHICH WE TAKE SHIP ONCE MORE 
 
 The discovery which, through my friend, the 
 dealer in 'marine curiosities,' I had made, or 
 believed myself to have made, of the situation of 
 Henry P. Tobias's second 'pod' of treasure, fitted 
 in exactly with Charlie Webster's wishes for our 
 trip, small stock as he affected to take in it at the 
 moment. As the reader may recall, 'Short Shrift 
 Island' lay a few miles to the north-west of Andros 
 Island. Now, Andros is a great haunt of wild duck, 
 not to speak of that more august bird the flamingo. 
 Attraction number one for the good Charlie. 
 Then, though it is some hundred and fifty miles 
 long, and some fifty miles broad at its broadest, 
 it has never yet, it is said, been entirely explored. 
 Its centre is still a mystery. The natives declare 
 it to be haunted, or, at all events, inhabited by 
 some strange people no one has yet come close 
 enough to see. You can see their houses, they say, 
 from a distance, but as you approach them, they 
 disappear. Here, therefore, seemed an excellent 
 place for Tobias to take cover in, Charlie's duck- 
 
 119 
 
120 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 shooting preserves, endless marl lakes islanded 
 with mangrove copses, lay on the fringe of this 
 mysterious region. So Andros was plainly marked 
 out for our destination. 
 
 But, when Charlie was ready for the start, the 
 wind, which is of the essence of any such contract 
 in the Bahamas, was contrary. It had been blow- 
 ing stormily from the south-west, the direction 
 we were bound for, for several days, and nothing 
 with sails had felt like venturing out across the 
 surf-swept bar for a week. It is but forty miles 
 across the Tongue of Ocean which divides the 
 shores of New Providence and Andros, but you 
 need to pick your weather for that, if you don't 
 want to join the numerous craft that have vanished 
 in that brief but fatal strip of water. However, 
 the wind was liable to change any minute now, 
 Charlie said, and he warned me to hold myself in 
 readiness to jump aboard at an hour's notice. 
 The summons came at last. I had been out for 
 dinner, and returned home about ten to find the 
 message : 'Be ready to sail at midnight.' 
 
 There was a thrilling suddenness about it that 
 appealed to one's imagination. Here I had been 
 expecting a landman's bed, with a book and a 
 reading lamp, surrounded by the friendly security 
 of houses, and instead I was to go faring with the 
 night wind into the mystery of the sea. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 121 
 
 It was a night of fitful moonlight, and Nassau, 
 with its whitQ houses and white streets, seemed 
 very hushed and spectral as I made my way down 
 to the wharf, vivid in black and silver. 
 
 There is always something mysterious about start- 
 ing a journey at night, even though it be nothing 
 more out-of-the-way than catching a midnight train 
 out of the city; and the simple business of our em- 
 barkation breathed an air of romantic secrecy. The 
 moon seemed to have her finger on her lip, and we 
 talked in lowered voices as though we were bound on 
 some midnight raid. The night seemed to be charged 
 with the expectancy of the unknown, and Sailor, 
 who, of course, was to be a fellow-voyager, whined 
 restlessly from the wharf side at the little yawl 
 that awaited us in the whispering, lapping water. 
 
 Sailor had watched his master getting his guns 
 ready for some days, and, doubtless, memories 
 stirred in him of Scotch moors they had shot over 
 together. He raised his head to the night wind, 
 and sniffed impatiently, as though he already 
 scented the wild duck on Andros Island. He was 
 impatient, like the rest of us, because, though it 
 was an hour past sailing time, we had still to col- 
 lect two of the crew. The same old thing ! and I 
 marvelled at the good humour with which CharHe, 
 who is really a sleeping volcano of berserker rage, 
 took it. But he reminded me of his old advice 
 
122 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 as I started for my first trip. 'No use getting mad 
 with niggers — till you positively have to !' 
 
 Well, the two malingerers turned up at last, 
 and all such preliminaries being at length disposed 
 of, we threw off the mooring ropes, and there was 
 presently heard that most exhilarating of sounds 
 to any one who loves seafaring, the rippling of the 
 ropes through the blocks, as our mainsail began 
 to rise up high against the moon, which was 
 beginning to look out over the huge block of the 
 Colonial Hotel, the sea-wall of which ran along 
 as far as our mooring. A few Hghts in the windows 
 here and there broke the blank darkness of its 
 fagade, glimmering through the avenues of royal 
 palms. I am so particular because of something 
 that presently happened, and stayed the mainsail 
 in its rippling ascent. 
 
 A tall figure was running along the sea-wall from 
 the direction of the hotel and calling out, a little 
 breathlessly, in a rich young voice, as it ran : — 
 
 'Wait a minute there, you fellows. . . . Wait 
 a minute.' 
 
 We were already moving, parallel with the wall, 
 and at least twelve feet away from it, by the time 
 the figure, that of a tall boy — 'hke the herald 
 Mercury,' I said to myself — cow-boy hatted and 
 picturesquely outlined in the half-light — stopped 
 just ahead of us. He waved something that looked 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 123 
 
 like a bag in his right hand, caUing out 'catch' 
 as he did so; and, a moment after, before a word 
 could be spoken, he had taken a flying leap, and 
 had landed amongst us, plump in the cock-pit, 
 and was clutching first one of us and then the other, 
 to keep his balance. 
 
 'Did it, by Jove!' he exclaimed in a beautiful 
 Enghsh accent, and then started laughing, as 
 only absurd dare-devil youngsters can. 
 
 'Forgive me !' he said, as soon as he could get 
 his breath, 'but I had to do it. Heaven knows 
 what the old man will say ' 
 
 He seemed to take it all for granted in a delight- 
 ful, nonchalant way, so that the angry protest that 
 had already started from Charlie's Hps stopped in 
 the middle. That fearless leap had taken his heart. 
 
 'You're something of a long jump !' said Charhe. 
 
 'O I have done my twenty- two and an eighth 
 on a broad running jump, but I had no chance 
 for a run there,' answered the lad carelessly. 
 
 'But suppose you'd hit the water instead of the 
 deck?' 
 
 'What of it? Can't one swim?' 
 
 'I guess you're all right, young man,' said Charhe, 
 softened — 'but, well, we're not taking passengers.' 
 
 The word had a famihar sound. They were the 
 very words I had used to Tobias, as he stood with 
 his hand on the gunwale of the Maggie Darling. 
 
124 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 I rapidly conveyed the coincidence, and the dif- 
 ference, to Charlie; though it struck me as odd, 
 I'll admit, that our second start, in this respect, 
 should be so hke the first. Meanwhile the young man 
 was answering, or rather pleading, in a boyish way. 
 
 'Don't call me a passenger. I'll help work the boat 
 —I'm strong you'll see — not afraid of hard work — I 
 heard — never mind how — about your trip, and I'm 
 just nutty about buried treasure. Come, be a sport, 
 I've been watching for you all day — pretty late start- 
 ing, aren't you? . . . We can let the old guv'nor 
 know, somehow — and it won't kill him to tear his hair 
 for a day or two. He knows I can take care of myself. ' 
 
 'Well,' said CharUe, after pondering awhile, 
 'we'll think it over; you can come along till the 
 morning. Then I can get a good look at you. If 
 I don't Uke your looks, we'll still be able to put 
 you off at West-End— and if I do, well— right-o ! ' 
 
 'My looks !' exclaimed our young stranger, with 
 a peculiar mellow laugh. 
 
 'What's the joke?' asked Charlie. 
 
 'O I only wondered what my looks had to do 
 with it ! ' 
 
 'Well,' said Charlie, entering into the spirit 
 of the lad, 'you might be pock-marked for all I 
 know, in this hght— and I have a pecuHar prejudice 
 against pock-marked gentlemen.' 
 
 'Unfeehng of you!' retorted the boy, 'but 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 125 
 
 anyhow,' he added, with the same curiously 
 attractive laugh, 'I'm not pock-marked.' 
 
 'We'll see at sunrise,' said CharUe, 'and now, 
 boys,' he shouted, 'go ahead with the sails.' 
 
 And once more there was that rippling of ropes 
 through the blocks, as our mainsail rose up high 
 against the moon and filled proudly with the 
 steady north-east breeze we had been waiting for. 
 The water began to talk along our sides, and the 
 immense freshness of the nocturnal sea took us 
 in its huge embrace. The spray began to fly over 
 our bows as we nosed into the glassy rollers, one of 
 which admonished us, by half swallowing us on 
 the starboard side, that only the mighty-limbed 
 immortals might dance with safety on the bar that 
 night, and that it were wise for even forty-five foot 
 yawls to hug the land till daylight. So, reluctantly, 
 we kept the shadowy coast-line for our companion, 
 as we steered for the south-western end of the 
 island; to our right, companions more of our mood, 
 parallel ridges of savage whiteness, where the surf 
 boiled and gleamed along the coral shoals. How 
 good it seemed to all of us to be thus out in the 
 freedom of the night and the sea — not least to 
 the great noble-headed hound, sitting upon his 
 haunches, keen and watchful by the steeisman's 
 side. What a strange waste of life so short to be 
 sleeping there on the land when one might be out 
 
126 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 and away on such business as ours ! So two or 
 three hours went by as we plunged on to the seeth- 
 ing sound of the water, and the singing of our sails, 
 and all the various rumour of wind and sea. After 
 all, it was good music to sleep to, and, for all my 
 scorn of sleeping landsmen, an irresistible drowsi- 
 ness stretched me out on the roof of the little cabin, 
 wonderfully rocked into forgetfulness. My nap 
 came to an end suddenly, as though some one had 
 flung me out through a door of blue-and-gold into 
 a new-born world. There was the sun rising, the 
 moon still on duty, and the morning star divinely 
 naked in the heaven. And with these glories 
 rushed in again upon my ears the lovely zest and 
 turmoil of the sea, heaving huge and tumultuous 
 about us in gleaming hills and foam-flecked valleys. 
 
 And there was Charlie, his broad face beaming 
 with boyish happiness, and something like a fatherly 
 gentleness in his eyes, as he watched his com- 
 panion at the tiller, whom, for a half-asleep moment 
 of waking, I couldn't account for, till our start 
 all came back to me, and I realised that it was our 
 young scapegrace of over-night. Charlie and he 
 were evidently on the best of terms already. 
 
 'Nice sailor you are,' Charlie laughed, as I sat 
 up rubbing my eyes, 'falling asleep on watch ! 
 Our young friend here is worth ten of you.' 
 
 I smiled good-morning to our young passenger. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 127 
 
 'How about the court-martial on his looks you 
 spoke of last night, Charlie?' I asked. 
 
 'Well, he's not pock-marked, at all events, is he ? — 
 he told the truth so far. But I've still a question 
 or two to ask him before we leave West-End. But 
 we'll have breakfast first — to give him courage.' 
 
 The lad made a humorous face to suggest his 
 fear of the ordeal — and as he did so, I took a good 
 look at him. Charlie might easily have said a 
 little more about his looks, had it been in his line. 
 For so far from being only 'not pock-marked,' 
 he was something more like a young Apollo, some 
 six feet in height, upstanding like the statue of a 
 Greek athlete, with a rich oUve skin, through which 
 the pink of youth came and went, and splendid 
 blue-green eyes, fearless, and yet shy as a lad's 
 eyes often are at that moment of development 
 when a good-looking lad, in spite of his height and 
 muscles, has something of the bloom and purity 
 of a girl, without in the least suggesting effeminacy. 
 So, many tall athletic girls, for a brief period, 
 suggest boys — without there being the least danger 
 of mistake as to their real sex. 
 
 He was evidently very young — scarcely more 
 than eighteen — and had a great tendency to blush, 
 for all his attempt at nonchalant grown-up airs. 
 He was the very embodiment of youth, in its sun- 
 tipped morning flower. What Charlie could have 
 
12 8 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 to 'question' this artless young being, as incapable 
 of plotting, it seemed to me, as a young faun, 
 passed my conjecture; but, as Charlie had given 
 me a quiet wink, as he spoke of the after-breakfast 
 examination, I suspected that it was one of those 
 jokes of his which are apt to have something of 
 the simplicity and roughness of seafaring tradition. 
 
 Meanwhile, old Tom had been busy Vvith break- 
 fast, and soon the smells of coffee and freshly- 
 made 'johnny-cake' and frying bacon competed 
 not unsuccessfully with the various fragrances of 
 the morning. Is there anything to match for zest a 
 breakfast like that of ours at dawn on the open sea ? 
 
 Breakfast over, Charlie filled his pipe, assuming, 
 as he did so, a judicial aspect. I filled mine, and 
 our young friend followed suit by taking a silver 
 cigarette-case from his pocket, and striking a 
 match on the leg of his khaki knickerbockers with 
 a professional air. 
 
 'All set?' asked Charlie, and, after a slight pause, 
 he went on : 'Now, young man, you can see that 
 we are nearing the end of the island. Another 
 half a mile will bring us to West-End. Whether 
 we deport you there, or take you along, depends 
 on your answers to my questions.' 
 
 'Fire away,' answered the youth, blowing a cloud of 
 cigarette smoke in a delicate spiral up into the morning 
 sky ; 'but I've really told you all I have to tell.' 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 129 
 
 'No — you haven't told us how you came to know 
 of our trip, what we were supposed to be after, 
 and when we were starting.' 
 
 'That's true,' flushed the lad, momentarily 
 losing his composure. Then, partly regaining it ; 
 'is it necessary to answer that question?' 
 
 'Absolutely,' answered Charlie, beginning to 
 look really serious. 
 
 'Because, if you don't mind — well, I'd just as 
 
 soon not ' The boy's cheeks were burning with 
 
 confusion.! 
 
 'For that very reason, I want to know. We are 
 out on a more serious business than perhaps you 
 realise, and your answer may mean more to us 
 than you think ' 
 
 'I'm sure it cannot be of such importance to you 
 — really it's nothing — a mere accident — and, be- 
 sides, it's hardly fair for me to tell. I should have 
 to give away a friend, and that, I'm sure you'll 
 agree, is not cricket.' 
 
 The boy had such a true, innocent air, not to 
 speak of his taking way, which had already quite 
 won my heart, that I protested with Charlie on 
 his behalf. But Charlie was adamant. He'd got 
 Tobias so on the brain, there was no reasoning 
 with him, and the very innocent airs of the lad 
 seemed to have deepened his suspicions. 
 
 'I'm sorry, but I shall have to insist,' said 
 
130 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 Charlie, looking very grim, and more and more 
 like an Elizabethan sea-rover. 
 
 'AH right, then,' answered the youth, looking 
 him straight in the eyes, 'put me ashore then.' 
 
 'No, I won't do that now either,' said Charlie, 
 strongly setting his jaw. 'I'll put you in irons, on 
 bread and water, rather — till you answer my ques- 
 tions.' 
 
 'You will, eh?' answered the youth, flashing 
 fire from his fine eyes, and, as he spoke, quick 
 as thought, he leaped up on to the gunwale and, 
 without hesitation, dived into the great glassy 
 rollers. 
 
 But Charlie was quick too, and like a flash had 
 grabbed one of his ankles, so that the beautiful dive 
 was spoiled, and there was the boy hanging by an im- 
 prisoned leg over the ship's side, a helpless captive, 
 his arms in the water, and his leg struggling vainly 
 to get free. But he might as well have struggled 
 against the grip of Hercules, and, in another 
 moment, Charlie had him hauled aboard again, his 
 eyes full of tears of boyish rage and humiliation. 
 
 'You young fool !' exclaimed Charlie, 'the water 
 round here is thick with sharks — you wouldn't 
 have swam fifty yards without one of them getting 
 you ' 
 
 'Sharks !' gasped out the boy contemptuously. 
 'I know more about sharks than you do.' 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 131 
 
 'You seem to know a good many things I don't 
 know,' said Charlie, whose grimness had evidently 
 relaxed a little, at the lad's display of mettle. 
 Meanwhile, my temper was beginning to rise on 
 behalf of our young passenger. 
 
 'I tell you what, Charlie,' I said, 'if you are 
 going to keep this up, you'd better count me out 
 on this trip, and set us both ashore at West-End; 
 you're making a fool of yourself. The lad's all 
 right. Any one can see with half an eye there's 
 no harm in him.' 
 
 The boy shot me a warm glance of gratitude. 
 
 'All right,' said Charhe, beginning to lose his 
 temper too, 'I'm darned if I don't,' and his hand 
 on the tiller made as if to turn the boat about, 
 and tack for the shore. 
 
 'No ! no !' cried the boy, springing between us, 
 and appeahngly laying a hand on each of our 
 shoulders. 'You mustn't let me spoil your trip. 
 I'll compromise, and, skipper, I'll tell all there is 
 to tell to your friend here — everything, I swear, 
 — if you will leave it to his judgment.' 
 
 CharUe gloomed for a moment or two, thinking 
 it over, while I stood aboard with an injured air. 
 
 'Right-o !' agreed Charhe at last; and our 
 passenger and I thereupon drew apart, for our 
 conference. It was soon over, and I couldn't 
 help laughing aloud at the simplicity of it all. 
 
132 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'Just as I told you, Charlie,' I exclaimed, 'it's 
 innocence itself;' and, turning to the lad, 'dear 
 boy,' I said, 'there is really no need to keep such 
 a small secret as that from the skipper here. You'll 
 really have to let me tell him.' 
 
 The boy nodded acquiescence. 
 
 'AH the same, I gave my word,' he said. 
 
 When I told Charlie the innocent secret, he laughed 
 as I had done, and his usual good nature instantly 
 returned. 
 
 'But to think, you young scapegrace,' he said, 
 'that you might either have been eaten by a shark, 
 or have broken up an old friendship for such non- 
 sense as that.' 
 
 'My hand, old man,' he said, turning to me, and 
 stretching out his huge paw, 'forgive my bad temper.' 
 
 'Mine too,' said I. 
 
 So harmony was restored, and the stubbornly 
 held secret had merely amounted to this. Our lad 
 was acquainted with my conchologist, and had 
 paid him a visit the very afternoon I did, had in 
 fact seen me leaving the house. Answering to 
 the boy's romantic talk of buried treasure and so 
 forth, the shell enthusiast had thought no harm 
 to tell him of our projected trip — and that was the 
 whole of the mysterious matter. 
 
 Yet the day was not to end without a slight 
 incident, which, slight though indeed it was, was 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 133 
 
 momentarily to raise Charlie's suspicions of our 
 charming young companion once more. 
 
 By this we had shaken off the unwelcome convoy 
 of the coast-line, and, having had a thrilling minute 
 or two running the gauntlet of the great rollers of 
 the south-west bar, we were at last really out to sea, 
 making our dash under a good sailing breeze, with 
 the engine going too, across the Tongue of Ocean. 
 
 This Tongue of Ocean is but a narrow strip of 
 sea — so narrow indeed that you are scarcely out 
 of sight of one coast before you sight the other; yet 
 the oldest sailors cross it with fear, for not only 
 is it appallingly deep, but it is subject to sudden 
 'rages' and freakish winds. Even Charlie, who 
 must have made the trip half a hundred times, 
 scanned the western horizon with an anxious eye. 
 
 Presently, in the far south-west, tiny points, 
 like a row of pins, began very faintly to range them- 
 selves along the sky-line. They were palm-trees, 
 though you could not make them out to be such, 
 or anything in particular, for long after. One 
 darker point seemed closer than the rest. 
 
 'There's High Cay!' rang out the rich young 
 voice of our passenger, whom we'd half forgotten 
 in our tense scanning of the horizon. CharUe 
 and I both turned to him together in surprise — 
 and his face certainly betrayed the confusion of 
 one who has let something slip involuntarily. 
 
134 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'Ho ! ho ! young man,' cried Charlie, his face 
 darkening again. 'What do you know about 
 High Cay? I thought this was your first trip.' 
 
 'So it is,' answered the boy. with a flush of evi- 
 dent annoyance, 'on the sea.' 
 
 'What do you mean by "on the sea"?' 
 
 'I mean that I've done it many a time — on the 
 chart. I know every bluff and reef and shoal and 
 cay around Andros from Morgan's Bluff to Washer- 
 woman's Cut ' 
 
 'You do, eh?' 
 
 'On the chart — why, I've studied charts since 
 I was a kid, and gone every kind of voyage you can 
 think of — playing at buccaneering or whaling, or 
 discovering the North Pole. Every kid does that.' 
 
 'They do, eh?' said Charlie, evidently quite 
 unimpressed. 'I never did.' 
 
 'That's because you've about as much imagina- 
 ation as a turnip in that head of yours,' I broke in, 
 in defence of my young Apollo. 
 
 'Maybe, if you're so smart,' continued Charlie, 
 paying no attention to me, 'you can navigate us 
 through the North Bight !' 
 
 ' Maybe ! ' answered our youngster pertly, with 
 an odd little smile. He had evidently recovered 
 his nerve, and seemed to take pleasure in figuring 
 Charlie's bearish suspicions. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 IN WHICH WE ENTER THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Andros, more than any other of the islands, is 
 surrounded by a ring of reefs stretching all around 
 its coasts. The waters inside this ring are seldom 
 more than a fathom or two deep, and, spreading 
 out for miles and miles above a level coral floor, 
 give something of the effect of a vast natural 
 swimming-bath. Frequently there is no more than 
 four or five feet of water, and in calm weather it 
 would be almost possible to walk for miles across 
 this strange sea-bottom. 
 
 Darker and solider grew the point on which our 
 eyes were set, till at length we were up with a thick- 
 set little scrub-covered island which, compared 
 with the low level of the line of coast stretching 
 dimly behind it, rose high and rocky out of the 
 water. Hence its name, 'High Cay,' and its 
 importance along a coast where such definite land- 
 marks are few. We were now inside the break- 
 water of the reefs, and the rolling swell of ocean 
 gave way at once to a mill-pond calmness. Through 
 this we sped along for some ten miles or so, 
 
 135 
 
136 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 following a low, barren coast-line, till at length to 
 our right the water began to spread out inland like a 
 lake. We were at the entrance of North Bight, 
 one of the three bights which, dotted with numerous 
 low-lpng cays, breaks up Andros Island in the 
 middle, and allows a passage through a maze- 
 like archipelago direct to the north-west end of 
 Cuba. Here on the north-west shore is a small and 
 very lonely settlement — one of the two or three 
 settlements on the else deserted island — Behring's 
 Point. 
 
 Here we dropped anchor, and Charlie, who had 
 some business ashore, proposed our landing with 
 him; but here again our passenger aroused his 
 suspicions — though Heaven knows why — by pre- 
 ferring to remain aboard. If Charlie has a fault, 
 it is a pig-headed determination to have his own 
 way — but our passenger was politely obstinate. 
 
 'Please let me off,' he said, in his smart top- 
 lofty English accent. 'You can see for yourself 
 that there's nothing to see — nothing but a nasty 
 lot of nigger cabins, and dirty coral rock that will 
 cut your boots to pieces. I'd much rather smoke 
 and wait for you in peace.' And he took out his 
 case, and lighting a cigarette, he waved it gaily to 
 us as we rowed off. 
 
 He had certainly been right about Behring's 
 Point — Charlie was absurdly certain that he had 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 137 
 
 known it before, and had some reason for not 
 landing — for a more forlorn and poverty-stricken 
 foot-hold of humanity could hardly be conceived; 
 a poor little cluster of negro cabins, indeed, scram- 
 bUng up from the beach, with no streets but craggy 
 pathways in and out among the gray chnker- 
 like coral rock. But it was touching to find that 
 even here, though the whole worldly goods of the 
 community would scarcely fetch ten dollars, the 
 souls of men were still held worth caring for For 
 presently we came upon a pretty little church, 
 with a school-house near by, while from the roof 
 of an adjacent building we were hailed by a 
 pleasant-faced white man, busy with some shingUng. 
 It was the good priest of the little place, Father 
 Serapion, disguised in overalls, and the honest 
 grime of his labour; like a true Benedictine, pray- 
 ing with his strong and skilful hands. He was 
 down from his roof in a moment, a youngish man 
 with the face of a practical dreamer, strangely 
 happy looking in what would seem to most an 
 appalling isolation, there alone, month after month, 
 with his black flock. But evidently his was no 
 such thought, for he showed us with pride the 
 new school-house he was building out of the coral 
 limestone with his own hands, as he had built the 
 church, every stone of it, and the picturesque well, 
 and the rampart-like wall round the churchyard. 
 
138 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 His garden, too, he was very proud of, as well 
 might be, wrested as it was out of the solid rock. 
 Father Serapion and Charlie were old friends, 
 and, when we had accepted the father's invita- 
 tion to step into his neat little house — also built 
 with his own hands — and dissipate with him to 
 the extent of some grape juice and an excellent 
 cigar, Charlie took occasion to confide in him with 
 regard to Tobias, and, to his huge delight, dis- 
 covered that a man answering very much to his 
 description had dropped in there with a large 
 sponger two days before. He had only stopped 
 long enough to buy rum at the little store near the 
 landing, and had been off again through the Bight, 
 sailing west. He might be making for Cuba or 
 he might be making for a hiding-place, of which 
 there were plenty, on the western shore of the 
 island itself. Father Serapion, who knew Charlie 
 Webster's shooting ground, promised to send a 
 swift messenger should anything further come to 
 his knowledge within the next week or so. As he 
 was naturally in close touch with the natives, 
 this was not unlikely. And then we had to bid the 
 good priest farewell — not without a hush in our 
 hearts as we pondered on the noble marvel of 
 lives thus unselfishly devoted, and as we thought 
 too of the loneliness that would once more close 
 around him when we were gone. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 139 
 
 It was not till we had left him that I suddenly 
 recalled King Coffee's first vision. Clearly Father 
 Serapion was the man in overalls shingling a roof ! 
 If only his other visions should prove as true. 
 
 Then we sailed away from Behring's Point, due 
 west through the North Bight. But we had spent 
 too much time with the good father, and in various 
 pottering about — making another landing at a lone 
 cabin in search of fresh vegetables, and further 
 loading up our much-enduring craft with three 
 flat-bottomed skiffs for duck-shooting, marvel- 
 lously lashed on the sides of the cabin deck — to do 
 much more saiUng that day; so at sunset we dropped 
 anchor under the lee of Big Wood Cay, and, long 
 before the moon rose, the whole boat's crew of 
 us were wondrously asleep. 
 
 Morning found us saiUng through a maze of 
 low-lying desert islands of a bewildering sameness 
 of shape and size, with practically nothing to 
 distinguish one from the other. Even long ex- 
 perience of them is hable to go astray, and Charlie 
 and the captain had several friendly disputes and 
 exchanged bets as to which was which. Then, 
 too, the curious milky colour of the water (in strange 
 contrast to the jewel-like clearness of the outer 
 sea) makes it hard to keep clear of the coral shoals 
 that shelve out capriciously from every island. 
 In the daylight, the deeper water is seen in a 
 
140 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 bluish track (something like the 'bluing' used in 
 laundry work), edged on either side by 'the white 
 water.' One has to keep a sharp lookout every 
 foot of the way,, and many a time our keel gave an 
 ominous grating, and we escaped some nasty ledges 
 by the mere mercy of Heaven. 
 
 We had tried bathing at sunrise, but the water 
 was not deep enough to swim in. So we had paddled 
 around picking up 'conchs' — those great orna- 
 mental shells which house with such fanciful 
 magnificence an animal something like our winkle, 
 the hard white flesh of which cut up fine makes an 
 excellent salad — that is, as old Tom made it. 
 There is no fishing to speak of to be done in these 
 enclosed waters; nothing to go after except sponges, 
 which you see dotting the coral floor in black 
 patches. We gathered one or two, but the sponge 
 in its natural state is not an agreeable object. 
 It is like a mass of slimy india-rubber, which has 
 to 'die' and rot out its animal life, which is done 
 with a protesting perfume of great power — the 
 sponge of our bath-tubs being the macerated 
 skeleton of the Uving sponge. 
 
 We had hoped to reach our camp, out on the 
 other side of the island, that evening, but that 
 dodging the shoals and sticking in the mud had 
 considerably delayed us. Besides, though Charlie 
 and the captain both hated to admit it, we had 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 141 
 
 lost our way. We had been looking all afternoon 
 for 'Little Wood Cay,' but as I said before, one 
 cay was so like another — all aUke fiat, low-lying, 
 desolate islands covered with a uniform scrub 
 and marked by no large trees — not unbeautiful 
 if one has a taste for melancholy levels, but un- 
 picturesquely depressing and hopeless for eyes 
 craving more featured and coloured scenery.' 
 
 So night began to fall, and, as there is no sailing 
 to be done in such waters at night, we once 
 more cast anchor under a gloomy, black shape of 
 land — exceedingly lonesome and forgotten-looking, 
 which we agreed to call 'Little Wood Cay' — till 
 morning. Soon all were asleep except Sailor 
 and L I lay awake for a long time watching the 
 square yard of stars that shone down through the 
 hatch in our cabin ceiling like a little window 
 looking into eternity, while the waters lapped and 
 lapped outside, and the night talked strangely 
 to itself. It was a wonderful meeting-place of 
 aug-ust lonely things — that nameless dark island, 
 that shadowy water heaving vast and mournful, 
 that cry of the wind, that swaying vault of the 
 stars, and, framed in the cabin doorway, the great 
 black head of the old dog, grave and moveless and 
 wondering. 
 
 Next morning Charhe and the captain were 
 forced to own up that the island discovered to 
 
142 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 the day was not 'Little Wood Cay.' No humilia- 
 tion goes deeper with a sailing man than having 
 to ask his way. Besides, who was there to ask in 
 that soUtude? Doubtless a cormorant flying over- 
 head knew it, but no one thought to ask him. 
 However, we were in luck, for after saiUng about 
 a bit we came upon two lonely negroes standing 
 up in their boats and thrusting long poles into 
 the water. They were sponging — most melancholy 
 of occupations — and they looked forlorn enough 
 in the still dawn. But they had a smile for our 
 plight. It was evidently a good joke to have mis- 
 taken 'Sapodilla Cay' for 'Little Wood Cay.' 
 Of course, we should have gone — so. And 'so' 
 we presently went, not without rewarding them 
 for their information with two generous drinks 
 of old Jamaica rum. I never saw two men so 
 grateful for a drink. Their faces positively shone 
 with happiness. Certainly it must have seemed 
 as if that rum had fallen out of the sky, the last 
 thing those chilled and lonesome men could have 
 hoped for, out there in the inhospitable solitude. 
 One of our reasons for seeking 'Little Wood 
 Cay,' which it proved had been close by all the 
 time, was that it is one of the few cays where one 
 can get fresh water. 'Good water here,' says the 
 chart. We wanted to refill some of our jars, and 
 so we landed there, glad to stretch our legs, while 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 143 
 
 old Tom cooked our breakfast on the beach, under 
 a sapodilla tree. The vegetation was a little more 
 varied and genial than we had yet seen, and some 
 small white flowers, growing in long hues, as if 
 they had been planted, wafted a very sweet fra- 
 grance across our breakfast table of white coral 
 sand. While we were eating, two or three little 
 hzards, with tails curiously curled round and round, 
 hke a St Catherine wheel, made themselves friendly, 
 and ate pieces of bread without fear. 
 
 Now that we knew where we were, it was clear, 
 but by no means careless, sailing to our camp. 
 By noon we had made the trip through the island, 
 and, passing out of a narrow creek known as 
 'Loggerhead Creek,' were on its south-west side. 
 A hundred and fifty miles or so straight sailing 
 would have brought us to Cuba, but our way lay 
 north up the coast, as we had come down the other. 
 Here was the same white water as the day before, 
 with the bluish track showing the deeper channel; 
 the same long, monotonous coast; the same dwarf, 
 rusty green scrub; not a sign of life anywhere. 
 Nothing but the endless white water and the end- 
 less desert shore. We were making for what is 
 known as the Wide Opening, a sort of estuary 
 into which a Hstless stream or two crawl through 
 mangrove bushes from the interior swamps. 
 But there is one startlingly pleasant river, 
 
144 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 curiously out of place in its desolate surroundings, 
 which, after running through several miles of 
 marl swamps, enters upon an oasis of fresher foh- 
 age, and even such stately timber as mahogany, 
 lignum-vitae, horse-flesh and so forth, and it was 
 in this oasis at the close of the third day out we 
 found ourselves. Here, a short distance from the 
 bank, on some shghtly ascending rocky ground, 
 under the spreading shade of something hke a 
 stretch of woodland, Charlie had, several years ago, 
 built a rough log shanty for his camp — one of two 
 or three camps he had thus scattered for himself 
 up and down the 'out islands,' where nearly all 
 the land is no man's, and so every man's land. 
 The particular camp at which we had now arrived 
 he had not visited for a long time. 
 
 'Last time I was here,' said Charhe, laughing, 
 as, having dropped anchor, we rowed ashore, 
 'I thought of what seemed to me an infaUible test 
 of the loneUness of the place. Let's see how it has 
 worked.' 
 
 The log shanty stood before us, doorless, com- 
 fortably tucked in under an umbrella-headed 
 tamarind tree. There was nothing in it but a rough 
 table. On the table was a bottle fallen over on 
 its side. This Charhe snatched up with a cry of 
 satisfaction. 'What do you think of this?' he 
 said. 'Not a soul has been here but the turkey- 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 145 
 
 buzzards. The beggars knocked this over — but 
 otherwise it is untouched as I left it. Do you want 
 better proof than this?' — and he held out the bottle 
 for me to look at. It was a quart of Scotch whisky, 
 corked and sealed as it had left the manufacturer. 
 And it had been there for two years ! The more the 
 reader ponders this striking fact, the better will 
 he be able to realise the depth of the solitude in 
 which we had now found our journey's end. 
 
 While the boys slung the beds, and Tom busied 
 himself with dinner, we sat and smoked, and 
 savoured together our satisfaction in our complete 
 and grandiose isolation. 
 
 'It might well be weeks before any one could 
 find us,' said my friend, eager as a boy lapping 
 up horrors from his favourite author. 'Yes, weeks !' 
 And then he added, 'It was creeks like this the old 
 pirates used to hide in' — and so we talked of pirates 
 and buried treasure, while the sun set like a flight 
 of flamingoes over a scene that was indeed like a 
 picture torn from a boy's own book of adventure. 
 
 Then Tom brought us our dinner, and the dark 
 began to settle down upon us, thrillingly lonely, 
 and full of strange desolate cries of night crea- 
 tures from the mangrove swamps that surrounded 
 our little oasis for miles. Not even when Tom and 
 I had been alone on 'Dead Men's Shoes' had I 
 felt so utterly out of and beyond the world. 
 
146 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 Charlie smacked his big smiUng lips at the savage 
 solitude of it. 
 
 'It's great to get away from everything like this, 
 isn't it?' he said; looking round with huge satis- 
 faction into the homeless haunted wild, with its 
 brooding blackness as of primeval chaos. 
 
 And Sailor lay at our feet, dreaming of to- 
 morrow's duck. 
 
 His master's thoughts were evidently in the same 
 direction. 
 
 'How are you with a gun?' he asked, turning to 
 the boy. 
 
 'O I won't brag — I had better wait till to- 
 morrow — but, of course, you will have to lend 
 me a gun.' 
 
 'I have a beauty for you — just your weight,' 
 said Charhe, his face beaming as it only did at the 
 thought of his guns, which he kept poUshed hke 
 jewels, and guarded as jealously as a violinist his 
 vioUn or an Arab his harem. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 DUCK 
 
 Dawn was just breaking as I felt Charlie's great 
 paw on my shoulder next morning. He was very 
 serious. For a moment, as I sat up, still half 
 asleep, I thought he had news of Tobias. But 
 it was only duck. He had heard a great quacking 
 during the night, and was impatient to make a 
 start. So was Sailor. Our young stranger had been 
 up and abroad ahead of us all — Charlie mentioned 
 with reproach. I was scarcely dressed when Tom 
 arrived with breakfast, and in a few minutes we 
 had shouldered our guns, and were crossing the 
 half mile of peaty waste that divided us from the 
 marl lakes from which the night wind had carried 
 that provocative quacking. Ahead of us, part 
 of the crew were carr5dng the skiffs on their 
 shoulders, and very soon we were each seated in 
 regulation fashion on a canvas chair in front of 
 our respective skiffs, with our guns across our 
 knees, and a negro behind us to do the poling. 
 
 CharHe went ahead, with Sailor standing in 
 the bow quivering with excitement — the necessity of 
 absolute silence, of course, having been impressed 
 
 147 
 
148 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 upon us all by the most severe of all sports- 
 men. But the admonition was scarcely necess^^y, 
 for, as the sun rose, the scene that spread befoie 
 us was beautiful enough to have hushed the most 
 garrulous tongue. Far and near stretched misty 
 levels of milk-white water, in which the mangrove 
 trees made countless islands, sometimes of con- 
 siderable extent, impenetrable coppices often thirty 
 or forty feet high. From horizon to horizon there was 
 nothing but white water and these coppice-islands of 
 laurel green — one so like the other that I marvelled 
 how Charlie expected to find liis way back to camp 
 again in the evening. As the sun rose, flooding the 
 wide floors with lonely splendour, it smote upon 
 what I at first took to be gleaming clouds of purest 
 silver unrolhng before it. It was an angeUc host 
 of white herons soaring and circling, stainless spirits 
 of the dawn high up in the fathomless blue. As we 
 stole silently along in our skiffs, it seemed to me 
 that we were invading some sanctuary of morning, 
 'occult, withdrawn,' at the far limits of the world. 
 
 I looked around to see how it was all affecting my 
 young friend. He was close behind, almost at 
 my shoulder — his beautiful young face hke a Greek 
 god in a dream. 
 
 'Isn't it wonderful?' he said, in that voice like 
 a musical instrument. My heart went out to him 
 in gratitude; for, as I caught sight of Charlie's 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 14^ 
 
 serious figure ahead, with no thought, I was sure, 
 but duck — I reaUsed how lonely I would have 
 been amid all that solemn morning without my 
 young fellow-worshipper. 
 
 Presently, the herons alighted on one of the 
 near-by mangrove coppices, and it was as though 
 the green bushes had suddenly been clothed with 
 miraculous white flowers — or been buried under 
 a fall of virgin snow. High up against the sun, 
 several larger birds were uncouthly gambolling 
 in morning joy. It was hard to believe that they 
 were pelicans — such different birds they seemed 
 from their foolish moping fellows at the Zoo. And 
 ah ! yonder, riding innocent of danger, filling the 
 morning air with their peaceful quacking, a huge 
 glittering fleet of — teal. 
 
 At the sight, Charlie turned, with solemn warn* 
 ing hand, at which I heard my young friend behind 
 me smothering his profane young laughter, and 
 made various signs by which Tom — who was poling 
 me — and I understood that our job, as that of 
 my young friend, was so to steal behind one man- 
 grove copse after another, till we had got on the 
 other side of that unsuspecting squadron — which 
 might then be expected to take flight in Charlie's 
 direction, rushing by him in a terrified whirlwind. 
 And this not very easy feat of stalking we were 
 able to accomplish, thereby winning Charlie's 
 
150 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 immense approval, and putting him in a splendid 
 temper for the rest of the day; for, as the wild 
 cloud swept over him he was able to bring down no 
 less than seven — like a true sportsman, in telling 
 the story afterwards in John Saunders's snuggery, 
 he averred that the number was nine ! 
 
 I don't know which was happier, he, or Sailor, 
 splashing through the water and returning again 
 and again with a bird in his mouth. As for me, 
 I'm afraid I am but half-hearted sportsman, for 
 I noticed that, as the bang, bang, bang of the gun 
 shivered the silence like a crystal mirror, those 
 white spirits of the morning, till then massed in 
 dazzUng purity on the mangrove coppice, rose 
 once more in a silver cloud and vanished. It was 
 as though beauty was leaving the world. 
 
 And once more I was thankful for the presence 
 of dreaming and worshipful youth. 
 
 'I shall hate him in a minute,' said the boy; but just 
 then came across the water Charlie's jovial challenge 
 to him to show his marksmanship, and he took it 
 with the same nonchalant skill as he did every- 
 thing — making, by long odds, as Charlie generously 
 admitted, the most brilliant shot of the day. 
 
 Now duck-shooting, while exciting enough in 
 itself, makes unexciting reading, and when I have 
 recorded that Charlie's bag for the day was no less 
 than seven and a half dozen — I am not sure that 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 151 
 
 our figures will agree — and related one curious 
 incident of the day, I shall leave the reader to 
 imagine the rest. The incident was this. Early 
 in the afternoon, Charlie had made one notable 
 killing — five, I think it was — he will correct me, 
 if I am wrong — but one of the birds had not been 
 quite dead, and had fluttered away into a par- 
 ticularly dense coppice. Sailor had been sent 
 in after it, but, after a lot of fussing about, came 
 out without his bird. Twice Charlie sent him in, 
 with the same result ; so, growing impatient, 
 he got out of his skiff, and went splashing through 
 the marl water himself, and disappeared in the 
 coppice. Presently we heard his big laugh, and, 
 next second, his gun. A moment or two after he 
 reappeared, shouldering a huge black snake. No 
 wonder Sailor had been unable to find his bird. 
 For, as Charlie had entered the coppice, the first 
 thing he saw was this snake coiled up in the centre, 
 with a curious protuberance bulging out his neck. 
 Flying from Charlie's gun, the unfortunate duck 
 had landed right into the jaws of the snake ! As 
 Charlie ripped open the snake's side — there, sure 
 enough, he was. So he was added to the day's 
 bag, and, if he was among those Tom cooked for 
 dinner, when we reached camp again that evening, 
 he enjoyed the somewhat unusual experience of 
 being eaten twice in one day. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 MORE PARTICULARLY CONCERNS OUR Y0UNr7 
 COMPANION 
 
 The days that now followed for a week might be 
 said to be accurate copies of that first day. Had 
 one kept a diary, it would only have been necessary 
 to write 'ditto,' 'ditto,' 'ditto,' herons and pelicans 
 — ditto; duck; ditto. But they were none the 
 less delightful for that — for there is a sameness 
 that is far indeed from monotony — though, I will 
 confess that for my own taste, towards the week-end, 
 the carnage of ducks began to partake a little of 
 that latter quality. Still, Charlie and Sailor were 
 so happy that I wouldn't have let them suspect 
 that for the world. 
 
 Besides, I had my wonderful young friend, to 
 whom I grew daily more attached. He and I, 
 of course, were of the same mind on the subject 
 of duck, and, as often as possible, would give 
 Charlie the slip, and explore the ins and outs of 
 the mangrove islands, merely for beauty's sake, 
 or in study of the queer forms of life dimly and 
 uncouthly climbing the ladder of being in those 
 
 152 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 153 
 
 strange solitudes. In these comradely hours to- 
 gether, I found myself feeling drawn to him as 1 
 can imagine a young father being drawn to a young 
 son, — and sometimes I seemed to see in his eyes 
 the suggestion of a confidence he was on the edge 
 of making me, a whimsical, pondering expression, 
 as though wondering whether he dare tell me or 
 not. 
 
 'What is it. Jack?' I asked him, on one of these 
 occasions— for, when early in our acquaintance 
 we had asked him what we were to call him, he 
 had answered with a laugh : — 
 
 'O call me Jack— Jack Harkaway !' 
 
 We had laughed, reminding him of the school- 
 boy hero of that name, and he had answered : — 
 
 'Never mind — one name is as good as another. 
 That is my name when I go on adventures. Tell 
 me your adventure names. I don't want your 
 prosaic everyday names.' 
 
 'Well,' I said, entering into the lad's humour: 
 my friend here is Sir Francis Drake, and I, well 
 — I'm Sir Henry Morgan.' 
 
 So— 'What is it Jack?' I repeated. 
 
 But he shook his head. 
 
 'No !' he rephed, 'I like you ever so much — and 
 I wish I could — but I mustn't. 
 
 'Somebody else's secret again?' I said. 
 
 'Yes !' and he added, 'this time it's mine too 
 
154 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 — but — some day perhaps, who knows ' and 
 
 he broke off in boyish confusion. 
 
 'All right, dear Jack,' I said, patting his shoulder, 
 'take your own time. We're friends anyway.' 
 
 'That we are,' responded the lad, with a fine 
 glow. 
 
 We left it so at the moment, and had ourselves 
 poled in the direction of Charhe's voice, which 
 was breaking mirror after mirror of exquisite 
 lagoon-like silence with demands for our return 
 to camp. 
 
 CharUe had evidently shot all the duck he wanted 
 for that day, and was beginning to be hungry for 
 dinner. 
 
 Yet I mustn't be too hard on Charlie, for as 
 we know, even he had another object in his trip 
 besides duck. As a certain poet brutally puts it, 
 he had anticipated also 'the hunting of man.' 
 In addition, though it is against the law of those 
 Britannic islands, he had promised me a flamingo 
 or two for decorative purposes. However, flam- 
 ingoes and Tobias alike kept out of gunshot, and 
 as the week drew towards its end Charlie began to 
 grow a little restive. 
 
 'It looks,' he said, as we had completed our 
 fourteenth meal of roast duck, one evening, and 
 were musing over our after-duck cigars, 'it looks 
 as if I am not going to have any use for this,' 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT i55 
 
 He had taken a paper from his pocket. It was 
 a warrant with which he had provided himself, 
 empowering him to arrest the said Henry P. Tobias, 
 or the person passing under that name, on two 
 counts— first, that of seditious practices, with, 
 intent to spread treason among His Majesty's 
 subjects; and, second, that of wilful murder on 
 the high seas. I should say that, following my 
 recital of the eventful cruise of the Maggie Darling, 
 old Tom and I had been required to make sworn 
 depositions of Tobias's share in the happenings 
 of that cruise, the murder of the captain and so 
 forth, and I too had surrendered as evidence that 
 eloquent manifesto which I had seen Tobias read- 
 ing to the ill-fated George and 'Silly' Theodore 
 and had afterwards discussed with him. The prob- 
 abilities were that the Government would treat 
 Tobias's case as that of a dangerous madman, 
 rather than as a hanging matter; but, whatever 
 its point of view, it was clearly undesirable for such 
 an individual to remain at large. So the govern- 
 ing powers in Nassau, with whom Charlie Webster 
 was persona grata, had been glad to take advan- 
 tage of his enthusiastic patriotism and invest 
 him with constabulary powers, should he have 
 any opportunity of using them. Personally, he 
 was rather ashamed of having to employ such 
 tame legal methods. From his point of view 
 
156 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 shooting at sight was all that Tobias deserved, 
 and to give him a trial by jury was an absurdity 
 of legal red-tape. In this respect he agreed with 
 the great Mr Pickwick, that the law was 'a hass.' 
 It was always England's way, he said, and, if she 
 didn't mind, this leniency to traitors would some 
 day be her undoing ! 
 
 CharUe put the despised, yet precious, warrant 
 back into his pocket, and gazed disgustedly across 
 the creek, where the loveHest of young moons 
 was rising behind a frieze of the homeless, barbaric 
 brush. 
 
 'There was never such a place in the world,' he 
 said, 'to hide in— or get lost in — or to starve in. 
 I have often thought that it would make the most 
 effective prison in the world. Instead of spending 
 good pubUc money in housing and feeding scoun- 
 drels behind bars, and paying officials to keep them 
 there, supporting expensive estabUshments at 
 Dartmoor and so forth, why doesn't the British 
 Government export her convicts over here, land 
 them on one of those mangrove shoals, and — give 
 them their freedom ! Five per cent, might suc- 
 ceed in escaping. The mangrove swamps would 
 look after the rest.' 
 
 As I have said, Charlie was a terrifying patriot. 
 For most offences he had the humanity of a vast 
 forgiveness. He was, generally speaking, the 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 157 
 
 softest-hearted man I have ever met. But for any 
 breach of the sacred laws of England he was some- 
 thing like a Spanish Inquisitor. England, in fact, 
 was his religion. I have heard of worse. 
 
 The young moon rose and rose, while Charlie 
 sat in the door of our shanty, like a meditative 
 mountain, saying nothing, the glowing end of his 
 cigar occasionally hinting at the circumference 
 of his broad Elizabethan face. 
 
 'I'll get him, all the same,' he said presently, 
 coming out of a sort of trance, in which, as I 
 understood later, his mind had been making a 
 geographical survey of our neighbourhood, going 
 up and down every creek and corner on a radius 
 of fifty miles. 
 
 'If,' he added, 'he knows this island better than 
 I do, I'll give him this warrant to eat for his break- 
 fast. . . . But let's turn in. I'll think it out by 
 the morning. Night brings counsel.' 
 
 So we sought our respective cots; but I had 
 scarcely begun to undress, when a foolish accident 
 for which I was responsible happened, an accident 
 that might have had serious consequences, and 
 which, as a matter of fact, did have — though not 
 at the moment. 
 
 As I told the reader at the beginning of this story, 
 I am not accustomed to guns — being too afraid 
 of my bad temper. Charlie knew this, and was all 
 
158 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 the time cautioning me about holding my gun 
 right, and so on — and especially about shaking 
 out all unused cartridges at the end of the day's 
 shoot. 
 
 Well, this special night, I had forgotten his 
 warnings. Neglecting everything a man should 
 do to his gun when he is finished with it for the day, 
 I had left two cartridges in it, left the trigger on 
 the hair-brink of eternity, and other enormities 
 for which Charlie presently, and quite rightly, 
 abashed me with profanity — and, in short, my 
 big toe tripped over the beast as it stood carelessly 
 against the wall of my cabin, and I received the 
 contents, as it fell, in the fleshy part of my shoulder. 
 
 The explosion brought the whole crew out of 
 their shanty, in a state of gesticulating nature. 
 Suddenly our young friend Jack — whose romantic 
 youth preferred sleeping outside in a hammock 
 slung between two palm-trees — put him aside. 
 
 'I know better how to do this than you, Sir 
 Francis,' he said laughing. 
 
 'Same as the sharks, eh?' said Charlie. 
 
 'Just the same . . . but let's have a look at 
 your medicine chest, and give me the lint quick.' 
 
 So Jack took charge, and acted with such con- 
 fidence and skill, finally binding up my wound, 
 which was but a slight one, that Charlie stood by 
 dumbfounded, and with a curious soft look in his 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT i59 
 
 face I didn't understand till later. And the tears 
 came into my eyes at the wonderful skill of the 
 lad, as he bent over me. 'Do I hurt you?' he kept 
 saying. 'You and I are pals, you know.' 
 
 'You don't hurt me a bit, dear Jack,' I said. 
 'What a clever lad you are !' 
 
 Then Jack looked up for a moment, and caught 
 Charlie's wondering look ; and it seemed to me 
 that he changed colour, and looked frightened. 
 
 'Sir Francis is jealous,' he said, 'but I've finished 
 now— I guess you'll sleep all right after that dose 
 I gave you . . . good-night . . .' and he sUpped 
 away. 
 
 Jack had proved himself a practised surgeon, 
 and as he said, I slept well, so well, and so far into 
 next morning, that Charlie had at last to waken me. 
 
 'What do you think?' were his first words. 
 
 'Why, what?' I asked, sitting up, and wincing 
 from my wounded shoulder. 
 
 'Our young friend has skipped in the night !' 
 
 'Skipped!' I exclaimed, with a curious ache at 
 my heart. 
 
 'Sure enough! Gone off on that little nigger 
 sloop that dropped in here yesterday afternoon, 
 I guess.' 
 
 'You don't mean it.' 
 
 'No doubt of it . . . and I wonder if you've 
 had the same thought as I had . . .' 
 
i6o PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'What do you mean?' 
 
 'You know I always said there was a mystery 
 in that boy?' 
 
 'Well, what of it?' 
 
 'Did you notice the way he bound your shoulder 
 last night?' 
 
 'What of it?' 
 
 'Did you ever see a man bind a wound like that?' 
 
 'What do you mean?' 
 
 'I mean simply that the mystery about our Jack 
 Harkaway was just this. Jack Harkaway was no 
 boy at all — but just a girl ... a brick of a dare- 
 devil girl. . . .' 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 BETTER THAN DUCK 
 
 Charlie Webster's discovery — if discovery it 
 was — of Jack Harkaway's true sex seemed so far 
 plausible, in that it accounted not only for much 
 that had seemed mysterious about him and his 
 manner, but also — though this I did not mention to 
 Charlie — it accounted for certain dim feelings of my 
 own of which before I had been scarcely conscious. 
 
 But we were not long left to continue our specu- 
 lations, being presently interrupted by the arrival 
 of exciting news, news which, I need hardly say, 
 promptly drove all thought of 'Jack Harkaway' 
 out of Charlie Webster's head — though it was not 
 so soon to be banished from mine. 
 
 The news came in the form of a note from Father 
 Serapion. He had sent it by the captain of a spong- 
 ing schooner, who, in turn, had sent it by two of 
 his men in a row-boat, not being able to venture 
 up the creek himself, owing to the north-east wind 
 which was blowing so hard, that, as sometimes 
 happens on the coast, he might have been left 
 high and dry. 
 
 i6i 
 
1 62 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 Father Serapion's note simply confirmed his 
 conjecture that it was Tobias that had bought 
 rum at Behring's Point, and that he was probably 
 somewhere in the network of creeks and marl 
 lagoons in our neighbourhood. TelHng Tom to 
 give the two men a good breakfast, CharHe thought 
 the news over. 
 
 'I'll tell you what we'll do,' he said presently. 
 'I'm going to leave you here — and I'm going to 
 charter the sponger out there. This river we are 
 on comes out of a sound that spreads directly 
 south— Turner's Sound. Turner's Sound has two 
 outlets — this and Goose River — ten miles down 
 the shore. Now, if Tobias is inside here, he can 
 only get out either down here, or down Goose 
 River. I am going down in the sponger to the 
 mouth of Goose River, to keep watch there; , and 
 you must stay where you are, and keep watch 
 here. Between the two of us, a week will starve 
 him out. Or, if not, I'll chase after him up Goose 
 River; and in that case, he'll have to come down 
 here — and it will be up to you . . . for, I don't 
 believe he'll have the nerve to try walking across 
 the marl ponds to the east coast.' 
 
 So it was settled, and, presently, CharHe went 
 along with two of his best guns, and Sailor, in the 
 row-boat, and I saw him no more for a week. 
 Meanwhile, I kept watch and studied the scenery. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 163 
 
 and old Tom and I talked about the strange people 
 who inhabited the interior— those houses that 
 moved away into the mist as soon as you caught 
 sight of them. Some day old Tom and I are 
 going to explore the interior, for he is not so much 
 afraid of ghosts as he was, since we tried them 
 out together. 
 
 At the end of the week, the wind was blowing 
 strong from the west, and the tides ran high, and 
 about noon we caught sight of triumphant sails 
 making up the river. It was Charlie back again. 
 
 'Got him !' was all he said as he rowed ashore. 
 
 Sailor was with him in the row-boat. But I 
 noticed that he was limping, going on three legs. 
 
 'Yes !' said Charlie. 'It's lucky for Tobias he 
 only got his foot — or, by the living God, Td have 
 stood my trial for manslaughter, or whatever 
 they call it. It'll soon be right, old man,' he said, 
 taking Sailor's wounded paw in his hand — 'soon 
 be all right,' and Sailor wagged his tail vigorously, 
 to show that a gunshot through one of his legs was 
 a mere nothing. 
 
 'Yes !' said Charlie, as we sat at lunch in the 
 shack, under the tamarind tree. 'We've got him 
 safe there under decks all right; chained up like 
 a buoy. If he can get away, I'll believe in the 
 devil . . . ' 
 
 'Won't you tell me about it?' I asked. 
 
1 64 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'Not much to tell,' said Charlie. 'Too easy 
 altogether. I waited a couple of days at the mouth 
 of Goose River. Then I got tired, and left the 
 sponger with the captain and two or three men, 
 while I went up the river with a couple of guns and 
 Sailor, and a man to pole the skiff — just for some 
 duck-shooting, you know. We lay low a couple 
 of days on the marches, and then Sailor got sniff- 
 ing the wind one morning, as if there was something 
 around he didn't care much for. The day before 
 we had heard firing a mile or so inland, and had come 
 upon some duck that some one or other had shot 
 and hadn't had time to pick up. So, that morning, 
 I let Sailor lead the way. We had been out about 
 an hour, and were stealing under the lee of a big 
 mangrove island, after some duck we had sighted 
 a little to the eastward, when, suddenly, without 
 apparently anything to alarm them, they rose from 
 the water, and came flying in our direction. But 
 evidently something, or somebody, had startled 
 them. They came right by me. It was hard luck 
 not to be able to take a shot at them. T could 
 have got a dozen of them at least . . .' 
 
 'Probably more,' I suggested. 
 
 'I really believe I could,' said Charlie, in entire 
 innocence, 'and, as I say, it was hard luck . . . 
 but Sailor seemed to have something on his mind, 
 besides duck. As we poled along silently in the 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 165 
 
 direction from which the duck had risen, he grew 
 more and more excited, and, at last, as we neared 
 a certain mangrove copse to which all the time he 
 had been pointing, he barked two or three times, 
 and I let him go. Poor old fellow . . .' 
 
 As he told the story, Sailor, who seemed to 
 understand every word, rubbed his head against 
 his master's har.d. 
 
 'He went into the mangroves, just as he'd go 
 after duck, but he'd hardly gone in, when there 
 were two shots, and he came out limping, making 
 for me. But, by this, I was close up to the man- 
 groves myself, and in another minute I was inside 
 — and there, just like that old black snake, you 
 remember, was Tobias, his gun at his shoulder. 
 He had a pot at me, but, before he could try another, 
 I knocked him down with my fist . . . and . . . 
 well . . . we've got him all right; and now you 
 can go after your treasure, as soon as you like. 
 I'll take him over to Nassau — and you can fool 
 around for the next month or so. Of course, we'll 
 need you at the trial, but that won't come off for 
 a couple of months. Meanwhile, you can let me 
 know where you are, if I should need to get hold 
 of you . . .' 
 
 'All right, old man,' I said, 'but I wish you were 
 coming along with me.' 
 
 'I've got all the treasure I want,' laughed Charlie. 
 
 M 
 
1 66 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'But don't you want to come and interview our 
 friend? He might give you some pointers on your 
 treasure hunt.' 
 
 'How does he take it?' I asked. 
 
 'Pretty cool . . . he talked a Httle big at first . . . 
 but now he sits with his head between his hands, 
 and you can't get a word out of him. Something 
 up his sleeve, I dare say.' 
 
 'I don't think I'll bother to see him, Charlie,' 
 T said. 'I'm kind of sorry for him.' Charlie looked 
 at me. 
 
 'Sorry for him !' 
 
 'Yes, in fact, I rather like him.' 
 
 'Like him !' and Charlie bellowed; 'the pock- 
 marked swine !' 
 
 'I grant,' I said, smiling, and recalling Charlie's 
 own words of long ago, 'that his face is against him.' 
 
 'Rather like him. You must be crazy ! You 
 certainly have the rummiest taste.' 
 
 'At least you'll admit this much, Charlie,' I 
 said. 'He has courage, and I respect courage even 
 in a cockroach — particularly, perhaps, in a cock- 
 roach . . .' 
 
 'He's a cockroach all right,' said Charlie. 
 
 'Maybe,' I said, 'I don't pretend to love him . . . 
 but . . .' 
 
 'K you don't mind,' interrupted Charlie, 'we'll 
 let it go at " but " . . .' and he rose. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 167 
 
 'The tide's beginning to run out. Send me word 
 where you are, as soon as you get a chance; and 
 good luck to you, old chap, and your doubloons 
 and pieces of eight !' 
 
 Then we walked down to his row-boat, and soon 
 he was aboard the sponger, and her sails ran up, 
 and they were off down stream — poor Tobias 
 manacled somewhere between decks. 
 
 'See you in Nassau !' I shouted. 
 
 ' Right-o ! ' came back the voice of the straightest 
 and simplest Englishman in the world. 
 
BOOK III 
 
 Across the scarce-awakened sea. 
 With white sail flowing, 
 And morning glowing, 
 I come to thee — / come to thet. 
 
 Past lonely beaches, 
 And gleaming reaches. 
 And long reefs foaming. 
 Homing — homing — 
 A -done with roaming, 
 I come to thee. 
 
 The moon is failing, 
 A petal sailing, 
 Down in the west 
 That bends o'er thee; 
 And the stars are hiding. 
 As we go gliding 
 Back to the nest, — 
 Ah ! back to thee. 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 IN WHICH WE GATHER SHELLS — AND OTHER MATTERS 
 
 With Charlie gone, and 'Jack Harkaway' vanished 
 into the blue from which he — or was it really 
 'she'? — had come, there was nothing to detain 
 me in Andros. So we were soon under way, and 
 out of the river, and heading north up the western 
 shore of the big monotonous island. We had some 
 fifty miles to make before we reached its northern 
 extremity — and, all the way, we seldom had more 
 than two fathoms of water, and the coast was the 
 same interminable line of mangroves and thatch- 
 palms, with occasional clumps of pine-trees, and 
 here and there the mouth of a creek, leading into 
 duck-haunted swamps. It was evident that the 
 island kept its head above water with difficulty, 
 and that the course we were running over was all 
 the time aspiring to be dry land, right away from 
 the coast to the Florida channel. For miles west 
 and north, it would have been impossible to find 
 more than three fathoms. As I said of the east 
 coast, inside the reef, it was a vast swimming-bath, 
 
 but of greater dimensions — a swimming-bath with 
 
 171 
 
172 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 a floor of alabaster, and water that seemed to be 
 made of dissolved moonstones. For a while our 
 going seemed very much as though we were sailing 
 a big toy-boat in an illimitable porcelain bath- 
 tub. There were no rocks to look out for, no 
 shoals — in what was really one vast shoal — and 
 all was smooth as milk. All the afternoon, till 
 the sun set and the stars came out, and we dropped 
 our anchor in a luminous nothingness, a child could 
 have navigated us; but when the next day brought 
 us up to the north-west corner of Andros, we found 
 ourselves face to face with a variety of difficulties 
 — glimmering sand-bars, and reaches of moon- 
 white shoals, and patches of half-made land with 
 pines struggling knee-deep in the tide, and here 
 and there a mile of mangroves, and delusive channels 
 of blue water, and beauty everywhere spreading 
 out her sweeping laces of foam — a welter of a world 
 still in its making, with no clear passages for any 
 craft drawing more than a canoe. Loveliness 
 everywhere — again the waving purple fans, and 
 the heraldic fish, and the branching coral mysteri- 
 ously making the world. Loveliness ever3rwhere 
 — in fact a labyrinth of beauty, with no way out. 
 And the 'captain,' like nearly every captain I 
 have met in the Bahamas, knew as little about it 
 as I did. Charlie had been right — you must know 
 how to sail your own boat, when you hoist your 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 173 
 
 sails in Bahaman waters; and I confess that I 
 began to regret Charlie's preoccupation with 
 Tobias — for in spite of his missing his way that day 
 in the North Bight, Charlie seems to know his way 
 in the dark wherever one happens to be on the sea. 
 However, there was really nothing to worry us. 
 There was no wind. The weather was calm, and 
 there was lots of time; and at last, after studying 
 the chart, and talking it over with Tom, who, though 
 he had only shipped as cook, was the best sailor 
 on board, we decided to run north, and take a 
 channel described on the chart as 'very intricate.' 
 
 At last we came to a little foam-fringed cay, 
 where it was conceivable that the shyest and rarest 
 of shells would choose to make its home — a tiny 
 aristocrat, driven out of the broad tideways by 
 the coarser ambitions and the ruder strength of 
 great molluscs that feed and grow fat and house 
 themselves in crude convolutions of uncouthly 
 striving horn : a little lonely shore, kissed with the 
 white innocence of the sea, where pearls might 
 secretly make themselves perfect, untroubled by 
 the great doings of wind and tide — merely rocked 
 into beauty by ripple and beam, with a tear-drop 
 falling, once in a while, into their dim growing 
 hearts, from some wavering distant star. 
 
 It was impossible to imagine a cay better answer- 
 ing to my conchologist's description of Short Shrift 
 
174 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 Island. Its situation and general character, too, 
 bore out the surmise. On landing, also, we found 
 that it answered in two important particulars to 
 Tobias's narrative. For we found, as he had de- 
 clared, that there was good water there for passing 
 ships. Also, we found, in addition to the usual 
 scrub, that cabbage-wood trees grew there very 
 plentifully, particularly, as he said, on the highest 
 part of the island. Our conjectures were presently 
 confirmed by the captain of a little sponging boat 
 that, an hour after our arrival, put in for water. 
 
 Yes, he said, it was Cay, giving it the name 
 
 by which it was generally known, and by which 
 the conchologist had first mentioned it. So, 
 having talked it all over with Tom, I decided 
 that here we would stay for a time, and try our 
 luck. 
 
 But, first, having heard from the sponging captain 
 that he was en route for Nassau, I gave him a letter 
 to Charlie Webster, telling him of our where- 
 abouts, in case he should have sudden need of me 
 with regard to Tobias. 
 
 It was too late to begin treasure-hunting that 
 day, but Tom and I made an early start the fol- 
 lowing morning, prospecting the island — I having 
 set the men to work gathering shells, in the hope 
 of being able to oblige my shell-loving friend. 
 The island was but a small cay compared with that 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 175 
 
 of 'Dead Men's Shoes,' on which we had so memor- 
 ably laboured side by side — some five miles long and 
 two broad. It was a pretty little island, rising 
 here and there into low hills, and surprising us 
 now and again with belts of pine-trees. But, of 
 course, the cabbage- wood tree was our special tree; 
 and, as I said before, this grew plentifully. All 
 too plentifully, indeed; and cabbage-wood stumps, 
 alas ! were scarcely more rare. The reader may 
 recall that Tobias's narrative, in reference to his 
 second 'pod' of one million dollars, had run : — 
 
 'On the highest point of this Short Sitrift 
 Island is a large cabbage-wood stump, and 
 twenty feet south of that stump is the treasure, 
 buried five feet deep, and can he found without 
 difficulty.' 
 
 But which was the highest point? There were 
 several hillocks that might claim to be that — all 
 about equal in height. 
 
 We visited them all in succession. There was 
 a ' large cabbage-wood stump ' on each and all 
 of them ! It had seemed an absurdly inadequate 
 direction, even as we had talked the narrative 
 over in John Saunders's snuggery. But, confronted 
 with so many 'large cabbage-wood stumps,' one 
 began to suspect Henry P. Tobias of having been 
 
176 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 a humorist; and to wonder if John Saunders 
 was not right, after all, and the whole manuscript 
 merely a hoax for the benefit of buried treasure 
 cranks like myself. However, as the highest points 
 of the island were only seven in all, it was no dif- 
 ficult matter to try them all out, one by one, as 
 we had plenty of time, and plenty of hands for the 
 work. For, of course, it would have been idle to 
 attempt any concealment of my object from the 
 crew. Therefore, I took them from their shell- 
 gathering, and having duly measured out twenty 
 feet south from each promising cabbage-wood 
 stump, set them to work. They worked with a will, 
 for I promised them a generous share of whatever 
 we found. Alas ! it was an inexpensive promise, 
 for, when we had duly turned up the ground, not 
 only twenty feet, but thirty, forty, and fifty feet, 
 not only south, but north, east, and west of the 
 various cabbage-wood stumps on the seven various 
 eminences, we were none of us the richer by a single 
 piece of eight. Then we tried the other cabbage- 
 wood stumps on lower ground, and any other 
 likely looking spots, till, after working for nearly 
 a fortnight, we must have dug up most of the island. 
 And then Tom came to me with the news that our 
 provisions were beginning to give out. As it was, 
 he said, before we returned to Nassau, we would 
 have to put in at Flying Fish Cove — a small 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 177 
 
 settlement on the larger island some five miles to 
 the nor'ard — for the purchase of various necessities. 
 
 'AH right, Tom,' I said, 'I guess the game is 
 up ! Let's start out to-morrow morning.' 
 
 And then I betook myself, like the great philoso- 
 pher, to gathering shells on the sea-shore, finding 
 some specimens, which to my unlearned eye seemed 
 identical with that learned shell so dear to the 
 conchologist's heart. 
 
 The following afternoon we put in at Flying 
 Fish Cove, a neat Httle settlement, with a pretty 
 show of sponging craft at anchor, with a few 
 prosperous-looking houses on the hill-side, and a 
 sprinkling of white, or half-white, people in the 
 streets. I instructed Tom and the Captain to 
 stock in whatever we needed. We would lay 
 there that night, and in the morning we would 
 make a start, homeward-bound for Nassau. 
 
 'You may as well have your sucking-fish back, 
 Tom,' I said, laughing in self-disgust. 'I shall 
 have no more need for it. I am through with 
 treasure hunting.' 
 
 'I'd keep it a little longer, sar,' answered Tom; 
 'you never know.' 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 IN WHICH I CATCH A GLIMPSE OF A DIFFERENT KIND 
 OF TREASURE 
 
 I HAD, as I said, made up my mind to start on the 
 homeward trip eariy the following morning, but 
 something happened that very evening to change 
 my plans. I had dropped into the little settle- 
 ment's one store to buy some tobacco, the only 
 kind that Charlie Webster, who carried his British 
 loyalty into the smallest concerns of life, declared 
 fit to smoke — some English plug of uncommon 
 strength, not to say ferocity, a real manly tobacco, 
 such as one might imagine the favourite chew of 
 pirates and smugglers. I stayed chatting with the 
 storekeeper, a lean, astute-looking Englishman, 
 with the un-English name of Sweeney, who made 
 a pretty good thing out of selling his motley 
 merchandise to the poor natives, on the good old 
 profitable business principle of selling goods of 
 the poorest possible quality at the highest possible 
 prices. He was said to hold a mortgage on the 
 lives of half the population, by letting them have 
 
 goods on credit against their prospective wages 
 
 178 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 179 
 
 from sponging trips, he himself being the owner 
 of three or four sponging sloops, and so doubly 
 insured against loss. His long, low-ceilinged, 
 black-beamed store, dimly Ht with kerosene lamps, 
 was a wilderness of the most unattractive mer- 
 chandise the mind of man can conceive, lying in 
 heaps on trestles, hanging from the rafters, and 
 cluttering up every available inch of space, so that 
 narrow lanes only were left among danghng tin- 
 ware, coils of rope, coarse bedding, barrels in which 
 very unappetising pork lay steeping in brine, other 
 barrels overflowing with grimy looking 'grits' 
 and sailors' biscuits, drums of kerosene and tur- 
 pentine, cans of paint, josthng clusters of bananas, 
 strings of onions, dried fish, canned meats, loaves 
 of coarse bread, tea and coffee, and other simple 
 groceries. Two rough planks laid on barrels made 
 the counter, up to which from time to time rather 
 worn-looking, spiritless negro women and girls 
 would come to make their murmured purchases, 
 shuffling off again in their listless way. Once in 
 a while a sturdy negro would drop in for tobacco, 
 with a more independent, well-fed air. The English- 
 man served them all with a certain contemptuous 
 indifference, in which one somehow felt the presence 
 of the whip-hand. 
 
 While he was thus attending a little group of 
 such customers, I had wandered towards the back 
 
i8o PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 of the store, curiously examining the thousand and 
 one commodities which suppHed the strange needs 
 of humanity here in this lost corner of the world; 
 and, thus occupied, I was diverted by a voice like 
 sudden music, a voice oddly rich and laughing and 
 confident for such grim and sinister surroundings. 
 A voice too I seemed to have heard before, though 
 where and when I strove in vain to recall. As 
 I turned in its direction, I saw at once that I was 
 wrong, but I was immediately arrested as one 
 always is by any splendour of vitality; for, a 
 startling contrast indeed to the spiritless, furtive 
 figures that had been coming and going up till 
 now, was this superb young creature, tall and lithe, 
 with proudly carried head on glorious shoulders. 
 Her skin was a golden olive, but I forgot 
 all other particulars of her beauty, as her 
 proud black eyes turned presently in my direc- 
 tion, and seemed to strike upon me as with an 
 actual impact of soft fire. I swear I could feel 
 them, as it were, touch me with a warm ray, the 
 unconscious radiating glow of her fragrant vitality 
 enfolding me as in a burning golden cloud. The 
 glance was quite unconscious. It enfolded every- 
 thing she looked on in the same way. It was the 
 unconsciously exerted force of her superb young 
 womanhood intensely alive. With all, there was 
 a sort of wild shyness about her, which my presence 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT i8i 
 
 seemed at once to put on its guard. That music 
 of her voice was suddenly drawn in, as though she 
 had hurriedly thrown a robe of reticence about an 
 impulsive naturalness not to be displayed before 
 strangers. As for the storekeeper, he was a 
 famiUar acquaintance. He had known her, he said, 
 after she was gone, since she was a little girl. 
 
 While he spoke, my eyes had accidentally fallen 
 on the coin still in his hand, with which she had 
 just paid him. 
 
 'Excuse me,' I said 'but that is a curious looking 
 coin.' 
 
 I thought that a shade of annoyance passed over 
 his face, as though he had been better pleased if 
 I had not noticed it. However, it was too late, 
 and he handed it to me to examine — a large, 
 antique-looking gold coin. 
 
 'Why,' I said, 'this is a Spanish doubloon!' 
 
 'That's what it is,' said the Englishman laconi- 
 cally. 
 
 'But doesn't it strike you as strange she should 
 pay her bills with vSpanish doubloons ? ' I asked. 
 
 'It did at first,' he answered, and then, as if 
 annoyed with himself, he attempted to retrieve an 
 expression that carried an implication he evidently 
 didn't wish me to retain ; 'of course,' he added, 
 'she doesn't always pay in Spanish doubloons.' 
 
 'But she does sometimes?' 
 
 N 
 
i82 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'O once in a great while,' he answered 
 evasively. 
 
 'I suppose they are a few old coins they have in 
 the family, and they use them when they run out 
 of others.' 
 
 It was as lame an explanation as could well be, 
 and no one could doubt that, whatever his reason, 
 he was lying. 
 
 'But haven't you trouble in disposing of them?' 
 I said. 
 
 'Gold is always gold,' he answered, 'and we don't 
 see any too much of it here, to be particular as 
 to whose head is stamped upon it, or what date. 
 Besides, as I said, it isn't as if I got many of 
 them; and you can always dispose of them as 
 curiosities.' 
 
 'Will you sell me this one?' I asked. 
 
 'I see no harm in your having it,' he said, 'but 
 I'd just as soon you didn't mention where you 
 got it.' 
 
 'Certainly,' I answered, disguising my wonder 
 at his secretiveness. 'What is it worth?' 
 
 He named the sum of sixteen dollars and seventy- 
 five cents, which, having paid out to him, I bade 
 him good-night, glad to be alone with my thoughts. 
 These I took with me to a gleaming coral beach 
 made doubly white by the moon, rustled over by 
 giant palms, and whispered to by the vast living 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 183 
 
 jewel of the sea. Surely my thoughts had a bright- 
 ness to match even this glitter of the night. I 
 took out my strange doubloon, and flashed it in 
 the moon. 
 
 But, bright as it shone, it hardly seemed as bright 
 as it would have seemed a short while back, or, 
 perhaps it were truer to say that it shone a hundred 
 times more bright, and the adventure to which 
 it called me was no longer single and simple as 
 before, but a gloriously confused goal of cloudy 
 splendours, the burning core of which, suddenly 
 raying out, and then lost again in brightness, were 
 the eyes of a mysterious girl. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF THE MOON 
 
 My days were beginning to drift a little aimlessly, 
 as without apparent purpose I continued to stay 
 on in an island that might well seem to have few 
 obvious attractions to a stranger — no little I could 
 see, to the mystification of the good Tom, in whom 
 for once, of course, I could not confide. At the 
 same time, I had a sort of vague purpose; or, at 
 least, I had a feeling that, if I waited on, some- 
 thing would develop in the direction of my hopes. 
 That doubloon still suggested that it was the key 
 of a fascinating mystery, to the door of which 
 chance might at any moment direct me. And, 
 why not admit it — apart from any buried treasure, 
 to the possible discovery of which it seemed to 
 point — I was possessed with a growing desire of 
 another glimpse of those haunting eyes. Apart 
 from their connection with mysterious gold, they 
 were magnet enough to draw any man with even 
 the rudiments of imagination along the path of 
 the unknown. All the paths out of the little settle- 
 ment were paths into the unknown, and, day after 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 185 
 
 day, I followed one or another of them out into 
 the wilderness, taking a gun with me, as an osten- 
 sible excuse for any watching eyes, and bringing 
 back with me occasional bags of wild pigeons, which 
 were plentiful on the island. One day I had thus 
 wandered particularly far afield, and at nightfall 
 found myself still several miles away from home, 
 on a rocky path overhanging the sea. The coast- 
 line had been gradually mounting in a series of 
 precipitous headlands, at the foot of which the 
 sea made a low booming that suggested hidden 
 caves. Looking over the edge in places, one could 
 see that it had hollowed out the porous rock well 
 under the base of the cliffs, and here and there 
 fallen masses of boulder told of a gradual encroach- 
 ment that, in course of time, would topple down 
 into the abyss the precarious pathway on which 
 one stood. Inland, the usual level scrub gave 
 place to a stretch of wild forest, very dense, and 
 composed of trees of many varieties, loftier than 
 was usual in the island. 
 
 There was no sign of habitation anjwhere. 
 It was a wild and lonely place, and presently over 
 its savage beauty stole the glamour of the moon 
 rising far over the sea. I sat down on a ledge of 
 the cliffs, and watched the moon growing in intensity, 
 as the darkness of the woods deepened behind me. 
 It was a night full of witchcraft, a night on which 
 
1 86 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 the stars and the moon and sea together seemed 
 hinting at some wonderful thing about to happen.' 
 Far down in the clear water I could see the giant 
 sea-fans waving in a moony twilight, touched eerily 
 in those glassy deeps with sudden rays of the spec- 
 tral light, and soft bowers of phosphorescence 
 spread a secret radiance about dimly branching 
 coral groves. And, all the while, the path of the 
 moon over the sea was growing stronger, laying, 
 it would seem, an ever firmer pathway of gold 
 stretching to the very foot of the cliff on which 
 I sat, as though leading to a golden door in the 
 cliff-side. I am not given to quoting poetry, but 
 mvoluntarily there came to my mind some lines 
 remembered from boyhood : — 
 
 ' If on some balmy summer night 
 You rowed across the moon-path white, 
 And saw the shining r.ea grow fair 
 With silver scales and golden hair — 
 What would you do? . . .' 
 
 'What would you do?' I repeated dreamily, 
 thinking, very likely, as I said them, of two 
 eyes of mysteriously enfolding fire; and then, as 
 if the fairy night was matching the words with a 
 challenge — what was this bright wonder suddenly 
 present on one of the boulders far down beneath 
 me — a tall shape of witchcraft whiteness standing 
 full in the moon, like a statue in luminous marble 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 187 
 
 of some goddess of antiquity. Only once before, 
 and but for a moment, had I seen a form so proudly 
 flower-like in its superb erectness. My eyes and my 
 heart together told me it was she; and, as she hung 
 poised over the edge of the water in the attitude 
 of one about to dive, a slight turn of the head gave 
 me that longed-for glimpse of those living eyes 
 filled with moonlight. She stood another moment, 
 still as the night, in her loveliness, and the next 
 she had dived directly into the path of the moon. 
 I saw her eyes, moon-filled, again as she came up 
 once more, and began to swim, not, as one might 
 have expected, out from the land, but directly in 
 towards the unseen base of the cliffs. The moon- 
 path did lead to a golden door in the rocks, I said 
 to myself, and she was about to enter it. It was a 
 secret door known only to herself — and then, for 
 the first time that night, I thought of the 
 doubloon. 
 
 Perhaps if I had not thought of that, I should not 
 have done what I then did. There will, doubtless, 
 be those who will censure me. If so, I am afraid 
 they must. At all events, it was the thought of 
 that doubloon that swayed the balance of my 
 hesitation in taking the moon-path in the track 
 of that bright apparition. The pursuit of my 
 hidden treasure had been so long a fixed idea in 
 my mind that a scruple would have had to be 
 
t88 pieces of eight 
 
 strong indeed to withstand my impulse to follow 
 up so exciting a clue. When alas ! has the pur- 
 suit of gold heeded any scruples ? Or, it is 
 possible that quite another inclination used this 
 materialistic excuse as a cloak for itself. A 
 moment of such glamorous excitement may well 
 account for some confused psychology. I leave 
 it to others who, less fortunate than I, were not 
 exposed to the breathless enchantments of that 
 immortal night, those sorceries of a situation 
 lovely as the wildest dreams of the heart. 
 
 I looked about for a way down to the edge of 
 the sea. It was not easy to find, but, after much 
 perilous scrambling, I at length found myself on 
 the boulder which had so lately been the pedestal 
 of that radiance; and in another moment, I had 
 dived into the moon-path and was swimming 
 towards that mysterious golden door. Before 
 me the rocks opened in a deep narrow crevasse, 
 a long crack in the rocks, evidently slashing back 
 into the cliff, beneath the road I had been treading. 
 I could see the moonlit water vanishing into a sort 
 of gleaming lane between the vast overhanging walls. 
 In a few moments I was near the entrance, but 
 as yet I could not touch bottom with my feet, and 
 so I swam on into the giant portal, into a twihght 
 which was still luminous with reflections, and to 
 which my eyes readily accustomed themselves. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 189 
 
 Presently I felt my feet rest lightly on firm sand, 
 and, still shoulder deep in the water, I walked on 
 another yard or two — to be brought to a sudden 
 stop. . . . There she was coming towards me, 
 breast high in that watery tunnel. The moon, 
 continuing its serene ascension, lit her up 
 with a sudden beam. O shape of bloom and 
 glory ! 
 
 For a moment we both stood looking at each 
 other, as if transfixed. Then she gave a frightened 
 cry, and put her hands up to her bosom; and, 
 as she did so, a stream of something bright — Hke 
 gold pieces — fell from her mouth, and two like 
 streams from her open hands. Then, as quick as 
 light, she had darted past me, and dived into the 
 moon-path beyond. She must have swum under 
 the water a long way, for, when I saw her dark 
 head rise again in the glittering path, it was at a 
 distance of many yards. 
 
 Need I say that I had no thought of following her, 
 but stood in a dream among the watery gleams and 
 echoes. 
 
 So once in a lifetime, for a few fortunate ones, 
 all the various magics of the earth, all the mysteri- 
 ous hints and promises of her loveliness that make 
 the heart overflow with a prophetic sense of some 
 supernatural happiness on the brink of coming 
 to pass, combine in one supreme shape of beauty, 
 
190 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 given to us as by a divine ordering, on the starlit 
 summit of one immortal hour. 
 
 For me had come that hour of wonder, for me 
 out of that tropic sea, into whose flawless deeps 
 my eyes had so often gone adream, had risen that 
 creature of miracle. 
 
 O shape of moonlit marble ! O holiness of this 
 night of moon and stars and sea ! 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 IN WHICH I MEET A VERY STRANGE INDIVIDUAL 
 
 Yes ! I was in love — yet I hope, and think, that 
 
 the reader will not resent this unexpected excursion 
 
 into the realms of sentiment, when he considers 
 
 that my sudden attack was not like most such 
 
 sudden attacks, an interruption in the robuster 
 
 course of events, but, instead, curiously in the direct 
 
 line of my purpose. Because the eyes of an unknown 
 
 girl had thus suddenly enthralled me, I was not 
 
 therefore to lose sight of that. On the contrary, 
 
 they had suddenly shone out of the pathway along 
 
 which I had been blindly groping. But for the 
 
 accident of being in the dirty little store at so 
 
 psychological a moment, hearing that voice, and 
 
 catching sight of that mysterious doubloon as 
 
 well as those mysterious eyes, I should have set 
 
 sail that very night, and given up John P. Tobias's 
 
 second treasure in final disgust. As it was, I was 
 
 now warmly on the track of some treasure — 
 
 whether his or not — with two bright eyes further 
 
 to point the way. Never surely did a man's love 
 
 and his purpose make so practical a conjunction. 
 
 When I reached my lodging at last in the early 
 igi 
 
192 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 morning following that night of wonders, my eyes 
 and heart were not so dazed with that vision in 
 the cave that I did not vividly recall one important 
 detail of the strange picture — those streams of 
 gold that had suddenly poured out of the mouth 
 and hands of the lovely apparition. 
 
 Need I say that over and over again the picture 
 kept coming before me — haunting me like that 
 princess from my childhood's fairy-book, from 
 whose mouth, as she spoke, poured all manner of 
 precious stones. We all remember that — and had 
 I not seen the very thing itself with my own grown- 
 up eyes? No wonder it all seemed Hke a dream, 
 when I woke late next forenoon from a deep sleep 
 that had been long in overtaking me. Yet, there 
 immediately in my mind's eye, without any shadow 
 of doubt, was the beautiful picture once more 
 vivid and exact in every detail. Without doubt- 
 ing the evidence of my senses, I was forced to 
 believe that, by the oddest piece of luck, I had 
 stumbled upon the hiding-place of that hoard of 
 doubloons, on which my fair unknown drew from 
 time to time as she would on a bank. 
 
 But who was she, and where was her home? 
 There had seemed no sign of habitation near the wild 
 place where I had come upon her — though a solitary 
 house might easily have escaped my notice hidden 
 among all that foliage, particularly at nightfall. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 193 
 
 Of course, I had but to inquire of the store- 
 keeper to learn all I wanted; but I was averse 
 from betraying my interest to him or any one in 
 the settlement— for, after all, it was my own affair 
 — and hers. So I determined to pursue my policy of 
 watching and waiting, letting a day or two elapse 
 before I again went out wandering with my gun. 
 
 Probably she would be making another trip to 
 the settlement before long. Doubtless it was for 
 that purpose that she was visiting her very original 
 safety-deposit vault when I had come so embar- 
 rassingly upon her. 
 
 However, inaction, utider the circumstances, 
 was difficult, and when two days had gone without 
 bringing any sign of her, I determined to follow 
 the trail of my last expedition, and find out if 
 that strip of rocky coast, with its hidden cavern, 
 did actually stand firm somewhere on the soHd 
 earth, or was merely a phantom coast fronting 
 'the foam of perilous seas in fairyland forlorn.' 
 
 As a matter of fact, I had no little difficulty 
 in finding it, after having lost my way in the thick 
 brush several times before doing so. I reckoned, 
 when at last I emerged upon it, that it was a dis- 
 tance of some six or seven miles from the settlement, 
 though, owing to my ignorance of the way, it had 
 taken me a whole morning to cover it. Did she 
 have to thread these thorny thickets every time she 
 
194 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 came to the little town? But, doubtless, she was 
 acquainted with some easier and shorter path. 
 
 However, here was the cliff-bastioned sea-front, 
 down there was the boulder on which she had stood 
 like a statue in the moonlight. But I craned my 
 neck in vain over the edge of the cliffs, to catch 
 sight of the entrance to her cave. Nor was there 
 apparent any way of reaching it from above. 
 Evidently it was only approachable from the sea. 
 
 Then I looked about for some sign of a house; 
 but, though it was full noonday, the forest pre- 
 sented an unbroken front of close growing trees, 
 and a rich confusion of various foliage uncommon 
 on those islands. I counted at least a dozen 
 varieties, among which were horseflesh, wild tama- 
 rind, red- wood, pigeon-plum, poison- wood, gum- 
 elemi, fig, logwood, mahogany, and others. 
 
 Evidently there was an unusually thick layer of 
 soil over the coral rock in this part of the island, 
 which was in the main composed of the usual 
 clinker and scrub, where it was not mangrove swamp. 
 Yet in spite of appearances, it was certain that 
 there must be some sort of dwelling thereabouts, 
 and not so very far off either — unless, indeed, my 
 mysterious girl was but a mermaid, after all. So 
 I left the craggy bluff facing the sea, and plunged 
 into the woods. 
 
 I had no idea how dark it was going to be, but, 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 195 
 
 coming out of the sun, I was at once bewildered 
 by the deep and compHcated gloom of massed 
 branches overhead, and the denser darkness of 
 shrubs and vines so intricately woven, as almost 
 to make a solid wall about one. Then the atmos- 
 phere was so close and airless that a fear of suf- 
 focation combined at once with the other fear of 
 being swallowed up in all this savage green life, 
 without hope of finding one's way out again into 
 the sun. I had fought my way in but a very few 
 yards when both these fears clutched hold of me 
 with a sudden horror, and the perspiration poured 
 from me, as I could no longer distinguish the 
 way I had come from any other part of the wood. 
 Indeed, there was no way anywhere. It was only a 
 question of sturdy fighting and squirming one's way 
 through the meshes of a gigantic basket-work of 
 every variety of fantastic branch and stem and stout 
 strangling thorn-set vines, made the denser with 
 snaky roots, not merely twisting about one's feet, 
 but dropping from the boughs in nooses and festoons 
 for one's neck, air-plants too like birds' nests 
 further choking up the meshes, and hanging moss, 
 like rotting carpets, adding still more to the mirk 
 and curious squalor of a foul fertility, where beauty, 
 like humanity, found it impossible to breathe. 
 
 I must have battled through this veritable 
 inferno of vegetation for at least an hour, though 
 
196 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 it seemed a lifetime, clouds of particularly un- 
 pleasant midges filling my eyes, not to speak of 
 mosquitoes, and a peculiar kind of persistent 
 stinging fly, adding to my miseries, when at last, 
 begrimed and pouring with sweat, I stumbled out, 
 with a cry of thankfulness, on to comparatively 
 fresh air, and something like a broad avenue run- 
 ning north and south through the wood. It was 
 indeed densely overgrown, and had evidently 
 not been used for many years. Still, it was com- 
 paratively passable, and one could at least see the 
 sky, and take long breaths again. The rock here 
 emerged again in places through the scanty soil, 
 but it had evidently been levelled here and there, 
 so as to make it serve as a rough but practicable 
 road, though it was plainly years since any vehicles 
 had passed that way. Still there was no sign of a 
 house anywhere, but presently, as I stumbled 
 along, I noticed something looming darkly through 
 the matted forest on my left that suggested walls. 
 Looking closer, I saw that it was the ruin of a small 
 stone cottage, roofless, and indescribably swallowed 
 up in the pitiless scrub. And then, near by, I descried 
 another such ruin, and still another, all, as it were, 
 sunk in the terrible gloom of the vegetation, as 
 sometimes, at low tide, one can discern the walls 
 of a ruined village at the bottom of the sea. 
 As I struggled on, and my eyes grew accustomed 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 197 
 
 to looking for them, I detected still more of these 
 riiins, of various shapes and sizes, impenetrably 
 choked in but a few yards inwards on each side of 
 the road. Evidently I had come upon a long aban- 
 doned settlement, and presently, on some sUghtly 
 higher ground on the left, I thought I could make 
 out the half-submerged walls of a much more 
 ambitious edifice, and, looking closer, I noted, with 
 a thrill of surprise, the beginning of a very narrow 
 path, not more than a foot wide, leading up through 
 the scrub in its direction. Narrow as it was, it 
 had clearly been kept open by the not infrequent 
 passage of feet. Not without a certain eerie feeling, 
 I edged my way into it, and, after following it 
 for a hundred yards or so, found myself up against 
 the roofless ruin of a spacious stone house with 
 something of the appearance of an old English 
 manor-house. Mullioned windows, finely masoned, 
 opened in the shattered wall, and an elaborate 
 stone staircase, in the interstices of which stout 
 shrubs were growing, gave, or once gave, an 
 entrance through an arched doorway, an entrance 
 now stoutly disputed by the gHstening trunk of 
 a gum-elemi tree and endless matted rope-like 
 roots of giant vines and creepers that writhed 
 like serpents over the whole edifice. 
 
 Forcing my way up this staircase, I found my- 
 self in a stone hall some sixty feet long, at one end 
 
 o 
 
tqs pieces of eight 
 
 of which yawned a huge fire-place, its flue mounting 
 up to a fine carved chimney, still standing firmly 
 at the top of the southern gable. Sockets in the 
 walls, on either side, where massive beams had 
 once lodged, showed that the building had been 
 in three stories, though all the floors had fallen 
 in and made a mound of rubble in the centre of 
 the hall where I stood. At my entrance some- 
 thing moved furtively out of the fire-place, and shot, 
 with a rustle, into the surrounding woods. It 
 looked like a small alligator, and was indeed an 
 iguana, one of the few reptiles of those islands. 
 At the base of a tall fig-tree flourishing in one of 
 the corners, its wide branching top making a 
 literal roof for the otherwise roofless hall, an 
 enormous ants' nest was plastered, a black ex- 
 crescence looking like burnt paper, and crumbling 
 like soft crisp cinder as I poked it with the barrel 
 of my gun, to the dismay of its myriad red little 
 inhabitants — the only inhabitants it would seem 
 of this once magnificent hall. 
 
 How had this almost baronial magnificence 
 come to be in this far-away corner of a desert 
 island? At first I concluded that here was a relic 
 of the brief colonial prosperity of the Bahamas, 
 when its cotton lords lived like princes, with a 
 slave population for retainers, days when even the 
 boot-blacks in Nassau played pitch-and-toss with 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT igg 
 
 gold; but, as I considered further, it seemed to me 
 that the style of the architecture and the age of 
 the building suggested an earlier date. Could 
 it be that this had been the home of one of those 
 early eighteenth century pirates who took pride 
 in flaunting the luxury and pomp of princes, and 
 who had perhaps made this his headquarters and 
 the stronghold for the storage of his loot, on the 
 return from his forays on the Spanish Main? 
 This, as the more spirited conjecture, I naturally 
 preferred, and, in default of exact information, 
 decided to endorse. 
 
 Who knows but that in this hall where the 
 iguana lurked, and the ants laboured at their com- 
 monwealth, the redoubtable 'Black-Beard,' known 
 in private life as Edward Teach, had held his 
 famous 'Satanic' revels, decked out in the absurd 
 finery of crimson damask waistcoat and breeches, 
 a red feather in his hat, and a diamond cross hang- 
 ing from a gold chain at his neck. There, perhaps, 
 glass in hand, and 'doxy on his knee,' he had roared 
 out many a blood-curdhng ditty in the choice 
 society of ruffians only less ruffianly than himself. 
 Perhaps, too, this other spacious building adjacent to 
 the great hall, and connected with it by a ruinous 
 covered way, had been the sybarite's 'harem'; 
 for 'Black-Beard,' like that other famous bearded 
 gentleman whose beard was blue, collected other 
 
200 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 treasure from his unfortunate captive ships than 
 doubloons and pieces of eight, and prided himself 
 on his fine taste in ladies. 
 
 The more I pondered upon this fancy, and re- 
 marked the extent of the ruins, including several 
 subsidiary out-houses, and noted too one or two 
 choked stone staircases that seemed to descend 
 into the bowels of the earth, the more plausible 
 it seemed. In one or two places, where I sus- 
 pected underground cellars — dungeons for unhappy 
 captives belike, or strong vaults for the storage 
 of treasure ! — I tested the floors by dropping 
 heavy stones, and they seemed unmistakably 
 to reverberate with a hollow rumbling sound, but 
 I could find no way of getting down into them. 
 As I said, the staircases that promised an entrance 
 into them were choked with debris. But I promised 
 myself to come some other day, with pick and shovel, 
 and make an attempt at exploring them. Mean- 
 while, after poking about in as much of the ruins 
 as I could penetrate, I stepped out through a gap 
 in one of the walls and found myself again on the 
 path by which I had entered. I noticed that it 
 still ran on farther north, as having a destination 
 beyond. So leaving the haunted ruins behind, 
 I pushed on; but I had gone but a short distance 
 when I began to descend slightly from the ridge 
 on which the ruins stood, and there in a broad 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 201 
 
 square hollow before me was the welcome living 
 green of a flourishing plantation of cocoa-nut palms. 
 
 It was evidently of considerable extent, a quarter 
 of a mile or so, I judged, and the palms were very 
 thick and planted close together. To my surprise 
 too, I observed, as at length the path brought me 
 to them, after a sharp descent, that they were 
 fenced in by a high bamboo stockade, for the most 
 part in good condition, but here and there broken 
 down with decay. Through one of these gaps I 
 presently made my way, and found myself among 
 the soaring columns of the palms, hung aloft with 
 clusters of the great green nuts. Fallen palm fronds 
 made a springing carpet for my feet very pleasant 
 after the rough and tangled way I had travelled, 
 and now and again one of the cocoa-nuts would 
 fall down with a thud amid the green silence. 
 One of these, which narrowly missed my head, 
 suggested that here I had the opportunity of very 
 agreeably quenching the thirst of which I had 
 become suddenly aware. My clasp-knife had soon 
 made an opening through the tough shell, and, 
 seated on the ground, I set my mouth to it, and 
 raising the nut above my head, allowed the 'milk,' 
 cool as spring water, to gurgle deliciously down 
 my parched throat. 
 
 As at length I drained it, and my head once 
 more returned to its natural angle, I was suddenly 
 
202 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 made aware that my poaching had not gone un- 
 observed. 
 
 'Ha! ha! 'calledapleasant voice, evidently belong- 
 ing to an unusually tall and lean figure of a man 
 approaching me through the palm trunks; 'so you 
 have discovered my hidden paradise — my Alcinous 
 garden, so to say . . .' then he quoted two well- 
 known lines of Homer in the original Greek ! — 
 adding 'or, if you prefer it in Pope's translation, 
 which, I think, — don't you? — remains the best : — 
 
 ' Close to the gates a spacious garden lies, 
 From storms defended and inclement skies . . . 
 
 and so on. Alas ! for an old man's memory ! It 
 grows shorter and shorter — like his life, eh ? Never 
 mind, you are welcome, sir stranger, mysteriously 
 tossed up here like Ulysses, on our island coast.' 
 
 I gazed with natural wonderment at this strange 
 individual, who thus in the heart of the wilderness 
 had saluted me with a meticulously pure English 
 accent, and welcomed me in a quotation from 
 Homer in the original Greek. Who, in the devil's 
 name, was this odd character, whom I saw, as I 
 looked closer at him, was, as he had hinted, quite 
 an oldish man, though his unusual erectness and 
 sprightliness of manner lent him an illusive air 
 of youth. Who on earth was he, and how did he 
 happen in the middle of this haunted wood ! 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 CALYPSO 
 
 Of course, a glance, and the first sound of his 
 voice, had told me that I had to do with a gentle- 
 man, one of those vagabond EngHsh gentlemen 
 in exile who form a type peculiar, I think, to the 
 English race; men that are a curious combination 
 of aristocrat and gipsy, soldier, scholar, and phil- 
 osopher; men of good family, who have drifted 
 everywhere, seen and seen through everything, 
 but in all their wanderings have never lost their 
 sense of 'the code,' of 'form,' their boyish zest 
 in living, their humorous stoicism, and, above all, 
 their lordly accent. 
 
 'Now that you have found us. Sir Ulysses,' 
 continued my eccentric host, motioning me to 
 accompany him with an indescribably princely 
 wave of the hand, 'you must certainly give us the 
 pleasure of your company to luncheon. Visitors 
 are as rare as black swans on this Ultima Thule 
 of ours — though, by the way, the black swan, 
 Cygnus Atrattis, is nothing like so rare as the 
 
 ancients believed. I have shot them myself out 
 
 203 
 
2 04 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 in Australia. Still they are rare enough for the 
 purpose of imagery, though really not so rare as 
 a face one can talk intelHgently to on this island . . .' 
 
 Talk ! my friend, indeed, was very evidently a 
 talker, one of these fantastic monologists to whom 
 an audience is little more than a symbol. I saw 
 that there was no need for me to do any of the 
 talking. He was more than glad to do it all. 
 Plainly his encounter with me was to him like a 
 spring in thirsty land. 
 
 'Sohtude,' he continued, 'is perhaps the final 
 need of the human soul. After a while, when we 
 have run the gamut of all our ardours and our 
 dreams, solitude comes to seem the one excellent 
 thing, the summum honum . . .' 
 
 I murmured that he certainly seemed to have 
 come to the right place for it. 
 
 'Very true, indeed,' he assented, with a courtly 
 inclination of his head, as though I had said some- 
 thing profound. 'Very true, indeed, and yet, 
 wasn't it the great Bacon who said — "whoever is 
 delighted with solitude is either a beast or a god"; 
 and this particular solitude, I confess, sometimes 
 seems to me a little too much like that enforced 
 solitude of the Pontic marches, of which Ovid 
 wailed and whimpered in the deaf ears of 
 Augustus.' 
 
 I could not help noticing at last, as he talked 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 205 
 
 on with this fantastic magnificence, the odd con- 
 trast between his speech and the almost equally 
 fantastic povery of his clothing. The suit he wore, 
 though still preserving a certain elegance of cut, 
 was so worn and patched and stained that a negro 
 would hardly have accepted it as a gift, and his 
 almost painful emaciation gave him generally 
 the appearance of an animated framework of rags 
 and bones, startlingly embodying the voice and the 
 manners of a prince. Yet the shabby tie about 
 his neck was bound by a ring, in which was set a 
 turquoise of great size and beauty. Evidently 
 he was a being of droll contrasts, and I prepared 
 myself to be surprised at nothing concerning him. 
 
 Presently, as we loitered on through the palms, 
 we came upon two negroes chopping away with 
 their machetes, trimming up the debris of broken 
 and decaying palm fans. They were both sturdy, 
 ferocious-looking fellows, but one of them was a 
 veritable giant. 
 
 'Behold my body-guard !' said my magnificent 
 friend, with the usual possessive wave of his hand; 
 'my Switzers, my janissaries, so to say.' 
 
 The negroes stopped working, touched their 
 great straw hats, and flashed their splendid teeth 
 in a delighted smile. They were evidently used to 
 their master's way of talking, and were devoted to 
 him. 
 
2o6 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'This chap here is Erebus,' said my host, and the 
 appropriateness of the name was apparent, for he 
 was certainly the blackest negro I had ever seen, 
 as superbly black as some women are superbly white. 
 
 'And this is Samson. Let's have a look at your 
 muscles, Samson — there's a good boy !' 
 
 And, with grins of pleasure, Samson proudly 
 stripped off his thin calico jacket and exposed a 
 torso of terrifying power, but beautiful in its play 
 of muscles as that of a god. 
 
 ' But since my name is Hercules, the man 
 Who owes me hatred — hides it if he can. 
 
 'Eh, Samson ?' was his master's characteristic 
 comment. 
 
 *Yaas, sar!' said Samson, pleased as a flattered 
 bull-dog, and understanding the compliment pre- 
 cisely in the same instinctive fashion. 
 
 Leaving Samson and Erebus to continue their 
 savage play with their machetes, we walked on 
 through the palms, 'which here gave a particularly 
 jungle-like appearance to the scene, from the fact 
 of their being bowed out from their roots, and 
 sweeping upwards in great curves. One invol- 
 untarily looked for a man-eating tiger at any 
 moment, standing striped and splendid in one of 
 the openings. 
 
 Then suddenly to the right there came a flash 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 207 
 
 of level green suggesting lawns, and the outlines 
 of a house, partly covered with brilHant purple 
 flowers — a marvellous splash of colour. 
 
 ' Bougainvillea ! Bougainvillea Spectahilis — of 
 course, you know it. Was there ever such a 
 purple ! " Not Solomon in all his glory," et cetera. 
 And here we are at the house of King Alcinous — 
 a humble version of it indeed.' 
 
 It was evidently quite impossible for my friend 
 to speak otherwise than in images, picturesque 
 scraps from the coloured rag-bag of a mind stored 
 with memories of the classics, and all manner of 
 romantic literature, and tags of Greek and Latin 
 which he mouthed with the relish of an 
 epicure. 
 
 It was a large rambling stucco house, somewhat 
 decayed looking, and evidently built on the ruins 
 of an older building. We came upon it at a broad 
 ItaUan-looking loggia, supported by stone pillars, 
 bowered in with vines very cool and pleasant, 
 with mossy slabs for its floor, here and there 
 tropical ferns set out in tubs, some wicker chairs 
 standing about, and a table at one side, on which 
 two Httle bare-legged negro girls were busy setting 
 out yellow fruit, and other appurtenances of 
 luncheon, on a dazzling white cloth. 
 
 'Has your mistress returned yet, my children?' 
 asked the master. 
 
2o8 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'No, saar,' said the older girl, with a giggle, 
 twisting and grimacing with embarrassment. 
 
 'My daughter,' explained my host, 'has gone to 
 the town on an errand. She will be back at any 
 moment. Meanwhile I shall introduce you to a 
 cooling drink of my own manufacture, with a base 
 of that cocoa-nut milk which I need not ask you 
 if you appreciate, recalling the pleasant circum- 
 stance of our first acquaintance.' 
 
 Motioning me to a seat, and pushing towards me 
 a box of cigarettes, he went indoors, leaving me to 
 take in the stretch of beautiful garden in front of 
 me, the trees of which seemed literally to be hung 
 with gold — for they were mainly of orange and grape- 
 fruit, ranged around a spacious, beautifully kept 
 lawn with the regularity of a sumptuous decoration. 
 In the middle of the lawn a Httle fountain threw 
 up a jet of silver, falhng with a tinkling murmur 
 into a broad circular basin, from which emerged 
 the broad leaves and splendid pink blossoms of an 
 Egyptian lotus. Certainly it was no far-fetched 
 allusion of my classical friend to speak of the 
 gardens of Alcinous; particularly connected as it 
 was in my mind with the white beach of a desert 
 isle, and that marble statue in the moonhght. 
 
 As I sat dreaming, bathed in the golden-green 
 light of the orange-trees, and lulled by the tink- 
 ling of the fountain, my host returned with our 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 209 
 
 drinks, his learned disquisition on which I will 
 spare the reader, highly interesting and character- 
 istic though it was. 
 
 Suffice it that it was a drink, whatever its 
 ingredients — and there was certainly somewhere 
 a powerful 'stick' in it — that seemed to have 
 been drawn from some cool grotto of the virgin 
 earth, so thriUingly cold and invigorating it 
 was. 
 
 While we were slowly sipping it, and smoking 
 our cigarettes, in an unwonted pause of my friend's 
 fanciful verbosity, I almost jumped in my chair 
 at the sound of a voice indoors. It was instantly 
 followed by a Hght and rapid tread, and the sound 
 of a woman's dress, then a tall beautiful young 
 woman emerged on the loggia. 
 
 'Ah ! there you are !' cried my host, as we both 
 rose; and, turning to me, 'this is my daughter 
 — Calypso. Her real name I assure you — none of 
 my nonsense — doesn't she look it? Allow me, 
 my dear, to introduce Mr Ulysses !' — for we had 
 not yet exchanged each other's names. 
 
 I am a wretched actor, and I am bound to say 
 that she proved herself no better. For she gave a 
 decided start as she turned those glowing eyes 
 on me, and the lovely olive of her cheeks glowed 
 as with submerged rose-colour. Our embarrass- 
 ment did not escape the father. 
 
210 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 ' Why you know each other already ! ' he 
 exclaimed, with natural surprise. 
 
 'Not exactly,' — I was grateful for the sudden 
 nerve with which I was able to hasten to the 
 
 relief of her lovely distress, 'but possibly Miss 
 
 Calypso recalls, as naturally I do, our momentary 
 meeting in Sweeney's store one evening. I had 
 no expectation, of course, that we should meet 
 again under such pleasant circumstances as this.' 
 
 She gave me a grateful look, as she took my hand, 
 and with it — or was it only my eager imagination 
 — a shy little pressure, again as of gratitude. 
 
 I had tried to get into my voice my assurance 
 that, of course, I remembered no other more recent 
 meeting — though, naturally, as she had given that 
 little start in the doorway, there had flashed on 
 me again the picture of her standing moonlit in 
 another resounding doorway, and of the wild start 
 she had given then, as the golden pieces streamed 
 from her lovely surprised mouth, and her lifted 
 hands. And her eyes — I could have sworn — were 
 the living eyes of Jack Harkaway ! Had she a 
 brother, I wondered. Yet, my mind was too 
 dazzled and confused with her nearness to pursue 
 the speculation. 
 
 As we sat down to luncheon, waited upon by 
 the little bare-legged black children — waited on 
 too surprisingly well, despite the contortions of 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 211 
 
 their primitive embarrassment — my host once 
 more resumed his character of the classic king 
 welcoming the storm-tossed stranger to his board. 
 
 'Far wanderer,' he said, raising his glass to me, 
 'eat of what our board affords, welcome without 
 question of name and nation. But if, when the 
 food and wane have done their genial office, and the 
 weariness of your journey has fallen from you, 
 you should feel stirred to tell us somewhat of your- 
 self and your wanderings and what manner of 
 men call you kinsmen, and in what fair land is 
 your home and the place of your loved ones, be 
 sure we shall count the tale good hearing — and, for 
 our part, make exchange in like fashion of us and 
 the passage of our days in this lonely isle.' 
 
 We all laughed as he ended — himself with a 
 whinny of laughter. For, odd as such talk may 
 sound in the reading, it was done so whimsically, 
 and in so spirited and humorous a style that I 
 assure you it was very captivating. 
 
 'You should have been an actor, my lord 
 Alcinous,' I said laughing. I seemed already 
 curiously at home, seated there at that table with 
 this fantastic stranger and that being out of fairy- 
 land, towards whom I dared only turn my eyes now 
 and again by stealth. The strange fellow had such 
 a way with him, and his talk made you feel that 
 he had known you all 3'our life. 
 
212 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'Ah ! I have had my dreams. I have had my 
 dreams !' he answered, his eyes gazing with a 
 momentary wistfulness across the orange trees. 
 
 Then we talked at random, as friendly strangers 
 talk over luncheon, though we were glad enough 
 that he should do all the talking, — wonderful, 
 iridescent, madcap talk, such as a man here and 
 there in ten thousand, gifted with perhaps the 
 most attractive of all human gifts, has at his 
 command. 
 
 And, every now and again, my eyes, falling on 
 the paradoxical squalor of his clothing, would remind 
 me of the enigma of this courtly vagabond; 
 though, need I say, that my eyes and my heart 
 had other business than with him, throughout 
 that wonderful meal, enfolded as I felt myself once 
 more in that golden cloud of magnetic vitahty 
 which had first swept over me as with a breath of 
 perfumed fire, among the salt pork and the tin- 
 ware of Sweeney's store. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 DOUBLOONS 
 
 Luncheon over, the Lady Calypso, with a stately 
 inclination of her lovely head, left us to our wine 
 and our cigars. For, as I realised, we were very 
 much in England, in spite of all the orange-trees 
 and the palms — an England of two or three gener- 
 ations ago, and but seldom nowadays to be found 
 in England itself. The time had come, after the 
 Homeric formula which my host had whimsically 
 applied to the situation, for the far-travelled 
 guest to declare himself, and I saw in my host's 
 eye a courteous invitation to begin. While his 
 fantastic tongue had gone a-wagging from China 
 to Peru, I had been pondering what account to give 
 of myself, and I had decided, for various reasons, 
 of which the Lady Calypso was, of course, first, 
 but the open-hearted charm of her father a close 
 second, to tell him the whole of my story. Whatever 
 his and her particular secret was, it was evident 
 to me that it was an innocent and honourable 
 one; and, besides, I may have had a notion that 
 I was before long to have a family interest in it. 
 
 213 p 
 
214 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 So I began — starting in with a little prelude in 
 the manner of my host, just to enter into the spirit 
 of the game. 
 
 'My Lord Alcinous, your guest, the far- wanderer, 
 having partaken of your golden hospitality, is 
 now fain to open his heart to you, and tell you of 
 himself and his race, his home and his loved ones 
 across the wine-dark sea, and such of his adven- 
 tures as may give pleasure to your ears ' . . . 
 though having no talents in that direction, I was 
 glad enough to abandon my lame attempt at his 
 Homeric style for a plain straightforward nar- 
 rative of the events of the past three months. 
 
 I had not, however, proceeded very far, when, 
 with a courteous raising of his hand, King Alcin- 
 ous suggested a pause. 
 
 'If you would not mind,' he said, 'I would like 
 my daughter to hear this too, for it is of the very 
 stuff of romantic adventure in which she delights, 
 for she is a brave girl, and, as I often tell her, would 
 have made a very spirited dare-devil boy, if she 
 hadn't happened to have been born a girl.' 
 
 Naturally, my mind went back again to Jack 
 Harkaway — but, as Calypso came in to join my 
 audience, she looked so divinely feminine, for all 
 her touch of boyishness, that I dismissed the idea 
 and decided that the resemblance was merely fanci- 
 ful. I should certainly have told the story better 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 215 
 
 without her, glad — how glad ! — I was to have 
 her seated there, an inspired attentive presence 
 in a simple gown, white as the sea-foam from 
 which, there was no further doubt in my mind, 
 she had magically sprung. 
 
 I gave them the whole story, much as I had told 
 it in John Saunders's snuggery — John P. Tobias, 
 Jr., dear old Tom and his sucking fish, his ghosts, 
 sharks, skeletons, and all; and when I had finished, 
 I found that the interest of my story was once more 
 chiefly centred in my pock-marked friend of 'the 
 wonderful works of God.' 
 
 'I should like to meet your pock-marked friend,' 
 said King Alcinous, 'and I have a notion that, 
 with you as a bait, I shall not long be denied the 
 opportunity.' 
 
 'I am inclined to think that I have seen him 
 already,' said Calypso, using her honey-golden 
 voice for the base purpose of mentioning him. 
 
 'Impossible!' I cried, 'he is long since safe in 
 Nassau jail.' 
 
 'O not lately,' she answered to our interrogative 
 surprise, and giving a swift embarrassed look at 
 her father, which I at once connected with the 
 secret of the doubloons. 
 
 'Seriously, Calypso?' asked her father, with a 
 certain stern affection, as thinking of her safety. 
 ' On one of your errands to town ? ' 
 
2i6 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 And then, turning to me, he said : — 
 
 'Sir Ulysses, you have spoken well, and your 
 speech has been that free, open-hearted speech 
 that wins its way alike among the Hyperboreans 
 that dwell in frozen twilight near the northern 
 star, and those dwarfed and swarthy intelligences 
 that blacken in the fierce sunhght of that fearful 
 axle we call the Equator. Therefore, I will make 
 return to you of speech no less frank and true. . . .' 
 
 He took a puff at his cigar, and then continued. 
 
 'I should not risk this confession, but that it is 
 easy to see that you belong to the race of the 
 Eternal Children, to which, you may have realised, 
 my daughter and I also belong. This adventure 
 of yours after buried treasure has not seriously 
 been for the doubloons and pieces-of-eight, the 
 miUion dollars, and the million-and-a-half dollars 
 themselves, but for the fun of going after them, 
 saihng the unknown seas, coral islands, and all 
 that sort of blessed moonshine. Well, Calypso 
 and I are just hke that, and I am going to tell 
 you something exciting — we too have our buried 
 treasure. It is nothing like so magnificent in amount 
 as yours, or your Henry P. Tobias's — and where 
 it is at this particular moment I know as little as 
 yourself. In fact, it is Calypso's secret. . . .' 
 
 I looked across at Calypso, but her eyes were 
 far beyond capture, in un-plummetted seas. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 217 
 
 'I will show yon presently where I found it, 
 among the rocks near by — now a haunt of wild bees. 
 ' Can you ever forget that passage in the Georgics ? 
 It makes the honey taste sweeter to me every time 
 I taste it — we must have some of it for dinner, 
 by the way, Calypso.' 
 
 I could not help laughing, and so, for a moment, 
 breaking up the story. The dear fellow ! — was 
 there any business of human importance from which 
 he could not be diverted by a quotation from 
 Homer or Virgil or Shakespeare? But he was soon 
 in the saddle again. 
 
 'Well/ he said, 'one day, some seven years ago, 
 in a little cave below the orange-trees, grubbing 
 about as I am fond of doing, sunk deep among 
 the roots of a fig-tree, I came upon a beautiful 
 old box of beaten copper. It was strong, but it 
 seemed too dainty for a pirate — some great lady's 
 jewel-box more like, — Calypso shall show it to 
 us presently. On opening it — ^what do you think? 
 it spilled over with golden doubloons — among 
 which were submerged some fine jewels, such as 
 this tie-ring you see me wearing. . . . Actually, 
 it was no great treasure, at a monetary calcu- 
 lation, certainly no fortune; but from our romantic 
 point of view, as belonging to the race of the 
 Eternal Children, it was Eldorado, Aladdin's lamp, 
 the mines of Peru, the whole sunken Spanish Main, 
 
2i8 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 glimmering fifty fathoms deep in mother-of-pearl 
 and the moon. It was the very Secret Rose of 
 Romance — and, also, mark you, it was some 
 money — O perhaps, all told, it might be some five 
 thousand guineas, or — what would you say — 
 twenty-five thousand dollars — Calypso knows better 
 than I, and she, as I said, alone knows where it 
 is now hid, and how much of it now remains.' 
 
 He paused to relight his cigar — while Calypso 
 and I . . . well, he began again. 
 
 'Now Calypso and I ' — and he paused to look at 
 her fondly — 'though of the race of the Eternal 
 Children, are not without some of the innocent 
 wisdom which Holy Writ countenances as the self- 
 protection of the innocent — Calypso, I may say, 
 is particularly endowed with this quality — need- 
 ing it as she especially does for the guardianship 
 of her foolish talkative old father, who, by the 
 way, is almost at the end of his tale. So, when this 
 old chest flashed its bewildering dazzle upon us, 
 we, being poor folk, were not more dazzled than 
 afraid. For, like the poor man in the fable, 
 such good fortune was all too likely to be our 
 undoing, should it come to the ears of the great, or 
 the indigent criminal. The "great " in our thought 
 was, I am ashamed to say, the sacred British 
 Treasury, by an ancient law of which, forty per 
 cent, of all " treasure-trove " belongs to His Majesty 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 219 
 
 the King. The "indigent criminal " was repre- 
 sented by — well, our coloured (and not so very 
 much coloured) neighbours. Of course, we ought 
 to have sent the whole treasure to your friend, 
 John Saunders, of His Britannic Majesty's Govern- 
 ment at Nassau, but . . . well, we didn't. Some 
 day, perhaps, you will put in a word for us with 
 him, as you drink his old port, in the snuggery. 
 Meanwhile, we had an idea, Calypso and I . . .' 
 
 He paused, for Calypso had involuntarily made 
 a gesture as though pleading to be spared the 
 whole revelation, and then with a smile, con- 
 tinued: — 
 
 'We determined to hide away our little hoard, 
 where it would be safe from our neighbours, and 
 dispose of it according to our needs with some 
 tradesman in the town whom we thought we could 
 trust — a tradesman, who, by the way, quite natur- 
 ally levies a Uttle tax upon us for his security. 
 No blame to him ! I have lived far too long to 
 be hard on human nature.' 
 
 'John Sweeney? ' I asked, looking over at 
 Calypso, with eyes that dared at last to smile. 
 
 'The very same, my Lord Ulysses,' answered my 
 friend. 
 
 And so I came to understand that Sweeney's 
 reluctance in selling me that doubloon was not so 
 sinister as it had, at the moment, appeared; that 
 
220 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 it had in fact come of a loyalty which was already 
 for me the most precious of all loyalties. 
 
 'Then,' said I, 'as a fitting conclusion to the 
 confidence you have reposed in me, my Lord Alcin- 
 ous, if Miss Calypso would have the kindness to 
 let us have sight of that chest of beaten copper of 
 which you spoke, I would like to restore this — that 
 was once a part of its contents — wherever the rest 
 of them' — and I confess that I paused a moment 
 — 'may be in hiding.' 
 
 And I took from my pocket the sacred doubloon 
 I had bought from John Sweeney — may Heaven 
 have mercy upon his soul ! — for sixteen dollars 
 and seventy-five cents, on that immortal evening. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 IN WHICH 'the king' DREAMS A DREAM — AND 
 TELLS US ABOUT IT 
 
 The afternoon, under the spell of its various magic, 
 had been passing all too swiftly, and at length 
 I grew reluctantly aware that it was time for me 
 to be returning once more to the solid, not to say 
 squalid, earth; but, as I made a beginning of my 
 farewell address. King Alcinous raised his hand 
 with a gesture that could not be denied. It was 
 not to be heard of, he said. I must be their guest 
 till to-morrow, sans argument. To begin with, 
 for all the golden light still in the garden, with that 
 silver wand of the fountain laid upon the stillness 
 like a charm, it was already night among the palms, 
 he said, and blacker than our friend Erebus in 
 the woods — and there was no moon. 
 
 'No moon?' I said, and though the remark was 
 meaningless, one might have thought, from Calypso's 
 face, in which rose-colour fought with a suggestion 
 of submerged laughter, that it had a meaning. 
 
 If I had found it difficult going at high noon, 
 he continued, with an immense sunlight overhead. 
 
222 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 how was I going to find it with the sun gone 
 headlong into the sea, as was about to happen in 
 a few moments. When the hght that is in thee 
 has become darkness, how great is that darkness ! 
 Si ergo lumen quod in te est, tenebrae sunt, ipsae 
 tenehrae quantae erunt. And he settled it, as he 
 settled everything, with a whimsical quotation. 
 
 He had not yet, he said, shown me that haunt 
 of the wild bees, where the golden honey now took 
 the place of that treasure of golden money; and 
 there were other curiosities of the place he desired 
 also to show me. And that led me — my invita- 
 tion being accepted without further parley — to 
 mention the idea I had conceived, as I came along, 
 of exploring those curious old ruined buildings. Need 
 I say that the mere suggestion was enough to set 
 him aflame? I might have known that here, of 
 all men, was my man for such an enterprise. He 
 had meant to do it himself, for how many years 
 — but age, with stealing step, et cetera ! How- 
 ever, with youth — so he was pleased to flatter me 
 — to lend him the sap of energy — why, who knows ! 
 And in a moment he had us both akindle with his 
 imaginations of what might — 'might' ? what a 
 word to use ! — no ! what, without question MUST 
 lie unsunned in those dark underground vaults, 
 barricaded with all that deviltry of vegetation, 
 and guarded by the coils of a three-headed dragon 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 223 
 
 with carbuncles for eyes — eyes that never slept 
 — (for, the advantage of three heads to treasure- 
 guarding dragons, he explained to us, was that 
 they divided the twenty-four hours into watches 
 of eight hours each) — as he kept ward over that 
 heap of gold, bars of it, drifts of it, banks of 
 it minted into gleaming coins — doubloons — doub- 
 loons — doubloons — so that the darkness was bright 
 as day with the shine of it, or as the bottom of 
 the sea, where a Spanish galleon lies sunk among 
 the corals and the gliding water-snakes . . . 
 
 'O King !' I laughed, 'but indeed you have the 
 heart of a child !' 
 
 'To-morrow !' he announced, 'to-morrow we 
 shall begin — there is not a moment to lose. We 
 will send Samson with a message to your captain 
 — there is no need for you to go yourself — time 
 is too precious — and in a week, who knows but 
 that Monte Cristo shall seem like a pauper 
 and a penny-gaff in comparison with the fantasies 
 of our fearful wealth ! Even Calypso's secret 
 hoard will pale before the romance of our sub- 
 terranean millions — I mean billions — and poor 
 Henry P. Tobias will need neither hangman's 
 rope nor your friend Webster's cartridges for his 
 quietus. At the mere rumour of our fortune, he 
 will suddenly turn into a green so violent that 
 death will be instantaneous.' 
 
224 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 So, for that evening, all was laughingly decided. 
 In a week's time, it was agreed, we should have 
 difficulty in recognising each other. We should be 
 so disguised in cloth of gold, and so blinding to 
 look upon with rings and ropes of pearls. As our dear 
 'King' improvised something like this for our good- 
 night, my eyes involuntarily fell upon his present 
 garments — far from being cloth-of-gold. Why? I 
 wondered. There was no real financial reason, it was 
 evident, for these penitential rags. But I remem- 
 bered that I had known two other miUionaires — 
 millionaires not merely of the imagination — 
 whom it had been impossible to separate from 
 a certain beloved old coat that had been their 
 familiar for more than twenty years. It was some 
 odd kink somewhere in the make-up of 'the King,' 
 one more trait of his engaging humanity. 
 
 When we met at breakfast next morning, glad 
 to see each other again as few people are at break- 
 fast, it was evident that, so far as 'the King' was 
 concerned, our dream had lost nothing in the 
 night watches. On the contrary, its wings had 
 grown to an amazing span and iridescence. It 
 was so impatient for flight, that its feet had to be 
 chained to the ground — the wise Calypso's doing 
 — ^with a little plain prose, a detail or two of 
 preliminary arrangement, and then . . . 
 
 Calypso, it transpired, had certain household 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 225 
 
 matters — of which 'the King,' of course, was ever 
 divinely oblivious — that would take her on an 
 errand into the town. Those disposed of, we two 
 Eternal Children were at liberty to be as foolish 
 as we pleased. 'The King' bowed his uncrowned 
 head, as kings, from time immemorial, have bowed 
 their diadems before the quiet command of the 
 domesticities; and it was arranged that I should 
 be Calypso's escort on her errand. 
 
 So we set forth in the freshness of the morning, 
 and the woods that had been so black and be- 
 wildering at my coming opened before us in easy 
 paths, and all that tropic squalor that had been 
 foul with sweat and insects seemed strangely 
 vernal to me — so that I could hardly believe that 
 I had ever trodden that way before. And for our 
 companion all the way along — or, at least, for my 
 other companion, — was the Wonder of the World, 
 and the beautiful strangeness of living, and that 
 marvel of a man's days upon the earth, which lies 
 in not knowing what a day shall bring forth — 
 if only we have a little patience with Time, — Time, 
 with those gold keys at his girdle, ready at any 
 turn of the way, to unlock the hid treasure that 
 is to be the meaning of our lives. 
 
 Need I say what it was to walk by her side, 
 knowing all that we both knew, knowing — or 
 giddily believing that I knew — how her heart. 
 
226 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 with every breath she took, vibrated like a living 
 flower, with waves of colour, changing from 
 moment to moment like a happy trembling dawn. 
 To know — yet not to say ! Yes ! we were both at 
 that divine moment which hangs like a dewdrop 
 in the morning sun — ah ! all too ready to fall. 
 O keep it poised, in that miraculous balance, 
 'twixt Time and Eternity — for this crystal made 
 of light and dew is the meaning of the life of man 
 and woman upon the earth. . . . 
 
 As we came to the borders of the wood, near 
 the edge of the little town, we called a counsel of 
 two. As the outcome of it, we concluded that, 
 having in mind 'the King's' ambitious plans for 
 our cloth-of-gold future, and for other obvious 
 reasons, it was better that she went on into the 
 town alone — I to await her in the shadow of the 
 mahogany trees. 
 
 As she turned to leave me, she drew up from 
 her bosom a little bag that hung by a silver chain, 
 and, opening it, drew out, with a laugh, — a gold 
 doubloon ! 
 
 I sprang towards her, but bhe was too quick 
 for me, and laughingly vanished round an opening 
 of the trees. I was not to kiss her that day. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 NEWS ! 
 
 Calypso was so long coming back that I began 
 to grow anxious, and was, indeed, on the point 
 of going into the town in search of her, when she 
 suddenly appeared, rather out of breath, and 
 evidently a little excited — as though, in fact, 
 she had been running away from something. She 
 caught me by the arm, with a laugh. 
 
 'Do you want to see your friend Tobias?' she said. 
 
 'Tobias ! Impossible !' 
 
 'Come here,' and she led me a yard or two back 
 the way she had come, and then cautiously looked 
 through the trees, 
 
 'Gone !' she said, 'but he was there a minute or 
 two ago — or at least some one that is his photo- 
 graph — and, of course, he's there yet, hidden in 
 the brush, and probably got his eyes on us all the 
 time. Did you see that seven-year apple-tree 
 move ? ' 
 
 'His favourite tree,' I laughed. 
 
 'Hardly strong enough to hang him on though,' 
 
 and I realised that she was King Alcinous' daughter. 
 
 227 
 
228 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 We crouched lower for a moment or two, but 
 the seven-year apple didn't move again, and we 
 agreed that there was no use in waiting for Tobias 
 to show his hand. 
 
 'He is too good a poker- player,' I said. 
 
 'Like his skeletons, eh?' she said. 
 
 'But what made you think it was Tobias?' I 
 asked, 'and how did it all happen?' 
 
 'I could hardly fail to recognise him from your 
 flattering description,' she answered, 'and indeed 
 it all happened rather Hke another experience 
 of mine. I had gone into Sweeney's store — you 
 remember? — and was just paying my bill . . .' 
 
 'In the usual coinage?' I ventured. She gave 
 me a long, whimsical smile — once more her father's 
 daughter. 
 
 'That, I'm afraid, was the trouble,' she answered; 
 'for, as I laid my money down on the counter, 1 
 suddenly noticed that there was a person at the 
 back of the store . . .' 
 
 'A person?' I interrupted. 
 
 'Yes! a pock-marked person . . . was it you?' 
 
 'What a memory you have for details,' I parried, 
 'and then?' 
 
 'Well ! I took my change and managed to whisper 
 a word to Sweeney,— a good friend, remember, 
 
 and went out. I took a short cut back, but 
 
 the "person" that had stood in the back of the store 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 229 
 
 seemed to know the way almost better than I, 
 so well that he had got ahead of me, and was 
 walking quietly this way, so slowly that I had at 
 last to overtake him. He said nothing, just watched 
 me, as if he were interested in the way I was going 
 — but, I'm ashamed to say, he rather frightened 
 me . . . and here I am.' 
 
 'Do you really think he saw the . . . doubloon 
 . . . like that other "person?"' I asked, 
 
 'There's no doubt of it.' 
 
 'Well, then,' I said, 'let's hurry home, and talk 
 it over with "the King." ' 
 
 'The King,' as I had realised, was a practical 
 'romantic,' and at once took the matter seriously, 
 leaving, as might have surprised some of those 
 who had only heard him talk, his conversational 
 fantasias on the theme to come later. 
 
 Calypso, however, had the first word. 
 
 'I always told you, Dad,' she said — and the 
 word 'Dad' on the Hps of that big statuesque 
 girl — who always seemed ready to take that in- 
 spired framework of rags and bones and talking 
 music into her protecting arms — seemed the 
 quaintest of paradoxes. 'I always told you. Dad, 
 what would happen — with your fairy tale of the 
 doubloons.' 
 
 'Quite true, my dear,' he answered, 'but isn't 
 a fairy tale worth paying for? — worth a little 
 
 Q 
 
230 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 trouble . . . and, remember, if you will allow 
 me — two things about fairy-tales : there must 
 always be some evil fairy in them, some dragon 
 or such like, and there is always — a happy ending. 
 Now the dragon enters at last — in the form of 
 Tobias; and we should be happy on that very 
 account. It shows that the race of dragons is 
 not, as I feared, extinct. And as for the happy 
 ending, we will arrange it, after lunch, — for which 
 by the way, you are somewhat late.' 
 
 After lunch, 'the King' resumed, but in a brief 
 and entirely practical vein. 
 
 'We are about to be besieged,' he said, 'The 
 woods, probably, are already thick with spies. 
 For the moment, we must suspend operations on 
 our Golconda' — his name for the ruins that we were 
 to excavate — ' and, as our present purpose, — 
 yours no less than ours, friend Ulysses, — is to 
 confuse Tobias, my suggestion is this : that you 
 walk with me a mile or two to the nor'ard. There 
 is an entertaining mangrove swamp I should like 
 to show you, and also, you can give me your 
 opinion of an idea of mine that you will under- 
 stand all the better when I have taken you over 
 the ground.' 
 
 So we walked beyond the palms, down on to a 
 long interminable flat land of marl marshes and 
 mangrove trees, so like that in which Charlie 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 231 
 
 Webster had shot the snake and the wild duck 
 that only Charlie could have seen any difference. 
 
 'Now,' said 'the King/ 'do you see a sort of river 
 there, overrun with mangroves and palmettos?' 
 'Yes,' I said, 'almost — though it's so choked 
 up, it's almost impossible to say.' 
 
 'Well,' said 'the King,' 'that's the idea . . . you 
 haven't forgotten those old ruins we are going to 
 explore. You remember how choked up they are. 
 Well, this was the covered water-way, the secret 
 creek, by which the pirates — John Teach, or who- 
 ever it was — perhaps John P. Tobias himself — 
 used to land their loot. It's so overgrown nowa- 
 days, that no one can find the entrance but myself, 
 and a friend or two . . . Do you understand? . . .' 
 We walked a little farther, and then at length 
 came to the bank of the creek 'the King' had 
 indicated. This we followed for half a mile or 
 so till we met the fresh murmur of the sea. 
 
 'We needn't go any farther,' said 'the King.' 
 'It's the same all the way along to the mouth — 
 all overgrown as you see, all the way, right out to 
 the "white water" as they call it — which is four 
 miles of shoal sand that is seldom deeper than 
 two fathoms, and which a nor'-easter is liable 
 to blow dry for a week on end. Naturally, it's 
 a hard place to find — and a hard place to get 
 out of! — and only two or three natives, hke Sweeney, 
 
232 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 all our friends, know the way in. Tobias may 
 know of it, but to know it is one thing and find it 
 is another matter. I could hardly be sure of it 
 myself, if I were standing in from the sea, with 
 nothing but the long palmetto-fringed coast-line 
 to go by . . . 
 
 'Now, you see it? I brought you here, because 
 words . . .' 
 
 'Even yours, dear "King,"' I laughed. 
 
 'Could not explain what I suggest for us to 
 do. You are interested in Tobias. Tobias is inter- 
 ested in you. I am interested in you both. And 
 Calypso and I have a treasure to guard . . . ' 
 
 'I have still a treasure to seek,' I said, half to 
 myself. 
 
 'Good enough,' said 'the King.' 'Now, to be 
 practical. We can assume that Tobias is on the 
 watch ... I don't mean that he's around here 
 just now, for before we left I spoke to Samson and 
 Erebus, and they will pass the word to four men 
 blacker than themselves, — therefore we can assume 
 that this square mile or so is for the moment 'to 
 ourselves'; but beyond our fence you may rely 
 that Tobias and his myrmidons — ... is that 
 the word ? ' he asked, with a concession to his natural 
 fooHshness — 'are there . . .' 
 
 'So,' he went on, 'I want you to go down to your 
 boat to-morrow morning to say good-bye to the 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 233 
 
 commandant, the parson, and the post office, to 
 haul up your sails, and head for Nassau . . . call 
 in on Sweeney on the way, and buy an extra box 
 or two of cartridges and say "Dieu et mon droit" — 
 it is our pass word; he will understand, and, if 
 he doesn't — explain, in your own way, that you 
 come from me, and that we rely upon him to look 
 out for our interests. Then head straight for 
 Nassau: but, about eight o'clock, or anywhere around 
 twilight, turn about and head . . . well, we'll map 
 it out on the chart at home,— anywhere up to 
 eight miles along to the coast, till you come to a 
 light low down right on the edge of the water. 
 As soon as you see it, drop anchor : then wait 
 till morning— the very beginning of dawn. As 
 soon as you can see land, look out for Samson 
 —within a hundred yards of you, on your lee. 
 You won't be able to see any way in— all the land 
 will look alike to you. Only make the captain 
 head straight for Samson, and just as you think 
 you are going to run ashore, — well, you will see . . .' 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 OLD FRIENDS 
 
 Next morning I did as 'the King' had told me to 
 do. The whole programme was carried out just 
 as he had planned it. I made my good-byes in the 
 settlement, as we had arranged, not forgetting to 
 say 'Dieu et mon droit' to Sweeney, and watching, 
 with some humorous intent, how he would take 
 it. He took it quietly, as a man in a signal box 
 takes a signal, with about as much emotion, and 
 with just the same necessary seriousness. But I 
 suppose he felt that the circumstances justified 
 a sHght heightening of his usual indifference to 
 all mortal things. 
 
 'Tell the boss,' he said — of course he meant 'the 
 King ' — 'that we are looking after him. Nothing'll 
 slip through here, if we can help it. Good luck !' 
 
 So I went down to the boat — to dear old Tom 
 once more, and the rest of our little crew, who had 
 long since exhausted the attractions of their life 
 ashore, and were glad, as I was, to — 'hist up the 
 John B. sail.' We sang it as we went out with 
 all our canvas spread to a lively north-east breeze 
 
 234 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 235 
 
 — and I realised once more how good the sea was 
 for all manner of men, whatever their colour. 
 For we all livened up and shook off our land- 
 laziness again, spry and laughing, and as keen as 
 the jib stretching out like a gull's wing into the 
 rush and spray of the sea. 
 
 Down in my cabin, I looked over some mail that 
 had been waiting for me at the post office. Amongst 
 it was a crisp, characteristic word from Charlie 
 Webster — for whom the gun will ever be mightier 
 than the pen.- 'Tobias escaped — just heard he is 
 on your island — watch out. Will follow in a day 
 or two.' 
 
 I came out on deck about sunset. We were 
 running along with all our sails drawing like a 
 dream. I looked back at the captain, proud and 
 quiet and happy there at the helm, and nodded a 
 smile to him, which he returned with a flash of 
 his teeth. He loved his boat, and he asked nothing 
 better than to watch her behaving just as she was 
 doing. And the other boys seemed quiet and happy 
 too, lying along the sides of the house, ready for 
 the captain's orders, and meanwhile content to 
 look up at the great sails, and down again at the 
 sea. 
 
 We were a ship and a ship's crew all at peace 
 with each other, and contented with ourselves — 
 rushing and singing and spraying through the 
 
236 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 water. We were all friends — sea, and sails, and 
 crew together. I couldn't help thinking that a 
 mutiny would be hard to arrange under such a 
 combination of influences. 
 
 Tom was sitting forward plaiting a rope. For 
 all our experiences together, he never implied that 
 he was anything more than the ship's cook, with 
 the privilege of waiting upon me in the cabin at 
 my meals. But, of course, he knew that I had 
 quite another valuation for him, and, as our eyes 
 met, I beckoned to him to draw closer to me. 
 
 'Tom,' I said, 'I have found my treasure.' 
 
 'You don't say so, sar,' he said. 
 
 'Yes ! Tom,' I said, 'and I rely upon you to help 
 me to guard it.' 
 
 'There are no ghosts, this time, Tom,' I added, 
 as he said nothing, but waited for me to go on, 
 'and no need of our sucking-fish . . .' 
 
 'Are you sure, sar?' he asked, adding, 'you can 
 never be sure about ghosts — they are always 
 somewhere around. And a sucking-fish is hable 
 at any moment to be useful . . .' 
 
 I opened my shirt in answer. 
 
 'There it is still, Tom,' I said; 'I agree with 
 you. We won't take any unnecessary chances.' 
 
 This comforted the old man more than one could 
 have imagined. 
 
 'It's all right then, sar,' he said. 'It will all 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 237 
 
 come out right now, I'm sure . . . though, as I 
 wanted to say' — and he hesitated, 'I had hoped 
 that you had forgotten those treasures that . . .' 
 
 'Go on, Tom,' I said. 
 
 'That moth and rust do corrupt . . .' 
 
 'I know, dear old Tom, but no moth or rust 
 can ever corrupt the treasure I meant — the 
 treasure I have already found.' 
 
 'You have found the treasure, sar?' said Tom, 
 in natural bewilderment. 
 
 'Yes, Tom, and I am going to show it to you 
 — to-morrow . . .' 
 
 The old man waited, as a mortal might wait 
 till it pleased his god to speak a little clearer. 
 
 'Quite true, Tom,' I answered, 'you shall see 
 my treasure to-morrow . . . meanwhile, read this 
 note.' Tom was so much to me that I wanted him 
 to know all the details of the enterprise we shared 
 together, and in which he risked his life no less 
 than mine. 
 
 Tom took out his spectacles from some recess 
 of his pants, and applied himself to Charlie 
 Webster's note, as though it were the Bible. He 
 read it as slowly indeed as if it were Sanskrit, and 
 then folded it and handed it back to me without a 
 word. But there was quite a young smile in his 
 old eyes. 
 
 'The wonderful works of God,' he said presently. 
 
238 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'I guess, sar, we shall soon be able to ask him 
 what he meant by that expression.' 
 
 Then, as the sunlight had almost gone, and the 
 stars were trying to come out overhead, and the 
 boys were stringing out our lanterns, I surprised 
 our captain by teUing him that I had changed my 
 mind, and that I didn't want to make Nassau 
 that night, but wanted to head back again, a 
 point or so to the south'ard. He demurred a little, 
 because, as he said, he was not quite sure of his 
 course. We ought to have had a pilot, and the 
 shoals, so much he knew, were bad that way — 
 all white water — and particularly in a north-east 
 wind. This only confirmed what 'the King' had 
 said. So, admitting that I knew all the captain 
 said, I ordered him, so to speak, to do as I told 
 him. 
 
 So we ruffled it along, making two or three 'legs,' 
 I sitting abaft the jibboom with my back against 
 the mainmast, watching out for Samson and 
 his light. 
 
 Soon the long dark shore loomed ahead of us. 
 I had reckoned it out about right. But the cap- 
 tain announced that we were in shoal water. 
 
 'How many feet?' I asked, and a boy threw out 
 the lead. 
 
 'Sixteen and a half,' he said. 
 
 'Go ahead,' I called out. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 239 
 
 'Do you want to go aground?' asked the captain. 
 
 For answer I pushed him aside, and took the 
 wheel. I had caught the smallest glimmer, like 
 a night-light, floating on the water. 
 
 'Drop the anchor,' I called. 
 
 The light in shore was clear and near at hand, 
 about a hundred yards away, and there was the 
 big murmur and commotion of the long breakers 
 over the dancing shoals. We rolled a good deal, 
 and the captain moodily took my suggestion of 
 throwing out three anchors and cradHng them; 
 though, as he said, with the way the north-east 
 was blowing, we should soon be on dry land. 
 
 It was true enough, and the tide was running 
 out so fast, and the white sand coming up ever 
 nearer to our eyes in the moonlight, and Samson's 
 Hght there keeping white and steady — and the 
 thought of my treasure and 'the King' so near by, 
 that it was hard to resist the temptation to plunge 
 in and follow my heart ashore. But I managed 
 to control the boyish impulse, and presently we 
 were all snug below decks, rocked in the long swells 
 of the shoal water that gleamed milkily Hke an 
 animated moonstone under the stars — old Sailor 
 curled up at my feet, just like old times. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE HIDDEN CREEK 
 
 I WOKE just as dawn was waking too, very still 
 and windless, for the threatening nor'-easter had 
 changed its mind, and the world was as quiet as 
 though there wasn't a human being in it. Near 
 by, stretched the long low coastline, nothing but 
 level brush, with an occasional thatch-palm lift- 
 ing up a shock-head against the quickening sky. 
 Out to sea, the level plains of lucent water spread 
 like a vast floor, immensely vacant — not a sail 
 or even a wing to mar its perfect nothingness. 
 As the light grew, I scanned the shore to see if I 
 could detect the entrance of the hidden creek; 
 but, though I swept it up and down again and 
 again, it continued to justify 'the King's' boast. 
 There was no sign of an opening anywhere. 
 Nothing but a straight line of brush, with man- 
 groves here and there stepping down in their 
 fantastic way into the water. And yet we were but 
 a hundred yards from the shore. Certainly 'Black- 
 beard' — if the haunt had really been his — had 
 
 known his business; for an enemy could have 
 
 240 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 241 
 
 sought him all day along this coast and found 
 no clue to his hiding-place. But presently, as my 
 eyes kept on seeking, a figure rose tall and black 
 near the water's edge, a Httle to our left, and shot 
 up a long arm by way of signal. It was Samson, 
 and evidently the mouth of the creek was right 
 there in front of us, under our very noses, so to 
 say, and yet it was impossible to make it out. 
 However, at this signal, I stirred up the still 
 sleeping crew, and presently we had the anchors 
 up, and the engine started at the slowest possible 
 speed. The tide was beginning to run in, so we 
 needed very little way on us. I pointed out 
 Samson to the captain, and, following 'the King's' 
 instructions, told him to steer straight for him. He 
 grumbled no little. Of course, if I wanted to run 
 aground, it was none of his affair, et cetera. Then 
 I stationed the sturdiest of the two deck-hands 
 on the port bow with a long oar, while I took 
 the starboard with another. Very slowly and 
 cautiously we made in, pointing straight for a 
 thick growth of mangrove bushes. Samson stood 
 there and called : — 
 
 'All right, sar. Keep straight on. You'll see 
 your way in a minute.' 
 
 And, sure enough, when we were barely fifty 
 feet away from the shore and there seemed 
 nothing for it but to run dead aground, low down 
 
242 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 through the floating mangrove branches, we caught 
 sight of a narrow gleam starting inland, and in 
 another moment or two our decks were swept 
 with foliage, as The Flamingo rustled in, like a 
 bird to cover, through an opening in the bushes 
 barely twice her beam, and there before us, snaking 
 through the brush was a lane of water which 
 immediately began to broaden between palmetto 
 fringed banks, and was evidently deep enough for 
 a much larger vessel. 
 
 'Plenty of water, sar,' halloed Samson from 
 the bank, grinning a huge welcome. 'Keep agoing 
 after me,' and he started trotting along the creek- 
 side. 
 
 As we pushed into the glassy channel, I standing 
 at the bow, my eyes were arrested by a tremen- 
 dous flashing commotion in the water to the right 
 and left of us — like the fierce zig-zagging of steel 
 blades, or the ferocious play of submerged light- 
 ning. It was a select company of sword-fish and 
 sharks whom we had disturbed, lying hellishly 
 in wait there for the prey of the incoming tide. 
 It was a curiously sinister sight, as though one had 
 come upon a nest of water-devils in council, and 
 the fancy jumped into my mind that here were 
 the spirits of Teach and his crew once more evilly 
 embodied and condemned to haunt for ever this 
 gloomy scene of their crimes. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 243 
 
 Samson went trotting along the twisting banks, 
 we cautiously feeling our way after him, for some- 
 thing like a quarter of a mile ; and then, coming 
 round a sudden bend, the creek opened out into 
 a sort of basin. On the left bank stood two large 
 palmetto shanties. Samson indicated that there 
 was our anchorage; and then, as we were almost 
 alongside of them, the cheery hallos of a well- 
 known voice hailed us. It was 'the King'; and, 
 as I answered his welcome, the morning suddenly 
 sang for me — for there too was Calypso at his side. 
 
 The water ran so deep at the creek's side that 
 we were able to moor The Flamingo right up against 
 the bank, and, when I had jumped ashore and greeted 
 my friends, and 'the King' had executed a brief 
 characteristic fantasia on the manifest advantages 
 of having a hidden pirate's creek in the family, 
 he unfolded his plans, or rather that portion of 
 them that were necessary at the moment. 
 
 The crew of The Flamingo, he said, had better 
 stay where they were for the present. If they were 
 tired of sleeping aboard, there were his two pal- 
 metto palaces, with couches of down on which to 
 stretch their Hmbs, and, for amusement, poor 
 devils ! — he swept his eyes whimsically around 
 that dreariest of landscapes — they might exercise 
 their imaginations by pretending, after the manner 
 of John Teach, that they were on an excursion 
 
2 44 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 to Hades . . . this was the famous river Acheron 
 .... and so on. But, seriously, he ended, we 
 would find some way of keeping them from com- 
 mitting hari-kari, and meanwhile we would leave 
 them in peace, and stroll along towards breakfast. 
 
 At that moment. Sailor rubbed his head against 
 my knee. 
 
 'Ah!' said 'the King,' 'the heroic canine ! He, 
 of course, must not be left behind. We may very 
 well need you in our councils — eh, old fellow?' 
 and he made friends with Sailor in a moment as 
 only a man who loves dogs can. I believe I was 
 second in Sailor's affection from that moment 
 of his meeting 'the King.' But then who wouldn't 
 have been ! 
 
 So then, after a reassuring word or two with 
 Tom and the captain, we went our ways towards 
 breakfast, 'the King's' tongue and Sailor's wagging 
 happily, in concert, every inch of the way. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 AN OLD ENEMY 
 
 Charlie Webster's laconic note was naturally 
 our chief topic over breakfast. 
 
 'Tobias escaped — just heard he is on your island. 
 Watch out. Will follow in a day or two,' 'the King' 
 read out, as I handed him the note across the table. 
 'Your friend writes like a true man of action,' he 
 added, 'like Caesar — and the electric telegraph. 
 We must send word to Sweeney to be on the look- 
 out for him. I will send Samson, the redoubtable, 
 with a message to him this morning. Meanwhile, 
 we will smoke and think.' 
 
 Then for the next hour 'the King' thought 
 aloud, while Calypso and I sat and listened, occasion- 
 ally throwing in a parenthesis of comment or 
 suggestion. It was evident, we aU agreed, that 
 Calypso had been right. It had been Tobias and 
 none other whose evil eye had sent her so breath- 
 less back to me waiting in the shadow of the woods, 
 and it was the same evil eye that had fallen vulture- 
 like on her golden doubloon exposed there on 
 Sweeney's counter. 
 
 245 R 
 
246 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 Now, what were we to think of Tobias — what 
 really were his notions about this supposititious 
 treasure — and what was likely to be his plan of 
 action ? Had he really any private knowledge of the 
 whereabouts of his alleged ancestral treasure — or was 
 his first authentic hint of its whereabouts derived 
 from the MS. first overheard while eavesdropping 
 at John Saunders' office, and afterwards purloined 
 from John Saunders' veranda? There seemed little 
 doubt that this second surmise was correct, for, 
 if he had had any previous knowledge, he would 
 have had no need of the MS. and he would long 
 ago have gone after the treasure for himself, and 
 found it or not, as the case might be. Perhaps 
 there was a tradition in his family of the existence 
 somewhere of his grandfather's treasure, but that 
 tradition was probably the sum of his inheritance; 
 and it was the mere accident of his dropping into 
 Saunders' office that morning that had set him 
 on the track. It was also likely, and practically 
 certain, that he had been able to make no more 
 out of the MS. than I had, but that he had con- 
 cluded that I had somehow or other unearthed 
 more about it than he, and that, therefore, his 
 most likely clue to its discovery were my actions. 
 To keep me in sight was the first step. So far so good. 
 But so far, it would be clear to him, I had had no 
 success. Otherwise I would not still be on the quest. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 247 
 
 He had probably been aware of my movements, 
 and may have been lying hidden in the island 
 longer than we suspected. From some of his spies 
 he had heard of my presence in the settlement, 
 and, chance having directed him to Sweeney's 
 store at the moment of Calypso's ringing down 
 that Spanish gold upon the counter, he had some- 
 how connected Calypso's doubloon with me. At 
 all events, it was clear that there were such coins 
 on the island in somebody's possession . . . and 
 then, when he had followed Calypso on her way 
 home, and, without any doubt, been the spectator 
 of our meeting at the edge of the wood, though 
 we had been unable to catch sight of him — there 
 would, of course, be no further doubt in his mind 
 that my quest had been at last successful, and 
 that his ancestral millions were already in my 
 hands. That there might be some other treasure 
 on the island with which neither he nor his grand- 
 father had any concern would not occur to him — 
 nor would it be likely to trouble him if it had. 
 My presence was enough to prove that the 
 treasure was his — for was it not his treasure that 
 I was after? Logic irrefutable ! How was he 
 to know that all the treasure so far discovered 
 was that modest hoard unearthed, as I had 
 heard, in the garden — the present whereabouts of 
 which was only known to Calypso. 'The King' 
 
248 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 had interrupted himself at this point of the 
 argument. 
 
 'Where, by the way, Calypso, is it?' asked 'the 
 King' unexpectedly, to the sudden confusion of 
 both of us. Isn't it time you revealed your 
 mysterious Aladdin's cave?' 
 
 At the word 'cave' the submerged rose in 
 Calypso's cheeks almost came to the surface of 
 their beautiful olive. 
 
 'Cave !' she countered manfully, 'who said it 
 was a cave?' 
 
 'It was merely a figure of speech — which, if I 
 might say so, my dear, might apply with equal 
 fitness, say — to a silk stocking.' 
 
 And Calypso laughed through another tide of 
 rose-colour. 
 
 'No, Dad, not that either. Never mind where 
 it is. It is perfectly safe, I assure you.' 
 
 'But are you sure, my dear? Wouldn't it be 
 safer, after all, here in the house? How can you 
 be certain that no one but yourself will accidentally 
 discover it?' 
 
 'I am absolutely certain that no . . . one . . . 
 will,' she answered, with an emphasis on the last 
 three words which sent a thrill through me, for I 
 knew that it was meant for me. Indeed, as she 
 spoke, she furtively gave me one of those glances 
 of soft fire which had burnt straight through to 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 249 
 
 my heart in Sweeney's store — a sort of blended 
 challenge and appeal. 
 
 'Of course, Dad,' she added, 'if you insist — 
 you shall have it. But I seriously think it is safer 
 where it is, and if I were to go to fetch it, how can 
 
 I be sure that no one ' she paused, with a 
 
 meaning I, of course, understood — 'Tobias, for 
 instance, would see me going — and follow me?' 
 
 'To be sure, to be sure,' said 'the King,' 'what do 
 you think, friend. Ulysses?' 
 
 'I think it more than Ukely,' I answered, 'and I 
 quite agree with Miss Calypso. I certainly wouldn't 
 advise her to visit her treasure just now — with 
 the woods probably full of eyes. ... In fact,' I 
 added, smihng frankly at her, 'I could scarcely 
 answer for myself even — for I confess that she has 
 filled me with an overpowering curiosity.' 
 
 And in my heart I stood once more amid the 
 watery gleams and echoes of that moonlit cavern 
 door, struck dumb before that shining princess 
 from whose mouth and hands fell those strange 
 streams of gold. 
 
 'So be it, then,' said 'the King,' 'and now to 
 consider what our friend here graphically speaks 
 <)i as those eyes in the wood. " The woods are 
 full of eyes" ... ah ! friend Ulysses, you evidently 
 share my taste for the romantic phrase. Who 
 cares how often it has been used? It is all the 
 
250 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 better for that. Like an old wine, it has gained 
 with age. One's whole boyhood seems to be in a 
 phrase Hke that . . . Dumas, Scott, Fenimore 
 Cooper. How often, I wonder, has that divine 
 phrase been written? — " the woods were full of 
 eyes." And now to think we are actually living 
 it — an old boy like myself even. " The woods 
 were full of eyes." Bravo ! Ulysses, for it is still 
 a brave and gallant world !' 
 
 'The King' then made a determined descent into 
 the practical. The woods were, most probably, 
 full of eyes. In plain prose, we were almost certainly 
 being watched. Unless . . . unless . . . indeed 
 my bogus departure for Nassau had fooled Tobias 
 as we had hoped. But, even so, with that lure 
 of Calypso's doubloon in his eyes, it was too 
 probable that he would not leave the neighbour- 
 hood without some further investigation ... 'an 
 investigation,' 'the King' explained, 'which might 
 well take the form of a midnight raid — murdered 
 in our beds and so forth.' 
 
 That being so, being in fact almost a certainty 
 — 'the King' spoke as though he would be a very 
 disappointed man otherwise — we must look to 
 our garrison. After all, besides ourselves, we had 
 but Samson and Erebus, and Tobias probably had 
 command of a round dozen of desperadoes. On 
 the whole perhaps, he said, it might be best to 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 251 
 
 avail ourselves of the crew of The Flamingo — we 
 might bring them up to the house, under cover 
 of the dark. . , . 'Under cover of the dark,' he 
 repeated with a smile. Yes ! that must be the 
 first step. We must get them up there that night, 
 under cover of the dark — keep them well hidden, 
 and, well ! wait developments. Charlie Webster 
 might be expected any moment with his reinforce- 
 ments — and then, lay on Macduff ! 
 
 While we had been talking, Samson had long 
 since been on his way \\ith the word to Sweeney 
 to look out for Webster, and, as he had been 
 admonished to hurry back, it was scarcely noon 
 when he returned, bringing in exchange a verbal 
 message from Sweeney. 
 
 'The pock-marked party,' ran the message as 
 delivered by Samson, 'had left the harbour in his 
 sloop that morning. Yas, sar !' 
 
 'Ha ! ha !' laughed 'the King,' turning to me. 
 'So two can play at that game, says Henry P. 
 Tobias, Jr. But if we haven't fooled him, let's 
 make sure that he hasn't fooled us. We'll bring 
 up your crew all the same — ^what do you think?' 
 
 'Under cover of the dark,' I assented. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 IN WHICH I BECOME 'THE KING's' PRISONER 
 
 Nothing further transpired that day, and at night- 
 fall we brought the crew of The Flamingo up to the 
 house — all but two of them, whom we left on guard. 
 Two out of six were rather more than we had bar- 
 gained for, but we found that not one of them had 
 the courage to face the night there in that dismal 
 swamp alone — and we couldn't blame them. For a 
 more devil-haunted desolation could not be imagined 
 even in the daylight — and the mere thought of what 
 might go on there after dark was enough to uncurl 
 the wool on the head of the bravest negro. And 
 we agreed too that the watch should be changed 
 nightly, a fresh pair going on duty each evening. 
 
 Then there was nothing to do but to sit down 
 and await events — among others the coming of 
 Charlie Webster. In regard to that, we had 
 decided that it would be as well that, instead of 
 disembarking at the settlement, he should come 
 and join The Flamingo in the hidden creek; so 
 Samson was once more despatched down to Sweeney 
 with a letter for him to hand to Charlie on his arrival, 
 
 giving him directions how to find us. Meanwhile, 
 
 252 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 253 
 
 our two men on The Flamingo could keep watch 
 for him day by day, and have a Hght burning for 
 him at the entrance of the creek by night. And 
 'the King's' instructions to me were that I was not 
 to show my nose outside the house. Possibly I 
 might expose the tip of it once in a while, for a 
 little exercise in the garden — where all this time 
 the Uttle silver fountain went on playing amid 
 the golden hush of the orange-trees, filling the 
 lotus flowers with big pearls of spray. But, for the 
 rest of the day, I must regard myself as his prisoner 
 — with the entire freedom of his study — a large 
 airy room on the second floor, well-furnished with 
 all manner of books, old prints, strange fishes in 
 glass cases, rods and guns and pipe-racks, curiosi- 
 ties of every kind from various parts of the world 
 — India, the South Seas, AustraUa, not forgetting 
 London and Paris — all the flotsam and jetsam of 
 a far- wandered man, who, as 'the King' remarked, 
 introducing their autobiographic display with a 
 comprehensive wave of his hand — ^had, like that 
 other wanderer unbeloved of all schoolboys, the 
 pious Aeneas, been much tossed about on land 
 and sea — vi superum saevae memorem junonis oh 
 iram — that he might found his city and bring safe 
 his household gods from Latium. Touching his 
 hand lightly on a row of old quartos, in the stout 
 calf-skin and tarnished gold dear to bookmen, — 
 
254 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'These,' he said, 'I recommend to you in your 
 enforced leisure.' 
 
 They were a collection of old French voyages — 
 Dampier and others, embellished with copper- 
 plate maps and quaint engravings of the fauna 
 and flora of a world still in all the romantic virginity 
 of its first discovery. 
 
 'This,' he said, pointing to a stout old jar 
 of Devonshire ware, 'is some excellent English 
 tobacco — my one extravagance; and here,' point- 
 ing to a pipe rack, 'are some well-tried friends 
 from that same " dear, dear land " — " sceptred isle 
 of kings," and so forth . . . and now I am going 
 to leave you, while I go with Samson and Erebus 
 on a little reconnoitring party around our domains.' 
 
 So he left me, and I settled down to a pipe and a 
 volume of Dampier; but, interesting as I found the 
 sturdy old pages, my thoughts, and perhaps particu- 
 larly my heart, were too much in the present, for 
 my attention long to be held by even so adventurous 
 a past; and, laying the book down, I rose from 
 my chair and made a tour of inspection of the 
 various eloquent objects about the room — objects 
 which made a sort of chronicle in bric-a-brac of 
 my fantastic friend's earthly pilgrimage, and here 
 and there to hint at the story of his strange soul. 
 Among the books, for example, was a fine copy 
 of Homer, with the arms of a well-known English 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 255 
 
 college stamped on the binding, and near by was 
 the faded photograph of a beautiful old EUzabethan 
 house, with mouldering garden walls, and a moat 
 brimming with water-lilies surrounding it. And, 
 close by it, was another faded photograph of a tall, 
 stately old lady, whom, at a glance, I surmised must 
 be 'the King's' mother. As I looked at it, my eyes 
 involuntarily wandered towards the garden with 
 its palms and its orange-trees. Far indeed had 
 the son of her heart wandered — Uke so many sons 
 of stately English mothers, from that liUed moat 
 and those old gables, and the proud old eyes that 
 would look on her son no more for ever. 
 
 And then, in my privileged inspection of these 
 sacred sjmibols, carried across so many storm- 
 tossed seas from that far-away Latium, I came upon 
 another photograph, hanging over the writing-desk — 
 a tall, Spanish-looking young woman of remarkable 
 beauty. It needed but one glance to realise that here 
 was Calypso's mother, and, as was natural, I stood 
 a long while scanning the face so like the face that, 
 from my first sight of it, had seemed the loveliest 
 face in the world — the flower that had been the 
 mother of a flower. It was a face more primitive 
 in its beauty, a little less touched with race than 
 the face I loved, but the same fearless, natural 
 nobility was in it, and the figure had the same wild 
 grace of pose, the same lithe strength of carriage. 
 
256 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 As I stood looking at it, lost in thought, I heard 
 'the King's' voice behind me. His step was so 
 light that I had not heard him enter the room. 
 
 'You are looking at Calypso's mother !' he 
 said. 'She was a beautiful creature. I will tell 
 you of her some day, Ulysses.' 
 
 And, indeed, that very night, as we sat over 
 our pipes, he told me; and, without word of his, 
 I knew that the loneliness of his heart had indeed 
 singled me out for his friend — for, for all his love 
 of speech, he was not the man to speak easily of 
 the deep things of the heart. 
 
 'Beauty is a very mysterious thing, friend 
 
 Ulysses,' he had begun, his eyes musing on the face 
 
 above his desk, 'as our old friends of the siege of 
 
 Troy knew all too well. The Eternal Helen ! 
 
 And in nothing is the divinity of youth so clearly 
 
 shown as in its worship of beauty — its faith that 
 
 there is nothing the world holds — the power 
 
 and the glory, the riches and the honours — nothing 
 
 so well worth fighting for — as a beautiful face. 
 
 When the world was young, the whole world 
 
 thought that too. Now we make ignoble war for 
 
 markets — but the Greeks made nobler warfare 
 
 — for a beautiful face, — 
 
 ' The face that launched a thousand ships, 
 And burnt the topless towers of Ilium. 
 
 'It is so still with every young man. " Fair 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 257 
 
 Helen ! make me immortal with a kiss " is still 
 his cry. Titles and broad lands, and all such 
 earthly gear — what are these to youth, with his 
 eyes on the face of the eternal Helen — that face we 
 meet once and once only, and either win — to lose all 
 the rest, or lose — and win what? What is there to 
 win if that be lost ! So, at all events, it was with 
 me, who, after winging away from those old gables 
 yonder on all the adventurous winds of the seven 
 seas, and having in truth looked into many a fair 
 face in every corner of the globe, suddenly came 
 upon the face I had been unconsciously seeking in 
 a certain little island of the French West Indies. 
 
 'And so, long years before my coming, had it 
 befallen also with a certain young French nobleman, 
 out there on military service, who had set eyes on 
 Calypso's grandmother in the streets of that quaint 
 little town, where the French soul seems almost 
 more at home than in France itself. All had seemed 
 nothing to him — his ancestral ties, his distinguished 
 future — compared with that glory of a woman. 
 He married her, and settled down for good, the 
 world well lost, in that dream island. And the 
 dream he had been faithful to remained faithful 
 to him. He seemed to have been a singularly happy 
 man. I never saw him, for he was dead when I 
 set foot on his island, destined, though I knew it 
 not, to live his life again in the love of his daughter. 
 
258 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'She and her mother were living quietly on the 
 small fortune he had left them, in an old palm- 
 shaded house backed by purple mountains, and 
 sung to by the sea. The soul of old France seemed 
 to haunt that old house like a perfume, taking on, 
 it seemed, a richer colour and drawing a more 
 ardent life from the passionate tropic soul that 
 enfolded it. Both had mysteriously met and 
 become visibly embodied in the lovely girl in 
 whose veins the best blood of France blended 
 with the molten gold of tropic suns. So, as had 
 happened with her mother, again it happened with 
 her — she took the wandering man to her heart . . .' 
 he paused, 'held him there for some happy years . . .' 
 he paused again, 'and the rest is — Calypso.' 
 
 We did not speak for a long time after he had 
 ended — but his confidence had touched me so 
 nearly that I felt I owed him my heart in exchange, 
 and it was hard not to cry out, — 
 
 'And now I love Calypso. Once more the far- 
 wandered man has found the great light on a 
 lonely shore.' 
 
 But I felt that to speak yet, believer in the 
 miracle of love though he had declared himself 
 to be, would seem as though I set too slight a 
 value on the miracle itself. 
 
 There should be a long hush before we speak when 
 a star has fallen out of heaven into our hearts. 
 
CHAPTER XITI 
 
 WE BEGIN TO DIG 
 
 Two or three days went by, but as yet there was 
 no news either of Charlie Webster or Tobias. 
 Nothing further had been heard of the latter in 
 the settlement, and a careful patrolling of the 
 neighbourhood revealed no signs of him. Either 
 his sailing away was a bona-fide performance, or 
 he was lying low in some other part of the island, 
 which, of course, would not be a difficult thing 
 for him to do, as most of it was wilderness, and 
 as, also, there were one or two coves on the deserted 
 northern side of the island where he could easily 
 bide his time. Between that coast and us, however, 
 lay some ten miles of scrub and mangrove swamps, 
 and it was manifestly out of the question to patrol 
 them too. There was nothing to do but to watch 
 and wait. 
 
 'Vigila et ora,' said 'the King.' 
 
 But in spite of that counsel, watching and pray- 
 ing was not much in 'the King's' temperament. 
 Besides, as I could see, he was anxious to begin 
 operations on John Teach's ruined mansion, and 
 was impatient of the delay. 
 
 259 
 
26o PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'With Golconda and Potosi beneath our very 
 feet,' he exclaimed at last, 'to be held up by this 
 scurvy, pock-marked ruffian, I swear, "I like it 
 not." No news from your duck-shooting friend 
 either. It is a slow-moving world, and the Bird 
 of Time has either lost his wings, or been captured 
 as a specimen on behalf of the Smithsonian 
 Institute.' 
 
 At last there came a message from Charlie 
 Webster, another of his Csesarian notes : 'Sony 
 delayed a few days longer. Any news?' 
 
 That seemed to decide 'the King.' 
 
 'What do you say, Ulysses?' he said, 'if we begin 
 digging to-morrow? After all, if Tobias should 
 happen to turn up in the midst of it, there are 
 ten of us, with as many guns, four revolvers, and 
 plenty of machetes — not counting Calypso, who 
 is an excellent shot herself.' 
 
 I agreed that nothing would please me better, 
 so an early hour of the following morning found 
 us with the whole garrison — excepting Samson, 
 whom it had been thought wise to leave at home as 
 bodyguard for Calypso — lined up at the old ruined 
 mansion, with picks and shovels and machetes, 
 ready to begin operations. 
 
 The first thing was to get rid of the immense 
 web, which, as I have already described, the forest 
 had woven with diabolic ingenuity all around, 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 261 
 
 and in and out, the skeleton of the sturdy old 
 masonry. Till that was done, it was impossible 
 to get any notion of the ground plan of the several 
 connected buildings. So the first day was taken 
 up with the chopping and slashing of vegetable 
 serpents, the tearing out of roots that writhed 
 as if with conscious life, the shearing away of all 
 manner of haunted leafage, all those dense fierce 
 growths with which nature loves to proclaim her 
 luxuriant victory over the work of man's hands 
 — as soon, so to say, as his back is turned for a 
 moment — like a stealthy savage foe ever on the 
 watch in the surrounding darkness and only waiting 
 for the hushing of human voices, for the cessation 
 of human footsteps, to rush in and overwhelm. 
 
 ' I passed by the walls of Balclutha and they were 
 desolate,' quoted 'the King,' touched, as even a 
 less reflective mind must have been, by this sinister 
 triumph of those tireless natural forces that neither 
 slumber nor sleep. 
 
 'Here,' said he, 'is the future of London and 
 Paris — in miniature. The flora and fauna will be 
 different. There will be none of these nasty centi- 
 pedes,' he had just crushed one with his foot, 
 'and oaks and beeches and other such friendly 
 trees will take the place of these outlandish mon- 
 strosities, and that pretty creature the wild rose 
 will fill the desolation with her sweet breath — • 
 
 s 
 
262 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 but the incredible desolation will be there — and 
 as we here to-day watch this gum-elemi tree 
 flourishing where the good Teach " gloried and 
 drank deep," so the men of future days will hear 
 the bittern booming in the Rue de la Paix and 
 their children will go a-blackberrying in Trafalgar 
 Square. Selah !' 
 
 Two days we were at it with axe and machete 
 — wearisome work, which gave Tom and I occasion 
 to exchange memories of the month we had put 
 in together on 'Dead Men's Shoes.' We smiled at 
 each other, as the other fellows groaned and 
 sweated. It seemed child's play to us after what 
 we had gone through, 
 
 'They should have been with us, Tom, shouldn't 
 they? They'd have known what work is . . .' 
 and I added, for the fun of watching his face — 
 'I wonder if we'll find any gentlemen plajdng poker 
 downstairs, Tom.' 
 
 'God forbid, sar ! God forbid!' he exclaimed, 
 with a look of terror. 
 
 The next step was the clearing away of the 
 mounds of fallen masonry and various rubbish 
 which still lay between us and our fortune — tedious 
 preliminaries which chafed the bojdsh heart of 
 'the King.' To tell the truth, I beUeve we had both 
 expected to uncover a gHttering hoard with the 
 first stroke of the pick. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 263 
 
 'And metals cry to me to be delivered !' quoted 
 'the King,' whimsically, fuming as he took his long 
 strides hither and thither amid the rubbish-heaps, 
 so slow to disappear, and reveal those underground 
 passages and hidden vaults by which the fancies 
 of both of us were obsessed. But we had worked 
 for a week before we had made a clearance of the 
 ground floor. Then at last we came upon a solidly- 
 built stone staircase winding downwards. After 
 clearing away the debris with which it was choked 
 to a depth of some twenty or thirty steps, we came 
 to a stout wooden door studded with nails. 
 
 'The dungeon at last !' said 'the King.' 
 
 'The kitchens, I bet,' said I. 
 
 After some battering, the door gave way with a 
 crash, a mouldering breath as of the grave met 
 our nostrils, and a cloud of bats flew in our faces 
 and set the negroes screaming. A huge, cavernous 
 blackness was before us. 'The King' called for 
 lanterns. 
 
 As we raised these above our heads and peered 
 into the darkness we both gave a laugh. 
 
 'Yo-Ho-Ho, and a bottle of rum,' sang 'the King.' 
 
 For all along the walls stood, or lay prone on 
 trestles, a silent company of hogsheads, festooned 
 with cobwebs, hke huge black wings. It was the 
 pirate's wine cellar ! 
 
264 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 Such was our discovery for that day, but there 
 is another matter which I must note, the fact 
 that somehow the news of our excavation seemed 
 to have got down to the settlement. It is a curious 
 fact, as 'the King' observed, that if a man should 
 start to dig for gold in the centre of Sahara, with 
 no possible means of communicating with his 
 fellows, on the third day there would not fail to 
 be some one to drop in and remark on the fineness 
 of the weather. So it was with us. As a general 
 thing, not once in ,a month did a human being 
 wander into that wilderness where 'the King' had 
 made his home. There was nothing to bring them 
 there, and, as I have made clear, the way was not 
 easy. Yet we had hardly begun work when one 
 and another idle nigger strolled in from the settle- 
 ment, and stood grinning his curiosity at our 
 labours. 
 
 'I believe it's them black parrots has told them,' 
 said old Tom, pointing to a bird common in the 
 island — something hke a small crow with a parrot's 
 beak. 'They're very knowing birds.' 
 
 I saw that Tom was serious. So I tried to draw 
 him out. 
 
 'What language do they speak, Tom?' I asked. 
 
 ' Them, sar ? They speaks Egyptian, ' he answered, 
 with perfect solemnity. 
 
 'Egyptian !' 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 265 
 
 'Yes, sar,' said Tom. 
 
 'Egyptian? . . . but who's going to understand 
 them ? ' 
 
 'There's always some old wise man or woman 
 in every village, sar, who understands them. You 
 remember old King Coffee in Grant's town?' 
 
 'Does he know Egyptian?' 
 
 'Oh, yaas, sar ! He knows 'gyptian right enough. 
 And he could tell you every word them birds says 
 — if he'd a mind to,' 
 
 'I wonder if Tobias knows Egyptian, Tom?' 
 
 'I wouldn't be at all surprised, sar,' he answered, 
 'he looks that kind of man,' and he added some- 
 thing about the prince of the powers of the air, 
 and suggested that Tobias had probably sold his 
 soul to the devil, and had, therefore, the advan- 
 tage of us in superior sources of information. 
 
 'He's not unhke one of those black parrots him- 
 self, is he, Tom?' I added, for Tom's word had 
 conjured up a picture for me of Tobias with his 
 great beak, and his close-set evil eyes, and a famiUar 
 in the form of a black parrot perched on his shoulders 
 whispering into one of his ugly ears. 
 
 However, we continued with our digging, and 
 Tobias continued to make no sign. But, at the 
 close of the third day from our discovery of John 
 Teach 's wine cellar, something happened which 
 set at rest the question of Tobias's knowledge of 
 
266 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 Egyptian, and proved that he was all too well 
 served by his aerial messengers. The three days 
 had been uneventful. We had made no more dis- 
 coveries, beyond the opening up of various prosaic 
 offices, and cellars that may once have harboured 
 loot, but were now empty of everything but bats 
 and centipedes. But, towards evening on the 
 third day, we had come upon a passage leading 
 out of one of these cellars that had such a 
 promising appearance that we kept at work later 
 than usual, and the sun had set, and night was 
 rapidly falhng as we turned homewards. 
 
 As we came in sight of the house we were struck 
 by a peculiar hush about it, and there were no 
 lights in the windows. 
 
 'No lights!' 'the King' and I exclaimed together, 
 involuntarily hurrying our steps, with a fore- 
 boding of we knew not what in our hearts. As we 
 crossed the lawn, the house loomed up dark and 
 still, and the door opening on to the loggia was 
 a square of blackness in a gloom of shadows 
 hardly less profound. Not a sound, not a sign of 
 Ufe. 
 
 'Calypso !' we both cried out, as we rushed across 
 the loggia. 'Calypso! where are you?' — but 
 there was no answer; and then, I, being ahead of 
 'the King,' stumbled over something dark lying 
 across the doorway. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 267 
 
 'Good God ! what is this?' I cried, and bending 
 down, saw it was Samson. 
 
 'The King' struck a match. Yes ! it was Samson, 
 poor fellow, with a dagger firmly planted in his 
 heart. 
 
 Near by, something white caught my eye attached 
 to the lintel of the doorway. It was a piece of 
 paper held there with a sailor's knife. I tore it off 
 in a frenzy, and, 'the King' striking another match, 
 we read it together. It was but a few words, 
 written all in capital letters with a coarse pencil : — 
 
 'WILL RETURN THE LADY— IN EX- 
 CHANGE FOR THE TREASURE'— and it was 
 signed 'H. P. T.' 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IN WHICH I LOSE MY WAY 
 
 I STOOD a full minute with the astonishing paper 
 in my hand, too stunned to speak or move. It 
 seemed too incredible an outrage to realise. Then 
 a torrent of feelings swept over me, wild fear for 
 her I loved, and impotent fury against the miscreant 
 who had dared even to conceive so foul a sacrilege. 
 To think of her beauty subject to such coarse 
 ruffianism. I pictured her bound and gagged 
 and carried along through the brush in the bestial 
 grasp of filthy negroes, and it seemed as though 
 my brain would burst at the thought. 
 
 'The audacity of the fellow !' exclaimed 'the 
 King,' who was the first to recover. 
 
 'But Calypso!' I cried. 
 
 'The King' laid his hand on my shoulder, reassur- 
 ingly. 
 
 'Don't be afraid for her,' he said. 'I know my 
 daughter.' 
 
 'But I love her !' I cried, thus blurting out in 
 
 my anguish what I had designed to reveal in some 
 
 tranquil chosen hour. 
 
 268 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 269 
 
 'I have loved her for twenty years,' said 'the 
 King,' exasperatingly calm. 
 
 'But something must be done !' I cried. 'I will 
 go to the Commandant at once and rouse the 
 settlement . . . give me a lantern,' I called to 
 one of the negroes, who by this had come up 
 to us, and were standing around in a terrified group. 
 I waited only for it to be lit, and then, without a 
 word, dashed wildly into the forest. 
 
 'Hadn't you better take some one with you?' 
 I heard 'the King' call after me, but I was too dis- 
 traught to reply, plunging head foremost through 
 the tangled darkness — my brain boiling like a 
 cauldron with anger and a thousand fears, and 
 my heart stung too with wild, unreasoning remorse. 
 After all, it was my doing. 
 
 'To think ! to think ! to think !' I cried aloud, 
 leaving the rest unspoken. 
 
 I meant that it had all come of my insensate 
 pursuit of that filthy treasure, when all the time 
 the only treasure I craved was — Calypso herself. 
 Poor old ignorant Tom had been right after all — 
 nothing good came of such enterprises. There 
 was a curse upon them from the beginning. And 
 then, as I thought of Tobias, my body shook so 
 that I could hardly keep on walking, and next 
 minute my hatred of him so nerved me up again 
 that I ran on through the brush, Uke a madman, 
 
2 70 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 my clothes clutched at by the devilish vines and 
 torn at every yard. 
 
 I fled past the scene of our excavations, looking 
 more haunted than ever in the flashing gleam of 
 the lantern. With an oath, I left them behind, as 
 the accursed cause of all this evil ; but I could not 
 have gone by them many yards when suddenly 
 I felt the ground giving way beneath me in a 
 violent jerk. My arms went up in a wild effort 
 to save myself, and then, in a panic of fright, I 
 felt myself shooting downwards, as one might 
 fall down the shaft of a mine. Vainly I clutched 
 at rocky walls as I sped down in the earth-smeUing 
 darkness. I seemed to be faUing for ever, and, 
 for a moment, my head cleared, and I had time to 
 think of the crash that was coming at the end of 
 my curious fall — a crash that, I said to myself, 
 must mean death. It came with sudden crunching 
 pain, a swift tightening round my heart, as though 
 black ropes were being lashed tightly about it, 
 squeezing out my breath, and then entire black- 
 ness engulfed me, and I knew no more. 
 
 How long I lay there in the darkness I cannot 
 tell. All I remember is my suddenly opening my 
 eyes on intense blackness, and vaguely wondering 
 where I was. My head felt strangely clear and 
 alive, but for a moment I could remember nothing. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 271 
 
 I was only conscious of a strong earthy smell, 
 and my eyes felt so keen that, as the phrase goes, 
 they seemed to make darkness visible. They 
 seemed, too, to see themselves as rings of light in 
 the blackness. My head, too, seemed entirely 
 detached from my body, of which so far I was 
 unconscious. But, presently, the thought of it 
 came back to me, and involuntarily I tried to 
 move — to find, with a sort of indifferent mild 
 surprise, that it was impossible. 
 
 So there I lay, oddly content in the dark, the 
 pungent smell of the earth my only sensation, 
 and my head uselessly clear. Then, bit by bit, 
 it all came back to me, Hke returning circulation 
 in a numbed limb — but as yet dreamily, as some- 
 thing long ago and far away. Then I found myself 
 partly risen and leaning on my elbow, and 
 looking about — into nothingness. Then, slowly 
 feeling seemed to be coming back to the rest of me. 
 My head was no longer isolated. It was part of 
 a heavy something that lay inert on the ground, 
 and was beginning to feel numbly, to ache dimly. 
 Then I found that I could move one of my legs, 
 then the other, and then, with a mighty effort, I 
 could almost raise myself. But for the moment 
 I had to fall back. Then, however, the remem- 
 brance of what had happened began to grow in 
 force and keenness, and, of a sudden, the thought 
 
272 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 of Calypso smote me like a sword, and without 
 thinking, I stood up and leaned weakly against 
 a rocky wall. Miracle of miracles ! I could stand. 
 I was not dead, after all. 
 
 I was not, indeed, so far as I could tell, seriously 
 hurt. Badly bruised, of course, but no bones 
 broken. It seemed incredible, but so it was. The 
 realisation made me feel weak again, and I sat 
 down with my back propped up against the rock, 
 and waited for more strength. Slowly my thoughts 
 fumbled around the situation. Then, as by force 
 of habit, my hand went to my pocket. God be 
 praised ! I had matches, and I cried with thank- 
 fulness, out of very weakness. But I still sat on 
 in the dark for awhile. I felt very tired. Then, 
 after thinking about it for a long time, I took out 
 my precious match-box, which unconsciously I 
 had been hugging with my hand, and struck a light, 
 looking about me in a dazed fashion. The match 
 burnt down to my fingers, and I threw it away, 
 as the flame stung me. I had seen something of 
 my surroundings, enough to last my tired brain 
 for a minute or two. I was at the bottom of a 
 sort of crevasse, a narrow cleft in the rocks which 
 continued on in a slanting downward chasm into 
 the darkness. It was a natural corridor, with a 
 floor of white sand. The sand had accounted for 
 my coming off without any broken bones. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 273 
 
 After another minute or two I struck another 
 match, and — another miracle ! There was my 
 lantern lying beside me. The glass of it was broken, 
 but that was no matter. As I ht the wick, my hopes 
 leaped up with the flame. At the worst, I had 
 light. 
 
 'Lux ex tenehris /' I seemed to hear the voice 
 of 'the King,' inextinguishably gay; and at the 
 thought of him my inertia passed. What could he 
 be thinking? His daughter spirited away, and now 
 I too mysteriously vanished. What was happening 
 up there all this time ? Up there ! How far was it 
 to 'up there'? How far had I fallen? All about 
 me was so terribly still and shut away. I could 
 believe myself at the very centre of the earth, and 
 it seemed ages ago, aeons of time, since I had last 
 seen 'the King.' What time was it? I felt for 
 my watch. I found the wreck of it. It was the 
 only thing that had suffered. It was smashed to 
 smithereens. 
 
 Then I moved myself again, and taking up the 
 lantern, raised it aloft, but the chasm down which 
 I had fallen went up and up in a slanting direction, 
 and lost itself in darkness. Bringing it down to 
 the level again, I examined the rock corridor. 
 Behind me, as before me, it continued, a long deep 
 fissure, splitting its way through the earth. I 
 limped my way some yards of the section that 
 
274 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 lay behind me, but it seemed to me that it was 
 growing narrower as it went on, as though it were 
 coming to an end, and indeed, after a while, I 
 came to a place where it was too narrow for me 
 to pass. 
 
 I swung my lantern aloft, seeking the possibilities 
 of a climb, but everywhere it was sheer, without 
 a ledge or protuberance of any kind to take advan- 
 tage of, and it was utterly devoid of vegetation — 
 not a sign of a friendly shrub or root to hold by. 
 
 So I turned back to try my luck in the other 
 direction. But first I shouted and shouted with 
 all my might. I could not be far away from the 
 ruins, and there was a fair chance of some one 
 hearing me. However, I had little faith in my effort, 
 and was too tired to keep it up; so I turned with 
 my lantern to the other end of the corridor. And 
 here it was easy going, along a gently graded 
 descent, paved, as I have said, with white sand, 
 in which shells were here and there embedded. 
 My heart beat wildly. Perhaps I had only to walk 
 a little farther to come out on the sea — for here 
 certainly the sea had been once, whether or not 
 it came up there any more. Vain hope ! for when 
 I had followed the corridor some fifty yards or 
 so, it suddenly widened out for a few yards into 
 something of a cavern, and then as suddenly 
 narrowed into a mere slit, and so came to an end. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 275 
 
 The spark of hope had weakened me. I slid 
 down, with my back against the rock, and gave 
 way to despair. As I looked up at the smooth, im- 
 placable walls that imprisoned me, I felt like some 
 poor insect caught in the sides of a bowl, with 
 water beneath it. How frantically the poor creature 
 claws and claws the pohshed sides, at each effort 
 slipping nearer and nearer to the fatal flood. But 
 I had sense enough to know that I was too tired 
 to think profitably, and drowsiness coming over 
 me, told me that an hour or two's sleep would give 
 me the strength I needed to renew my efforts to 
 escape with a will and more chance of success. 
 But light was too precious to waste. So I blew 
 out my lantern, and, curUng up on the sand, 
 almost instantly fell asleep. But, before I lapsed 
 into unconsciousness, I had clutched hold of one 
 sustaining thought in the darkness, the assurance 
 of Calypso's safety, so confidently announced by 
 her father : 'Don't be afraid for her. I know my 
 daughter.' Whatever happened to me she would 
 come out all right. As her brave shape flashed 
 on me down there under the earth, I could have 
 no doubt of that. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 IN WHICH I PURSUE MY RESEARCHES AS A 
 TROGLODYTE 
 
 My instinct had been right in giving way to my 
 drowsiness, for I woke up from my sleep a new 
 man. How long I had been there, of course, I had 
 no means of knowing, but I fancy I must have 
 slept a long while, for I felt so refreshed and full 
 of determination to tackle my escape in good 
 earnest. It is remarkable how rest sharpens one's 
 perceptions. When we are weary, we only half 
 see what we look at, and the very thing we are 
 desperately seeking may be right under our noses 
 and we quite unaware. So I had hardly re-lit my 
 lantern, when its rays revealed something which 
 it seemed impossible for any one with eyes, how- 
 ever weary, to have overlooked. 
 
 In the right hand corner of the little cavern, 
 five or six feet above my head, was a dark hole, 
 like the entrance to a tunnel, or, more properly 
 speaking, a good-sized burrow — for it was scarcely 
 more than a yard in diameter. It seemed to be 
 
 something more than a mere cavity in the rock, 
 
 276 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 277 
 
 for when I flashed my lantern up to it, I could see 
 no end. To climb up to it, at first, seemed difficult; 
 but providentially I had a stout clasp-knife in my 
 pocket, and with this I cut a step or two in the 
 porous rock, and so managed it. Lying prone on 
 my stomach, I looked in. It was as I had thought 
 — a narrow, natural tunnel snaking through the 
 rocks, as often happens in those curious, fantastic 
 coral formations, for all the world, indeed, as if 
 it had been made ages ago by some monstrous 
 primeval serpent, a giant worm-hole no less, 
 leading Heaven alone knew where. 
 
 There was just room to crawl along it on all 
 fours, so I started cautiously, making sure I had 
 my precious matches and my jack-knife all safe. 
 After all, I said to myself, I was no worse off than 
 thousands of poor devils in mines. I had myself 
 snaked through just such passages in coal-mines. 
 Still, I confess that the choking sense of being 
 shut in this earth-smelling tube, like a fox in a 
 drain, and the sudden realisation of the appalling 
 tonnage of superincumbent earth above me, liable 
 at any moment to loosen and, as with a giant 
 thumb, press out my poor little insect existence, 
 made the sweat pour from me and my heart stand 
 still — and I had to shut my eyes for a moment 
 and command myself back to calmness and courage, 
 before I could go on. Above all things, I had to 
 
 T 
 
278 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 blindfold my imagination, the last companion 
 for such a situation. 
 
 After this first flurry of fear, I went on crawling 
 in a methodical way, allowing no thought to enter 
 my mind that did not concern the yard or two of 
 earth immediately ahead of me. So I progressed, 
 I should say, for some twenty or thirty yards, 
 when, to my inexpressible relief, I came out, still on 
 all fours, upon a spreading floor, and, standing 
 up, I perceived that I was in a cave of considerable 
 loftiness, and some forty feet or so across. It was 
 good to breathe again such comparatively free 
 air; yet, as I looked about and made the circuit 
 of the walls, I saw that I had but exchanged one 
 prison for another. There was this difference, how- 
 ever, that, whereas there had only been one passage- 
 way from the cave I had just left, there were several 
 similar outlets from that where I now stood. Two 
 or three of them proved to be nothing but alcoves 
 that ran a few yards and then stopped. But there 
 were two close by each other which seemed to 
 continue on. There was not much choice between 
 them, but, as both made in the same direction, 
 as far as I could judge the direction in which I 
 had so far progressed, I decided to take the larger 
 one. It was the same sort of thing as the tunnel 
 I had already traversed, only a little roomier, and 
 so it was easier going, and again it brought me 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 279 
 
 out, as the other, on still another cavern — but 
 one considerably larger in extent. 
 
 Here, however, I speedily perceived that it was 
 not a case of one cavern, but several, opening out, 
 by natural archways, one into another, I walked 
 eagerly through them, scanning their ceilings for 
 sign of some outlet into the upper air, but in vain. 
 Still, after the strangUng embrace of those tunnels, 
 it was good to have so much space to breathe and 
 walk about in. In fact, I had stumbled on some- 
 thing hke a Monte Cristo suite of underground 
 apartments. And here for a moment I released 
 my imagination from her blinders, and allowed 
 her to play around these strange halls. And in 
 one of her suggestions there was some comfort. 
 It was hardly likely that caverns of such extent 
 had waited for me to discover them. They must 
 surely have been known to Teach, or whatever 
 buccaneer it was who had occupied the ruined 
 mansion not so very far off above-ground. What 
 better place could be conceived for his business? 
 It was even likely — more than likely — almost certain, 
 that there was some secret passage-way connect- 
 ing this series of caves with the old house — if one 
 could only find it. And so imagination, the dear 
 creature, prattled on to me, till I thought it was 
 time to bhndfold her again — and return to business. 
 
 StiU, there was something in what she had said, 
 
2 8o PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 and I set about the more carefully to examine 
 every nook and corner. And, if I didn't find any- 
 thing so splendid as she had dreamed, I did 
 presently find evidence that, as she had said, I 
 was not the first human being to stand where I 
 stood. Two iron staples embedded in one of the 
 walls, with rusting chains and manacles attached, 
 were melancholy proof of one of the uses to which 
 the place had once been put. Melancholy for 
 certain unhappy souls long since free of all mortal 
 chains— but for me, need I say, exceedingly joyous ! 
 For if there had been a way to bring prisoners here, 
 it was none the less evident that there had been 
 a way to take them out. But how and where? 
 Again I searched every nook and cranny, but there 
 was no sign of entrance anywhere. Then a thought 
 occurred to me. What if the entrance were after 
 the manner of a mediaeval oubliette — through the 
 ceiUng ! There was a thought indeed to send one's 
 hopes soaring. I ran in my eagerness through 
 one cavern after another, holding my lantern 
 aloft. That must be the solution. There could 
 be no other way. I sought and sought, but alas ! 
 it was a false hope, and I threw myself down in a 
 corner in despair, deciding that the prisoners must 
 have been forced to crawl in as I had — though 
 it was hardly like jailers to put themselves to such 
 inconvenience. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 281 
 
 I leaned my head back against the wall and gazed 
 listlessly upwards. Next moment I had bounded 
 to my feet again. Surely I had seen some short 
 regular hues running up the face of the rock hke a 
 ladder. I raised my lantern. Sure enough they 
 were iron rounds set in the face of the rock, and 
 they mounted up till I lost them in the obscurity, 
 for the cave here must have been forty feet high. 
 Blessed Heaven ! I was saved. 
 
 But alas ! they did not begin till some six feet 
 above my head, and the wall was sheer. How was 
 I to reach them? The rock was too sheer for me 
 to cut steps in as I had done farther back. I 
 looked about me. Again the luck was with me. 
 In one of the caves I had noticed some broken 
 pieces of fallen rock. They were terribly heavy, 
 but despair lent me strength, and, after an hour 
 or two's work, I had managed to roll several of 
 them to the foot of the ladder, and with an effort 
 of which I would not have beheved myself capable, 
 had been able to build them one on top of the other 
 against the wall. So, I found myself able to grasp 
 the lowest rung with my hands. Then, fastening 
 the lantern round my neck with my necktie, I 
 prepared to mount. 
 
 The climb was not difficult once I had managed 
 to get my feet on the first rung of the ladder; but 
 there was always the chance that one of the rungs 
 
2 82 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 might have rusted loose with time, in which case, 
 of course, it would have given way in my grasp, 
 and I have been precipitated backward to certain 
 death below. 
 
 However, the man who had morticed them had 
 done an honest piece of work, and they proved 
 as firm as the day they were placed there. Up 
 and up I went, till I must have been forty feet 
 above the floor, and then as I neared the roof, 
 instead of coming to a trap door, as I had con- 
 jectured, I found that the ladder came to an end 
 at the edge of a narrow ledge running along 
 near the ceiling, much as a clerestory runs near 
 the roof of some old churches. On to this I managed 
 to climb. It was barely a yard wide, and the im- 
 pending roof did not permit of one's standing 
 erect. It was a dizzy situation, and it seemed 
 safest to crawl along on all fours holding the lantern 
 in front of me. Presently it brought me up sharp 
 in a narrow recess. It had come to an end. 
 
 Yes ! but imagine my joy ! it had come to an 
 end at a low archway rudely cut in the rock. Deep 
 set in the archway was a stout wooden door. My 
 first thought was that I was trapped again, but, 
 to my infinite surprise and gratitude, it proved 
 to be sKghtly ajar, and a vigorous push sent it 
 grinding back on its hinges. What next ! I 
 wondered. At all events, I was no longer lost in 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 283 
 
 the bowels of the earth, and, step by step, I was 
 coming nearer to the frontiers of humanity. 
 
 But I was certainly not prepared for what next 
 met my eyes as I pushed through the low doorway 
 with my lantern, and looked around. Yes ! indeed, 
 man had certainly been here — man, too, very pur- 
 poseful and business-like. I was in a sort of low, 
 narrow gallery, some forty feet long, to which the 
 arching roof made a crypt-like ceiling. At my 
 first glance I saw that there was another door at 
 the far end similar to the door I had entered by; 
 and on the left side of the gallery, built of rough 
 stone from the low ceiUng to the floor, was a series 
 of compartments, each with a locked wooden door. 
 They were strong and grim looking, and might 
 have been taken for prison-cells, or family vaults, 
 or possibly wine bins. The massive locks were 
 red with rust, and there was plainly no possibility 
 of my opening them. 
 
 On the other side of the gallery there was a 
 litter of old chains, and some boards, probably 
 left over from the doors. Yes ! and there were 
 two old flint-lock guns, and several cutlasses, all 
 eaten away with rust, also a rough seaman's chest 
 open and falling to pieces. At the sight of that a 
 wild thought flashed through my brain. What 
 if — good God ! — what if this was John Teach's 
 treasury ! Behind those grim doors. ... I threw 
 
284 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 myself with all my force against one and then the 
 other. For the moment I forgot that my paramount 
 business was to escape. But I might as well have 
 hurled myself against the solid rock. And, at 
 that moment, I noticed that the place was darker 
 than it had been. My lantern was going out. In 
 a moment or two I should be in the pitch dark, 
 and I had discovered that the door at the end of 
 the gallery was as solid as the others. 
 
 I was to be trapped after all; and I pictured 
 myself slowly dying there of hunger — the pangs 
 of which I was already beginning to feel — and 
 some one, years hence, finding me there, a mouldering 
 skeleton — some one who would break open those 
 doors, and uncover those gleaming hoards, and 
 moralise on the irony of my end : condemned to 
 die there of starvation, with the treasure I had 
 so long sought on the other side of those unyielding 
 doors. Old Tom's words suddenly flashed over 
 me, and I could feel my hair literally beginning 
 to rise. 'There never was a buried treasure yet 
 that didn't claim its victim !' Great God ! — and 
 I was to be the ghost, and keep guard in this terrible 
 tomb, till the next dead man came along to relieve 
 me of my sentry duty ! 
 
 I frantically turned up the wick of my lantern 
 at the thought — but it was no use. It was plainljr 
 going out. I examined my match-box. I had 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 285 
 
 still a dozen or so matches left — and then my 
 eyes fell on that shattered chest. There were those 
 boards too. At all events I could build a fire, 
 and make torches of slivers of wood as long as the 
 wood lasted. And then I had an idea. Why not 
 make the fire against the door at the end of the 
 gallery, and so burn my way through. Bravo ! 
 My spirits rose at the thought, and I set to at once 
 — splitting some small kindling with my knife. 
 In a few minutes I had quite a sprightly little fire 
 going at the bottom of the door, but I saw that I 
 should have to be extravagant with my wood if 
 the fire was to be effective. However, it was neck 
 or nothing; so I piled on beams and boards till 
 my fire roared like a furnace, and presently I had 
 the joy of seeing it begin to take hold of the door — 
 which, after a short time, began to crackle and 
 splutter in a very cheering fashion. Whatever lay 
 beyond, it was evident that I should soon be able 
 to break my way through that obstacle, and, 
 indeed, so it proved; for, presently, I used one of 
 the boards as a battering ram, and to my inex- 
 pressible joy, it went crashing through, with a 
 shower of sparks, and it was but the work of a 
 few more minutes before the whole door fell flaming 
 down and I was able to leap through the doorway 
 into the darkness of the other side. 
 
 As I stood there, peering ahead, and holding 
 
2 86 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 aloft a burning stick, which proved, however, 
 a poor substitute for my lantern — a wonderful 
 sound smote my ears. I could not believe it, and 
 my knees shook beneath me. It was the sound 
 of the sea. 
 
 Yes ! it was no illusion. It was the sound the 
 sea makes singing and echoing through hollow 
 caves — the sound I had heard that night as I stood 
 at the moonlit door of Calypso's hiding-place, and 
 saw that vision which my heart nearly broke to 
 remember. Calypso ! O Calypso ! where was 
 she at this moment — pray God, she was indeed 
 safe, as her father had said. But I had to will her 
 from my mind, to keep from going mad. 
 
 And my poor torch had gone out, having, how- 
 ever, given me light enough to see that the door 
 which I had just burnt through let out on to a 
 narrow platform on the side of a rock that went 
 slanting down into a chasm of blackness, through 
 which, as in a great shell, boomed that murmuring 
 of the sea. It had a perilous, ugly look, and it 
 was plain that it would be foolhardy to attempt 
 it at the moment without a light, and my fire was 
 beginning to die down. Besides, I was beginning 
 to feel light-headed and worn out, partly from 
 lack of food no doubt. Still, as there was no food 
 to be had, I recalled the old French proverb, 'He 
 eats who sleeps,' or something to that effect. So 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 287 
 
 I determined to husband my strength once more 
 with a brief rest. However, as I turned to throw 
 some more wood on my fire, preparing to indulge 
 myself with a little camp-fire cheerfulness, as I 
 dozed off, my eyes fell once more on that grim 
 Une of locked doors — and my curiosity and an 
 idea made me wakeful again. I had burned 
 down one door — why not another ! Why not, 
 indeed ! 
 
 So I raked over my fire to the family vault 
 nearest to me, and presently had it roaring and 
 licking against the stout door. It was, apparently, 
 not so soUd as the gallery door had been. At all 
 events, it kindled more easily, and it was not long 
 before I had the satisfaction of battering that 
 down too. As I did so, I caught sight of something 
 in the interior that made me laugh aloud and 
 behave generally like a madman. 
 
 Of course, I didn't beheve my eyes, but they 
 persisted in declaring, nevertheless, that there 
 in front of me was a great iron-bound oaken chest, 
 to begin with. It might, of course, contain nothing 
 but bones . . . but it might. . , . The thing was 
 too absurd. I had already fallen asleep and was 
 dreaming. But no ! I was labouring with all my 
 strength to open it with one of those rusty cutlasses. 
 It was a tough job, but my strength was as the 
 strength of ten, for the old treasure-hunting lust 
 
2 88 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 was upon me, and I had forgotten everything 
 else in the world. 
 
 At last, with a great wooden groan, as though 
 its heart was breaking at having to give up its 
 secret at last, it crashed open — and I fell on my 
 knees as though I had been struck by lightning : 
 for it was literally brimming over with silver and 
 gold pieces — doubloons and pieces of eight, and 
 English and French coins too — guineas and louis 
 d'or : 'all,' as Tobias's MS. had said, 'all good 
 money.' 
 
 For a while I knelt over it, dazed, bUnded, lost 
 — then I slowly plunged my hands into it, and 
 let the pieces pour and pour through them, literally 
 bathing them in gold and silver as I had read of 
 misers doing. 
 
 Meanwhile I talked insanely to myself, made 
 all sorts of inarticulate noises, sang shreds of old 
 songs, and then, rising up at length, I capered 
 up and down the gallery, talking aloud to 'the King' 
 as though he had been there, and anon breaking 
 out again into absurd song, roaring it out at the 
 top of my voice, and laughing and war-whooping 
 between : — 
 
 ' There was chest on chest of Spanish gold, 
 With a ton of plate in the middle hold, 
 And the cabin's riot of loot untold . . .* 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 289 
 
 Then I suddenly broke out into an Irish jig — 
 never having had any notion of doing such a thing 
 before. 
 
 In fact I behaved as I have read of men doing 
 whom a sudden fortune has bereft of reason. 
 For the time, at all events, I was a gibbering mad- 
 man. Certainly, there was to be no sleep for me 
 that night ! But in the full tide of my frenzy, I 
 suddenly noticed something that brought me up 
 sharp. Out beyond the doorway — it was growing 
 light. It was only a dim, tremulous suffusion of 
 it, indeed, but it was real daylight — oozing in 
 from somewhere or other — the blessed, blessed 
 daylight ! God be praised ! 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 IN WHICH I UNDERSTAND THE FEELINGS 
 OF A GHOST 
 
 So, I surmised, I had been underground a whole 
 
 day and two nights, and this was the morning of 
 
 the second day after Calypso's disappearance. 
 
 What had been happening to her all this time ! 
 
 My flesh crept at the thought, and, with that 
 
 daylight stealing in like a living presence, and the 
 
 sound and breath of the sea, my anguish returned 
 
 a hundredfold. It was Uke coming out of an 
 
 anaesthetic, for I realised that, actively as I had 
 
 been occupied in trying to escape, I had been all 
 
 the time under a curious numbing spell. Just as 
 
 my ears had seemed muffled with a silence that 
 
 was more than the stillest silence above ground — 
 
 silence that was itself a captive, airless and gasping, 
 
 so to say, with the awful pressure of all that obUvious 
 
 earth above and around — a silence that made me 
 
 realise with a dreadful reaUty what had been a 
 
 mere phrase for me before — 'the silence of the 
 
 grave' — silence literally buried aUve, with eyes 
 
 fixed in a trance of horror; — just in the same way, 
 
 290 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 291 
 
 all my feelings of mind and heart, memory and 
 emotion, had likewise been deadened as with 
 some heavy narcotic of indifference — so that I 
 felt and yet did not feel, and remembered and yet 
 did not remember. 
 
 The events of a few hours before, and the dearly 
 loved friends taking part in them, seemed infinitely 
 remote, for all their clearness, as one sees a figure 
 waving to us from a distance, and knows that it 
 is calling to us, but cannot hear a word. So one 
 lies back in the grip of a deadly sickness, and all 
 that was unusually so important and moving to 
 us seems Hke a picture, definite yet remote, in 
 which we have no part any more. 
 
 I think one would die soon and easily under- 
 ground, as creatures in a vacuum, for the will to 
 live has so little to nourish itself on. One's whole 
 nature falls into a catalepsy, all seems asleep in 
 us, save the animal impulse to escape — an impulse 
 that would soon grow weary too. So, it seemed 
 to me, as I saw the hght and drew the breath of 
 the hving world once more, that even my love for 
 Calypso had, so to say, been in a state of suspended 
 animation during an entombment which was 
 heavy with the poppy of the grave, and made me 
 understand why the dead forget us so soon. 
 
 But now as I stood on the little rocky platform 
 outside the door through which I had burned my 
 
292 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 way, and looked down into the glimmering chasm 
 beneath, and heard the fresh voice of the sea, 
 huskily rumbling and reverberating about hidden 
 grottos and channels, all that Calypso was to me 
 came back with the keenness of a sword through 
 my heart. Ah ! there was my treasure — as I had 
 known when my eyes first beheld her — to which 
 that gold and silver in there, the gleam of which 
 had made me momentarily distraught, was but 
 so much dust and ashes. Ardently as I had sought 
 it, what was it compared to one glance of her eyes. 
 What if, in the same hour, I had lost my true 
 treasure, and found the false — and, at the thought, 
 that glittering heap became abhorrent to me. 
 and, without looking back, I sought for some way 
 by which I could descend. 
 
 As my eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, 
 I saw that there were some shallow steps cut 
 diagonally in the rock, and down these I had soon 
 made my way to find myself in a rocky corridor, 
 so much like that in which I had seen Calypso 
 standing in the moonlight that, for a moment, I 
 dreamed it was the same, and started to run down 
 it, thinking that indeed my troubles were over, 
 and in another moment I would emerge through 
 that enchanted door and face the sea. The more 
 so, as the sand was wet under my feet, showing 
 that the tide had but recently left it. Breathless, 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 293 
 
 I hastened on, and turning a rocky corner, there, 
 in very truth, was a gleam of the sea — but not 
 alas ! as I had expected it, a broad shining door- 
 way, open arms of freedom widespread for me to 
 leap into, but merely a long narrow slit through 
 which I could gaze as a man gazes through a prison 
 window at the sky. 
 
 The entrance had once been wide and free, but 
 a mass of rock had fallen from above and blocked 
 it up, leaving only a long crack through which 
 the tides came to and fro, I was still in my trap 
 — and it seemed more terrible than ever, now that 
 I could see freedom so close and shining, her very 
 robe rustling within a few feet of me, her very 
 voice calling to me, singing to me the morning 
 song of the sea. But in the caverns behind me I 
 heard another mocking song, and I felt a cold 
 breath on my cheek, for Death stood by my side 
 agrin. 
 
 'The treasure !' he whispered, 'I need you to 
 guard that. The treasure you have risked all to 
 win — the treasure for which you have lost — your 
 treasure ! You cannot escape. Go back and 
 count your gold. " It — is — all — good — money ! " 
 Ha ! ha ! " It — is — all — good — money \" ' 
 
 The illusion seemed so real to me that I cried 
 aloud : — 
 
 'I will not die ! I will not die !' — cried it so 
 
 u 
 
294 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 loud that any one in a passing boat might have 
 heard me, and shuddered — wondering what poor 
 ghost it was waiUng among the rocks. 
 
 But the fright had done me good, and I nerved 
 myself up for another effort. I examined the 
 long crevice through which the sea was glittering 
 so near. It was not so narrow as it had at first 
 seemed, and I reckoned that it was some twenty 
 feet through. On my side it was a little over a 
 foot across. Wouldn't it be possible to wedge 
 myself through? I tried it at the opening, and 
 found that, with my arms extended sidewise, it 
 was comparatively easy to enter it, though it was 
 something of a tight fit. If it only kept the same 
 width all through I ought to be able to manage 
 it, inch by inch, if it took all day. But did it? 
 On the contrary, it seemed to me that it narrowed 
 slightly towards the middle, and, judging by the 
 way the light fell on the other side, that it widened 
 out again farther on. 
 
 If only I were able to wriggle past that con- 
 traction in the middle I should be safe. And if I 
 stuck fast midway. . . . But the more I measured 
 the width with my eye the less the narrowing 
 seemed to me. To be so slightly perceptible, it 
 could hardly be enough to make much difference. 
 Caution whispered that it might be enough to 
 make the difference between life and death. But 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 295 
 
 already my choice of those two august alternatives 
 was so Hmited as hardly to be called a choice. 
 On the one hand, I could worm my way back 
 through the caves and tunnels through which I 
 had passed, and try my luck again at the other 
 end . . . 
 
 'With half a dozen matches!' sneered a voice 
 that sounded like Tobias— 'Precisely' . . . and the 
 horror of it was more than I dared face again any 
 way. So there was nothing for it but this aperture, 
 hardly wider than one of those deep stone sUts 
 that stood for windows in a Norman castle. It was 
 my last chance, and I meant to take it like a man. 
 
 I stood for a moment nerving myself and taking 
 deep breaths, as though I expected to take but 
 few more. Then, my left arm extended, I entered 
 sideways, and began to edge myself along. It 
 was easy enough for a couple of yards, but it was 
 plain that it was beginning to narrow. Very 
 slightly indeed, but still a httle. However, I 
 could still go on, and ... I could still go back. 
 I went on, more slowly indeed — yet still I pro- 
 gressed. But the rock was perceptibly closer to 
 me. I had to struggle harder. It was beginning 
 to hug me, very gently indeed, but it was beginning. 
 
 I paused to take breath. I could not turn my 
 head to look back, but I judged that I had come 
 over a third of the way. I was coming up to the 
 
296 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 waist as I had feared, but I could still go on, very 
 slowly indeed, scarce more than an inch at every 
 effort, yet every inch counted, and I had lots of 
 time. My feet and head were free, which was 
 the main thing. Another good push or two and I 
 should be at the waist. I should know my fate. 
 
 I gave the good push or two, and suddenly the 
 arms of the rock were around me. Tight and close 
 this time they hugged me. They held me fast, 
 like a rude lover, and would not let me go. My 
 knees and feet were fast, and my shoulders were 
 fast, and the walls on each side pressed my cheeks. 
 My head too was fast. I could not move an inch 
 forward — and it was too late to go back. Panic 
 swept over me. I felt that my hair was turning 
 white. I ceased to struggle. But the rocks held 
 me in their giant embrace. There was no need 
 for me to do anything. I could go on resting there 
 — it was very comfortable — till . . . 
 
 And then I felt something touching my feet, 
 running away and then touching them again. 
 
 God ! it was the incoming tide ... it would 
 . . . and then I prepared myself to die. I suppose 
 
 1 was light-headed, with the strain and the lack of 
 food, for, after the first panic I found myself 
 dreamily, almost luxuriously, making pictures of 
 how brave men had died in the past — brave women 
 too. I fancied myself in one and another situation. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 297 
 
 But the picture that persisted was that of the 
 Conciergerie during the French Revolution. I 
 was a noble, talking gaily to beautiful ladies also 
 under the shadow of death, and right in the middle 
 of a jest, a gloomy fellow had just come in — to 
 lead me to the guillotine. The door was opening, 
 and I kissed my hand in farewell . . . 
 
 Then the picture vanished as I felt the swish 
 of the tide round my ankles. It would soon be 
 up to my knees . . . 
 
 It was up to my knees ... it was creeping 
 past them . . . and it was making that hollow 
 song in the caves behind me that had seemed so 
 kind to me that very morning, the song it had 
 made to Calypso . . . that far-off night under the 
 moon. 
 
 I turned my eyes over the sea ... I could 
 move them, at all events . . . how gloriously it 
 was shining out there— and there I hung, helpless, 
 with arms extended, as one crucified. I closed 
 my eyes in anguish — and let my body relax — 
 and perhaps I dozed, or perhaps I fainted . . . but, 
 suddenly, what was that that had aroused me, 
 summoned me back to life, it seemed? ... a 
 short, sharp sound and then another, and then 
 another . . . surely it was the sound of firing. 
 I opened my eyes and looked out to sea, and then 
 I gave a great cry : — 
 
2 98 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 'Calypso !' I cried, 'Calypso !' and it seemed 
 as though a giant's strength was in me, that I 
 could rend the rocks apart. I made a mighty 
 effort, and, whether or not my relaxing had made 
 a readjustment of my position, I found that I 
 could move forward again, and, with one desperate 
 wriggle, I had my head through the narrow space. 
 To wrench my shoulders and legs after it was com- 
 paratively easy, and, in a moment, I was safe on 
 the other side, where, as I had surmised, the 
 aperture did widen out again, and within a few 
 moments I was out on the edge of the sea, and had 
 dived and was swimming madly towards 
 
 But let me tell what I had seen as I hung there 
 so helpless, as one crucified, in the crevice of the 
 rocks. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 ACTION 
 
 I HAD seen, close in shore, a two-masted schooner 
 
 under full sail sweeping by, as if pursued, and three 
 
 negroes kneeUng on deck with levelled rifles. As 
 
 I looked, a shot rang out from my right, where I 
 
 could not see, and one of the negroes rolled over. 
 
 Another shot, and the negro next him fell sprawHng 
 
 with his arms over the bulwark. At that moment 
 
 two negroes emerged from the cabin hatchway 
 
 half dragging and half carrying a woman. She 
 
 was strugghng bravely, but in vain. The negroes, 
 
 evidently acting under orders of a white man, 
 
 who stood over them with a revolver, were 
 
 dragging her towards the mainmast. Her brave 
 
 head rose proudly above her white shoulders, from 
 
 which her dress had been torn in the struggle, 
 
 and her eyes flashed splendid scornful fires at her 
 
 captors, and her laughter of defiance came ringing 
 
 to me over the sea. And it was then I cried out 
 
 'Calypso,' and wrenched myself free. 
 
 The next moment there came dashing in sight a 
 
 sloop also under full canvas, and at its bow a huge 
 
 white man, with a levelled rifle that still smoked. 
 
 299 
 
300 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 At a glance I knew it for Charlie Webster. He 
 had been about to fire again, but, as the man 
 dragged Calypso for'ard, he paused, calm as a 
 rock, waiting, with his keen sportsman's eyes on 
 Tobias — for, of course, it was he. 
 
 'You coward !' I heard his voice roar across 
 
 the rapidly diminishing distance between the two 
 boats, for the sloop was running with power as 
 well as sails. 
 
 Meanwhile, the men had lashed Calypso tothemast, 
 and, in my agony, my eyes recorded the glory of her 
 beauty as she stood proudly there, the great sails 
 spread above her, and the sea for her background. 
 
 'Now, do your worst,' cried Tobias, his evil 
 face white as wax in the sunlight. 
 
 'Fire, fire-^don't be afraid,' rang out Calypso's 
 voice, hke singing gold, at the same instant, and, 
 as she called, Tobias sprang towards her with 
 raised revolver. 
 
 'Another word and I fire,' shouted the voice of 
 the brute. 
 
 But the rifle that never missed its mark spoke 
 again on the same instant. Tobias's raised arm 
 fell shattered, and he staggered away screaming. 
 Still once more CharHe Webster's gun spoke, and 
 the staggering figure fell with a crash on the deck. 
 
 'Now, boys, ready,' I heard Charlie's voice roar 
 out again, as the sloop tore alongside the schooner, 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 301 
 
 where the rest of the negro crew had fallen on their 
 knees crying for mercy, with raised arms. 
 
 All this I saw from the water as I swam wildly 
 towards the two boats that had now closed on each 
 other, a mass of thundering canvas and screaming 
 and cursing men — and Calypso there, like a proud 
 statue, still lashed to the mast, a brave smile on 
 her lovely lips. 
 
 Another moment, and Charlie had sprung aboard, 
 and, seizing a knife from one of the screaming 
 negroes, he had cut her free. 
 
 His deep calm voice came to me over the water. 
 
 'That's what I call courage,' he said. 'I could 
 never have done it.' 
 
 'The King' had been right. He knew his daughter. 
 
 By this time I was nearing the boats, though as yet 
 no one had seen me. They were all too busy with 
 the confusion on deck, where four men lay dead 
 and three others still kept up their gibberish of fear, 
 
 I saw Calypso and Charlie Webster stand a 
 moment, looking down at the prostrate figure of 
 Tobias at their feet, 
 
 'I am sorry I had to kill him.' I heard Charlie's 
 deep growl. 'I meant to keep him for the hangman.' 
 
 But suddenly I saw him start forward and stamp 
 heavily on something. 
 
 'No, you don't,' I heard him roar — and I learned 
 afterwards that Tobias, though mortally wounded, 
 
302 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 was not yet dead, but, as the two had stood looking 
 down on him, they had seen his hand furtively 
 moving towards the fallen revolver that lay a few 
 inches from him on the deck. Just as he had 
 grasped it, Charlie '^s heavy boot had come down 
 on his wrist. But Tobias was still game. 
 
 'Not alive, you EngHsh brute!' he was heard 
 to groan out, and, snatching free his wrist too 
 swiftly to be prevented, he had gathered up all 
 his remaining strength and hurled himself over 
 the side into the sea. 
 
 I was but a dozen yards away from him as he 
 fell, and, as he rose again, it was for his dying eyes 
 to fix with a glare upon me. They dilated with 
 terror, as though he had seen a ghost. Then he 
 gave one strange scream, and fell back into the 
 sea, and we saw him no more. 
 
 It will be easier for the reader to imagine than 
 for me to describe the look on the faces of Calypso 
 and Charlie Webster as they saw me rise up in 
 almost the same spot where poor Tobias had just 
 gone bubbling down — and all the exclamations 
 of half-laughing wonder with which they hauled 
 me aboard. But I had eyes only for Calypso — 
 and words I had none, for I was at the end of my 
 strength, and I broke down and sobbed like a child. 
 
 'Thank God you are safe — my treasure, my 
 treasure ! ' was all I could say, as I lay face down 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 303 
 
 on the deck at her feet, and felt her breath on 
 my cheek, as she knelt down by my side and patted 
 my shoulder with her dear hand. 
 
 All of which — particularly my reference to 'my 
 treasure' — must have been much to the bewilder- 
 ment of the good, simple-hearted Charlie, towering 
 innocent-eyed above us. I believe I stayed a 
 Httle longer at her feet than I really had need to, 
 for the comfort of her being so near and kind; 
 but, presently, we were all aroused by a voice 
 from the cliffs above. It was 'the King' with his 
 bodyguard, Erebus and the crew of The Flamingo 
 — no Samson, alas ! The sound of the firing had 
 reached them in the woods, and they had come 
 hurrying to discover its cause. 
 
 So we deferred asking our questions and telling 
 our several stories till we were pulled ashore. 
 
 As Calypso was folded in her father's arms, he 
 turned to me, — 
 
 'Didn't I tell you that I knew my daughter?' 
 he said. 
 
 'And I told you something too, "OKing!"' I 
 said, my eyes daring at last to rest on Calypso with 
 the love and pride of my heart. 
 
 'And where on earth have you been, young man?' 
 he asked, laughing. 'Did Tobias kidnap you too?' 
 
 It was very hard, as you will have seen, to 
 astonish 'the King.' 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 GATHERING UP THE THREADS 
 
 But though it was hard to astonish, and almost 
 impossible to alarm, 'the King,' his sense of wonder 
 was quite another matter, and the boyish delight 
 with which he listened to our several stories would 
 have made it worth while to undergo tenfold the 
 perils we had faced. And the best of it was that 
 we each had a new audience in the others — for 
 none of us knew what had happened to the rest, 
 and how it chanced that we should all come to 
 meet at that moment of crisis on the sea. Our 
 stories, said 'the King,' were quite in the manner of 
 The Arabian Nights, dovetailing one into the other. 
 
 'And now,' he added, 'we will begin with the 
 Story of the Murdered Slave and the Stolen Lady.' 
 
 Calypso told her story simply and in a few words. 
 The first part of it, of which the poor murdered 
 Samson was the eloquent witness, needed no 
 further telling. He had done his brave best, poor 
 fellow, but Tobias had had six men with him, and 
 it was soon over. Her they had gagged and bound 
 and carried in a sort of improvised sedan-chair : 
 
 304 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 305 
 
 Tobias had done the thing with a certain style 
 and, she had to admit, with absolute courtesy. 
 When they had gone a mile or two from the house, 
 he had had the gag taken from her mouth, and, on 
 her promise not to attempt to escape (which was, 
 of course, quite impossible) he had also had her 
 unbound, so that her hurried journey through the 
 woods was made as comfortable as possible. It 
 was certainly not without its spice of romance, 
 for four of the men carried lanterns, and their 
 progress must have had a very picturesque effect 
 Hghting up the blackness of the strange trees. 
 Tobias had walked at her side the whole way 
 without speaking a word. They were making, 
 she had gathered, and as we had surmised, for the 
 northern shore, and, after about a three hours' 
 march she heard the sound of the sea. On the 
 schooner she had found a cabin all nicely prepared 
 for her — even dainty toilet necessaries, and an 
 excellent dinner was served to her alone on some 
 quite pretty china. Poor Tobias had seemed bent 
 on showing — as he had said to Tom — that he was 
 not the 'carrion' we had thought him. 
 
 Then, after dinner, Tobias had respectfully 
 asked leave for a few words with her. He had 
 apologised for his action, but explained that it 
 was necessary — the only way he had left, he said, 
 of protecting his own interests, and safeguarding 
 
3o6 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 a treasure which belonged to him and no one else, 
 if it belonged to any living man. It had seemed 
 to her that it was a monomania with him. His 
 eyes had gleamed so, as he spoke of it, that she 
 had felt a Httle frightened for the first time — for 
 he seemed like a madman on the subject. 
 
 While he had been talking, she had made up her 
 mind what she would do. She would tell him the 
 plain truth about her doubloons, and offer him 
 what remained of it as a ransom. This she did, 
 and was able at least half to persuade him that, so 
 far as any one knew, that was all the treasure there 
 was, and that the digging among the ruins of the 
 old house was a mere fancy of her father's. There 
 might be something there or not, and she went so 
 far as to give her word of honour that, if anything 
 was found, he should have his share of it. It was 
 rather a woman's way, she admitted, but, she had 
 a thought too behind, that, so long as she kept 
 Tobias near the island, something might happen 
 at any moment . . . and the proffered ransom, 
 in fact, prove the bait to a trap. Tobias had seemed 
 impressed, and promised his answer in the morning 
 — leaving her to sleep with a sentry at her cabin 
 door. She had slept soundly and only wakened 
 at dawn. As soon as she was up, Tobias had come 
 to her, saying that he had accepted her offer, and 
 asking her to direct him to her treasure. 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 307 
 
 This she had done, and, to avoid passing the 
 settlement, they had taken the course round the 
 eastern end of the island. As they had approached 
 the cave (and here Calypso turned a quizzical 
 smile on me, which no one, of course, understood 
 but ourselves) a sloop was seen approaching them 
 from the westward . . . and here she stopped 
 and turned to Charlie Webster, 
 
 'Now,' said 'the King,' 'we shall hear the Story of 
 Ajax, the Far-Darter — He of the Arrow that 
 never Missed his Mark.' 
 
 And Charlie Webster, more at home with deeds 
 than words, blushed and blushed through his part 
 of the story, telling how, having called at the 
 settlement, he had got our message from Sweeney, 
 and was making up the coast for the hidden creek, 
 and had spied what he felt sure was Tobias's 
 schooner — had called on him to surrender 'In the 
 King's name' — 'I had the warrant for him in my 
 pocket,' said Charlie, with innocent pride — 'the 
 
 d d scoundrel,' and had been answered with 
 
 bullets. He had been terribly frightened, he owned, 
 when Calypso had been brought on deck, but she 
 had given him courage — he paused to beam a 
 broad-faced admiration on her, for which he could 
 find no words — and as he had never yet missed 
 a fljdng duck at — I forget how many yards Charlie 
 mentioned — well . . . perhaps he oughtn't to have 
 
3o8 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 risked it . . . and so his story came to an end 
 amid reassuring applause. 
 
 'Now/ said 'the King,' 'for the Story of the Dis- 
 appearing Gentleman and the Lighted Lantern.' 
 
 And then I told my story as it is already known 
 to the reader, and I have to confess that, when I 
 came to the chest-full of doubloons and pieces of 
 eight, that I had a very attentive audience. But, 
 at first, 'the King' shook his head with an amused 
 smile. 
 
 'Ulysses is romancing for the benefit of my 
 romantic second childhood,' he said, and then, after 
 his favourite manner, he added, — 
 
 ' I might not this believe 
 Without the sensible and true avouch 
 Of mine own eyes . . .' 
 
 Then he was for starting off that very night, 
 but, reminded of the difficult seclusion in which 
 the treasure still lay, he was persuaded to wait 
 till to-morrow. 
 
 'At dawn then,' he said, 'to-morrow — " what 
 time the rosy-footed dawn "... so be it. And 
 now I am going to talk to Ajax the Far-Darter of 
 duck-shooting,' and he launched into talk of game 
 and sport in various parts of the world, to the huge 
 delight of the great simple-hearted Charles. 
 
 And Calypso and I perceived that we were 
 
PIECES OF EIGHT 309 
 
 forgotten — so, by an impulse that seemed to be 
 one, we rose and left them there, and stole out 
 into the garden where the little fountain was 
 dancing like a spirit under the moon, and the 
 orange-trees gave out their perfume on the night 
 breeze. I took her hand, and we walked softly 
 out into the moonlight and looked down at the 
 closed lotuses in the little pool. And then we 
 took courage to look into each other's eyes. 
 
 'Calypso,' I said, 'when are you going to show 
 me where you keep your doubloons?' 
 
 And with that she was in my arms, and I felt 
 her heart beating against my side. 
 
 'O my treasure,' I said, ever so softly, 
 'Calypso — my treasure,' 
 
POSTSCRIPT 
 
 Now, such readers as have been 'gentle' enough 
 
 to follow me so far in my story may possibly desire 
 
 to be told what lay behind those other locked 
 
 doors in the underground gallery where I so nearly 
 
 laid my bones. 
 
 I should like nothing better than to gratify 
 
 their legitimate curiosity. But, perhaps, they 
 
 will not have forgotten my friend, John Saunders, 
 
 Secretary to the Treasury of His Britannic Majesty's 
 
 Government at Nassau. John is a good friend, 
 
 but he is a man of very rigid principles, and a 
 
 great stickler in regard to any matters pertaining 
 
 to the interests and duties of his office; and, were 
 
 I to divulge, as I confess my pen is itching to do, 
 
 the dazzHng, I will even say blinding, contents 
 
 of those other grim compartments — particularly 
 
 if I were to give any hint of their value in bullion 
 
 — no feehngs of friendship would for one second 
 
 weigh with him as against his duty to the august 
 
 Government he so faithfully serves. He may 
 
 suspect what he Hkes, but, so long as he actually 
 
 knows nothing, we may rely on his inactivity. 
 
 In fact, I know that he has no wish to be told. 
 
 310 
 
POSTSCRIPT 311 
 
 So far he will go with us, but no farther ; and, 
 as we neither wish to sully his fine probity nor on 
 the other hand wish to disgorge our 'ill-gotten 
 gains' — gains for which, after all, each one of us 
 risked our lives and for which one life most precious 
 of all was placed in such terrible jeopardy, gains, 
 too, which His Britannic Majesty is quite rich 
 enough to do without — the reader must pardon 
 me my caution, and draw upon his imagination 
 for what I must not tell him. 
 
 This, however, I will say, that he cannot well 
 imagine too vividly, or too magnificently, and 
 that, in fact, he may accept those hyperboles 
 fancifully indulged in by 'the King' as very httle 
 overshooting the mark. We do not, indeed, go 
 disguised in cloth-of-goid, nor are we blinding 
 to look upon with rings and ropes of pearls. It 
 does not happen to be our western fashion to be so 
 garmented. But, well ... I won't say that we 
 couldn't do so if we w^ere so minded. In fact, I will 
 not say either that 'the King' does not occasion- 
 ally in private masquerade in some such splendour; 
 though, as a rule, he still prefers that shabby 
 tatterdemalion costume which we have still to 
 accept as a vagary of his fantastic nature. He is 
 still the same Eternal Child, and his latest make- 
 believe has been to fit up those caverns through 
 which I so miserably wormed my way with the 
 
312 PIECES OF EIGHT 
 
 grandiose luxury of the Count of Monte Cristo; 
 that, as he says, the prophecy might be fulfilled 
 which said, 'Monte Cristo shall seem like a pauper 
 and a penny-gaff in comparison with the fantasies 
 of our fearful wealth.' 
 
 These caverns, we afterwards discovered, did 
 actually communicate with Blackbeard's ruined 
 mansion, and 'the King,' who has now rebuilt that 
 mansion and lives in it in semi-feudal state with 
 Calypso and me, is able to pass from one to the 
 other by underground passages which are an 
 unfailing source of romantic satisfaction to his 
 dear absurd soul. 
 
 Whether the mansion and the treasure were 
 actually Blackbeard's — that is, Edward Teach's — 
 or not, we are yet in doubt, though we prefer to 
 believe them so. But, at all events, we never 
 found any evidence to connect them at all with 
 Henry P. Tobias, whose second treasure, we have 
 every reason to think, still remains undiscovered. 
 As for the sinister and ill-fated Henry P. Tobias, 
 Jr., we have since learned through Charlie Webster 
 — who every now and again drops in with Sailor 
 from his sloop, and carries off 'the King' for duck- 
 shooting — that his real name was quite otherwise, 
 and that he must have assumed the name we 
 knew him by as a nom de guerre, to give colour 
 to his claim. I am afraid, therefore, that he was 
 
POSTSCRIPT 313 
 
 a plain scoundrel, after all, though it seemed to 
 me that I saw gleams in him of something better, 
 and I shall always feel a sort of kindness towards 
 him for the saving grace of gallant courtesy with 
 which he invested his villainous abduction of 
 Calypso. 
 
 Calypso . . . she and I sometimes, just for fun, 
 drop into Sweeney's store, and, when she has made 
 her purchases, she draws up from her bosom a 
 little bag, and, looking softly at me, lays down on 
 the counter — a gold doubloon; and Sweeney, who, 
 doubtless, thinks us all a little crazy, smiles under- 
 standingly on our make-believe. Sometimes, on 
 our way home, we come upon Tom in the planta- 
 tions, superintending a gang of 'the King's' 'janis- 
 saries,' among whom Erebus is still the blackest; 
 for Tom is now the Lord High Steward of our 
 estate. He beams on us in a fatherly way, and 
 I lay my hand significantly on my left side — to his 
 huge delight. He flashes his white teeth and wags 
 his head from side to side with inarticulate enjoy- 
 ment of the allusion. For he still attributes all 
 our luck to the sucking-fish. And he may be right 
 —for in so mysterious a world, the smallest cause 
 may lead up to the most august results, and there 
 is nothing too wonderful to happen. 
 
EPILOGUE BY THE EDITOR 
 
 It remains for me, as sponsor for the foregoing 
 narrative, reluctantly to add a postscript to that of 
 its author, bringing the fortunes of himself and his 
 friends a little nearer to the present year of grace. 
 Not that anything untoward has happened to any 
 of them. Their lives are still lived happily in the 
 sun, and their treasure is still safe — somewhere 
 carefully out of the sun. But neither their life nor 
 their treasure are where my friend's postscript left 
 them. They are, indeed, very much nearer New York 
 than at that writing. As a matter of fact, after King 
 Alcinous had played a year or two at being the Count 
 of Monte Cristo in his underground palace, it gradu- 
 ally was borne in upon his essentially common-sense 
 mind, as upon the minds of Calypso and her husband, 
 that their secret was known to too many for its absolute 
 safety. Kindly coloured people, indeed, and a very 
 friendly secretary to the British Treasury . . . still, 
 there was no knowing, and on all accounts they 
 gradually came to the iinromantic conclusion thai 
 the safety deposit vaults of New York were perhaps 
 more reliable than limestone caverns filled with the 
 sound of the sea. This conclusion explains the 
 
 314 
 
EPILOGUE BY THE EDITOR 315 
 
 presence of my friend and his Lady of the Doubloons 
 in the box of the Punch and Judy Theatre that, to me, 
 eventful evening. 
 
 Since then I have myself made a pilgrimage to all 
 the places that play a part in this romance. I have 
 crawled my way through those caves in which my 
 friend came so near to leaving his bones, looked into 
 those vatdts once filled with glittering pieces of eight, 
 and all that other undivulged treasure-trove, wedged 
 myself as far as I dared into that slit in the rocks, 
 looking out like a narrow window on to the sea. All 
 those places are real ; any one with a mind to can 
 find them ; but, should any one care to undertake the 
 pilgrimage, he will find, as I did, that those baronial 
 halls of Edward Teach, and, for a while, the play- 
 ground of King Alcinous, are rapidly being reclaimed 
 by the savage wilderness, fiercely swallowed minute 
 by minute by the sinister serpentine vegetation — 
 which, after all, was only stayed for a moment, and 
 which, humanly speaking, will now submerge them 
 for all eternity. 
 
 Once more, to employ one of the favourite quotations 
 of King Alcinous, ' I passed by the walls of Balclutha, 
 and they were desolate.' ' The King,' I may be allowed 
 to add, finds New York quite a good place to talk in 
 — though he is frank in saying that he prefers a coral 
 island. 
 
 R. Le G. 
 
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