CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE APPROACHING SEARCH
Reginald found Joseph Alderly's boat on the same evening, when he was out on a tour about the coast of the island on the lookout for it. As he suspected, Alderly had brought it round to the neighbourhood of the river's mouth, preferring to get at him that way instead of by the path down from his house. His reasons for doing so might have been manifold, the young man knew very well-reasons that would, doubtless, at once occur to such a scheming brain as that of the dead ruffian. For, independently of the fact that he would have strongly wished to avoid any encounter with him on shore-and, for aught he knew, Reginald might be ashore at any period of the night-he might have brought his cutter to that neighbourhood so as to be able to get away from the island at once, after the sinking of the Pompeia had been accomplished.
For instance, had his plan succeeded he could have sailed to Anegada or Tortola within two or three hours from the time of the crime being committed, and, arriving at either place in the night, could have very easily induced the belief that he had anchored much earlier than he had actually done. In those spots very little, if any, notice is taken after dark of what boats are about-especially such boats as Alderly's, which are common all over the islands-and his alibi would consequently have held good when Reginald was reported missing. And even the report of his being missing would not have spread abroad for probably some time after the event. None but tourists came to Coffin Island, and Barbara would have been unable to get away from it; while, since the Pompeia would have disappeared for ever from human eyes, no one could have absolutely said that her temporary owner was dead. He might just as well have gone off with her to some other island as she have sunk to the bottom of the river, and Alderly could, therefore, have returned without his sister being able to advance one proof that Reginald Crafer had been made away with.
"Though," said Reginald to himself, as he mused over the matter while he inspected Alderly's own boat, "if I had been drowned after she heard the pistol shots, she would certainly have thought I had died trying to defend myself. And, had her scoundrelly brother managed to survive me, Barbara would, if I mistake not, have taxed him very plainly with my death."
He found the cutter anchored in about three fathoms of water, and had to get out to her in such a crazy, water-logged punt-in which Alderly must himself have come ashore-that he feared every moment the thing would sink under his weight, and expose him to the chance of a similar fate to that which had overtaken its owner. However, it was sounder than it looked, and, on inspecting the larger craft, he came to the conclusion that she would be navigable across to Tortola if she escaped bad weather-of which there were no signs now. The dead man had managed to patch her up in a manner very creditable to his knowledge of seacraft, and to set right the injuries she had received when cast ashore; so that, as far as the journey over to the Commissioner was concerned, he might start at once.
"Though," he pondered, as he inspected the cutter and found nothing inside her beyond her ordinary gear but a bottle of rum, some meat and coarse bread, and a pipe-"though there is no reason why I should hurry myself. We had better begin to dig up the treasure now, I think, and, meanwhile, this dog's hole of a boat will serve for my habitation as well as the poor Pompeia, though it's not quite so sweet and wholesome."
Whereon he hauled up her anchor, got her round to the river, and moored her as near as possible over the spot where the sunken yacht lay.
"I may have to pay Juby a good deal, for her," he mused, as he went up the path to Barbara's house. "However, we ought to find the wherewithal on the Key to do so. I suppose she will give me enough to do that." And he laughed to himself as the thought passed through his mind.
Barbara was eating her evening meal when he reached the hut, and he sat down to share it with her, telling her that henceforth she would have to keep him in food as long as they were together.
"I had loaded the Pompeia up with all sorts of good things such as are to be procured in the islands and at their stores," he said, trying to be gay and also to brighten her up, "but I might have saved myself the trouble. They are at the bottom of the river, and there they will stay until they are rotten. So, Barbara, I must live on you."
She gave him one swift glance from the sweet hazel eyes under the straight black eyebrows-eyes whose lids were red now from long weeping-and he understood it well enough. He knew that she would give him everything she possessed in the world, including her very life, as well as the fortune that was now to be hers-if old Nicholas had made no mistake, and if no one had ever lighted on the Key and its contents between the time of his departure and the coming of the other Barbara.
"By-the-bye," he said, as they ate their supper side by side, and Barbara tried to put such choice morsels of her poor plain food as there were on his plate, which attention he managed sometimes to avoid-"by-the-bye, we don't know after all what we are really going to discover. Nicholas managed to lose one of the most important parts of his manuscript, the list, as he calls it, of part of what he found. It is a good thing he didn't mislay the description of the Key and the measurements as well. If he had done that we should have been in a fix."
"But," said Barbara, "he has said what is in the long box. We know that, at any rate. Surely that's a fortune in itself?"
"What! six thousand pounds! Why, Barbara, when you go out into the world, the real world, London, the Continent, swagger German and Swiss places in the summer, and Rome and the Riviera in the winter, you'll find what a little bit of money six thousand pounds make. No! Nick's fifty thousand 'guineas' must be found for you before you become anything like a swell heiress with a romantic history, run after by all the men for your beauty and your wealth."
"Don't-don't talk like that!" the girl said. "It pains me to hear you joking like that. I know nothing of the places you mention, and as to men running after me-oh, don't, don't! And besides, you have forgotten-it is not mine."
"Every penny of it!" exclaimed Reginald, "except what Mr. Juby wants for the yacht if uninsured."
"No! no! no!" she said. "Remember, it is not in the island-my island, I suppose, now. The Keys are as much yours, or anyone else's, as mine. And if it had been on the island, and we had dug it up, I would not have taken it. If you would not have shared it with me-I-I-well, I would have thrown it into the sea."
"What a nice ending to poor old Nick's troubles and labours here in finding it, and at home in writing his long account in that queer fist of his! And also to all that your people have gone through, from your namesake downwards. No, no, Barbara! We won't throw it back into the sea, at any rate. And to-morrow we'll dig it up. Shall we?"
This was agreed upon, and then Reginald prepared to leave her. He offered to stay in the house if she felt nervous-as she had once before implored him to do; but now she said, "No, she was not nervous. She feared nothing now. There was no one else who could come to harm him or her; the island was theirs and theirs alone." He noticed that she called it "theirs" and not "hers," but made no remark on the subject, since an idea had arisen in his mind: he knew now what the future of the treasure, of Barbara, and of himself must be! – and he proceeded to arrange for their movements on the morrow.
"It will be low water two hours after daybreak," he said, "and by that time I will have brought the cutter and the boat round to the strip of beach nearest to the Keys. You might meet me there, Barbara, and bring some food and fresh water, and then we will begin. Meanwhile, let me have whatever tools and implements you possess for digging. I will take them with me and bring them in the cutter in the morning."
In the shed behind the hut they found what was required, an old spade and a nearly new one, a pickaxe and some ropes-for the Alderlys, father and son, had had to attend to their garden in this tropical island almost as much as though they had lived in Europe-and these would be enough, he thought.
So, shouldering them, he bade her "Good-night" – it seemed to each as though their hands were clasped together longer and more tightly now than they had ever been before! – and went his way down to the river once more.
It would have been strange if, to-night-the night before the story, that his ancestor had written in those long past and forgotten years, was to be realised-he should not have had a host of thoughts whirling through his brain; if past and present had not been strangely confused and jumbled up together in that brain.
There lay the cutter, a dark indistinct mass, in the midst of the stars reflected from above; in the very self-same spot where so many other small vessels, all connected with him, with Barbara, and with the treasure, had lain before. Itself the property of a villain whose villainy was inherited through centuries, it occupied the spot in that little river where once the Etoyle had been moored, where she had been sunk, and where Simon Alderly and his murdered victim, the diver, had got ashore. Also there, or close by, had been the galliot of honest Nicholas with its dying and dead crew, and with Nicholas sleeping, or trying to sleep, in that place of death, or watching Alderly in his murderous madness as he slew his companion. And he pictured to himself the sloop with the unknown Martin having probably been anchored there before those days-doubtless as full of reckless, bloodstained scoundrels as was the Etoyle herself; he remembered how, not twenty-four hours before, the graceful and pretty Pompeia had ridden at anchor on the river's bosom-and now she, too, had gone to join the other wrecks below the water.
He shuddered as these thoughts passed through his mind; shuddered at all that the treasure had led to in the way of murder and death.
"It was here, here where I stand," he whispered to himself, "that the diver was slain; there, in the river, that the bones of the pirates lie, and also those of the crew of the galliot; above-where she, the pure outcome of so much evil, dwells-that Simon Alderly died mad and without time to repent."
A slant of the rising moon gleamed through the wood on to the bank and played on the waters of the river lower down; the ray was thrown upon the very spot where, last night, he had seen the staring eyes and the glistening teeth of Joseph Alderly, as the limbless body swirled round with the stream-and he started and shivered.
"Heavens!" he exclaimed, "it is a charnel-house, a place of horror! I-I cannot sleep in that boat to-night."
He turned from the accursed spot-all beautiful as it was now beneath the rising moon, and illuminated with myriads of fireflies, while over and above all was the luscious perfume of tropical plants and flowers-and went his way through the thick underbrush to a part of the shore beyond the spot, where the body of Joseph Alderly had been buried, avoiding that place as he proceeded. Then, when he had gone some distance, he chose a bit of the beach high and dry above the line of the already receding sea, and, laying himself down upon it, gazed far over the waters to where a few lights sparkled at intervals from the little island of Tortola.
But ere he slept, and when a deep sense of fatigue was stealing over him, he rose once more, and, kneeling down by the spot he had selected, he prayed long that, whatever the morrow might bring forth, at least one thing might be granted. He prayed that all the bloodshed, and the cruelty that that treasure had been the cause of for more than two centuries, had ended at last, never more to be renewed-he prayed that, henceforth, it might bring only happiness and peace in its train.
"For her, for her," he whispered. "For her and for me."
And, feeling sure that his prayer was heard and would be granted, he laid himself down again and soon was sleeping peacefully.
CHAPTER XL.
THE SEARCH
As the dawn came, and a cool wind blew over the water and brushed his cheek, he arose from a night of refreshing slumber-the first for two days-and took his way back to the cutter. Then, reaching her, he soon unmoored, made the boat fast astern, and, getting down the river, sailed round the island to the spot where the Keys were.
It took him an hour to fetch the beach in two tacks, and then he saw that, early as he was, Barbara was there before him, and that she was seated on the shore, the dog at her feet and a basket by her side.
This morning her eyes were no longer red-she had done with weeping for her vile brother, he thought-and her colour, always beautiful, except since the events of the last few days had driven it all away, had now come back to her. She, too, he knew, had slept peacefully at last, and in that peaceful rest all her loveliness had returned.
"Now, Barbara," he said, after they had exchanged their morning greetings, he from the boat, and she from the shore, "we'll call the boat away, and off we go to your inheritance. In a few hours you will, I trust, be put in possession of it." Saying which, he anchored the cutter, got into the boat and cast her off, and so rowed ashore for Barbara. He had found out that the capabilities of this boat-crazy as it seemed-were quite equal to carrying them, and the implements for digging, out to the Key a hundred yards off, and he also knew that, by leaving Barbara on the middle Key when they had found the treasure, he could convey each of the boxes, or coffers, back to the island one by one. Then, as to the final removal of them and their owner from Coffin Island-well, that would all be arranged for later.
A few minutes only and they stepped out upon the soft wet sand of the middle Key-they stood upon the place that, perhaps, no other foot had trodden since Nicholas left it more than two hundred years ago. There was nothing to bring anyone to that particular atom of an island among all the thousands upon thousands of islands with which the marine surface of the world is dotted, not even a search for the turtles and the eggs they laid. For, in these regions, those creatures are so common that nobody desiring to procure one would have even troubled to visit the middle Key while the outer ones were easier of access.
"I begin to feel very nervous now we have reached here, and the search is about to begin," Barbara said. "Oh! what shall we find-or shall we find anything?"
"Make your mind easy," Reginald replied, although he himself felt unaccountably excited, too, at what was before them. "The story left by Nicholas bears the stamp of truth on every line of it; I would stake my existence on his having buried the boxes as he wrote. And as to their having been disinterred, why! there is no possibility of that. Come, let us begin."
He looked round at the sea as he spoke, and scanned the little crisping waves as they rolled on to the Key's shore, and, involuntarily and sailor-like, searched the horizon to see if there was any sail in sight, any likelihood of their being observed. Yet, as he knew and told the girl by his side, there was no chance of that.
"On this, the east side of the Key," he said, "there is nothing nearer than the Cape de Verd Islands and the African coast, and nothing passes east or west within twenty miles of this place. We will make a beginning."
Then they sat down on the brushwood of the island, disturbing as they did so a great two-hundred-pound turtle that crawled gasping away, and Reginald, taking out the now water-stained and blurred pages of Nicholas, began to read over carefully his measurements and instructions for finding the exact spot where the buried treasure lay.
"'From the north side of the middle Key is fifty-one good strides of three feet each,'" he repeated from the paper; "'from the south side is fifty-three, from the east is forty-nine, from the west is fifty strides and a half.' Barbara, let us measure. I will begin from this, the south side."
Very carefully he paced out the strides, "good ones," as his predecessor had directed, only, instead of sticking in the ground a sword-which, of course, he did not possess here-he put a large white stone. Then, as Nicholas had himself done, three times did he go over the ground, making all the strides correspond with the ancient manuscript; and at last he said to Barbara, "Now we will dig."
"It is only three feet from the surface to the topmost turtle shell," he remarked, as he took off his light jacket and rolled up his sleeves. "Ten minutes will show if we have hit it right."
At the end of those ten minutes he found that, though he had made a mismeasurement of a foot and a half from the east to west, he had otherwise judged his distance with sufficient accuracy. The treasure, certainly the topmost turtle shell, was there. The spade struck against the edge of that shell instead of the exact middle of it; in a few minutes more, by digging the sand up further to the west, the whole of it was exposed, its convex side rising towards them.
"We have found it," he exclaimed. "We have found it, Barbara! The treasure is-yours!"
*******
What was in the oblong box has been told by Nicholas himself, therefore it is not necessary to write down an account of its contents again. Roughly, too, he has told what he found in the first two "coffers" or chests, including the "grinning skull," which they, of course, found also. But Nicholas's list had been lost, therefore one somewhat more full shall now be given, leaving his account of the first strong box to speak for itself. And also in the second, "the Spanish pieces of eight, the Portyguese crusadoes, English crowns, and many more French coins as well as hundreds of gold pieces of our kings and queens away back to Elizabeth," were all there as he has described, so neither need they be again set down. It was when they came to the third coffer that their curiosity was the most aroused, for with it began their search for something he had left no account of, something that was described in that "list" which was missing. Therefore, they opened it with almost trembling hands-when it had been brought up to the surface-wondering what they should find.
On the top lay a deerskin, dressed and trimmed, showing that whenever it might originally have been put in, it had at least belonged to people who had some of the accessories of civilisation about them, since, had it belonged to wild and savage persons, it would have been hardly dressed at all, nor would it have possessed any trimming at the edges. This they lifted off, only to come to a variety of smaller skins, such as those of fox, goat, and sheep, which it was easy to perceive were simply used as wrappers to large substances within them.
"These coverings," said Reginald, as he unwrapped one, "seem to point to England, or at least Europe, as the spot whence they came; well, let us-ah!"
There rolled from out the one he was at that moment unwinding a beaker a foot high, of a dull copper colour, much embossed with leaves and flowers. Yet, dull as it was, even their slight knowledge was enough to tell them it was gold. Also its shape was antique enough to show that it was no new piece of workmanship, even when Simon Alderly had found it-if he did find it, as seemed most likely; its long, thin lip, thin neck, and big body proclaimed it of the middle ages at least.
"So," said Reginald, giving it a rub with some of the sand by his side, under which the dim coppery hue turned to a more golden yellow, "this is Number Three. If the other box is full of such gold ornaments the find will be worth having."
In this box itself there were no more gold beakers, only, instead, it was full of silver plate of all kinds, and all enveloped in skins. There were also two more beakers, but in silver, many cups and chalices, some with covers to them and some without, several silver ewers, a long vase all neck and spout, some extremely ancient candelabras, and a woman's silver dagger, known in old days as a wedding knife.
"Oh!" said Barbara, appalled at the sight of objects so unfamiliar to her, who had never drunk out of aught but calabashes, gourds, and cheap earthenware-"Oh! it seems a sin to dig all these beautiful things up."
"A greater one to let them lie in the earth," said Reginald with a laugh. "Come, let's go on to Number Four and see what he has got inside him."
"Now, Barbara," Reginald said next, as they began on Number Four. "Shut your eyes until I tell you to open them."
The girl obeyed-indeed, all through this treasure hunt, or, as it had now become, treasure inspection, they were more like a boy and girl playing with new toys than a grown man and a young woman just about to leave her teens behind her-and, when he told her to open them, she saw that he had come upon a number of little plump bags tied at the neck. These bags were made of a coarse kind of linen cloth, or Russia duck, and were much discoloured; yet, rough as they were, they did not prevent the impression of coins being seen inside.
"Here we come to the money-let's hope it's not copper!" exclaimed Reginald.
Again, when they opened the first bag and poured out the contents into Barbara's lap, it looked as though they had found copper; but again, as before, what seemed copper was in reality gold. But the pieces which they saw were such as they had never seen the like of before, such as they never were able to guess the name of until some time afterwards, when more experienced numismatists than this young sailor and the girl by his side had the handling of them. What they absolutely found was: First, a bag full of Elizabeth "soveraines," valued in her time at 30s. each, it containing two hundred and six of these pieces. Then there was a bag full of angels of the same reign, valued at 12s. each, of angelets at 6s., and of quarter angels at 3s., there being of these smaller coins three hundred and eleven in the little sack. The third bag they opened-a larger one-contained fifty gold crowns of Henry VIII.'s reign, fifty gold half-crowns of Elizabeth's-the former having the figure of the king on horseback-and in it, also, were one hundred and thirty rose nobles, eighty-five double-rose nobles, eighty-three double-rose rials, or reals, each of the value of 30s., and two double gold crowns, these two being the largest and most valuable of any of the coins they found.
"We are getting on, Barbara; we shall have a nice stock to take back to the hut," Reginald said, as he tied the bags up again exactly as before. "However, let's continue. This box is a monster and contains the most of all."
Whoever had put together all this treasure of money-as well as what was to come-was, it is certain, a methodical person; for, with the exception of the above coins of Henry VIII. being mixed with those of his daughter (there was not one of her sister, Mary's reign), the different monarchs had been kept separate and distinct from one another. This was shown by the next three bags, two of which contained gold coins of James I.'s reign, but of no other English king. Of these, the first had in it two hundred and one spur-rials of the value of 15s. each-these coins being so called from the rays, issuing out of the sun upon them, resembling the rowels of spurs-one hundred and three of the single rose rials, and four single crowns. The second bag had exactly one hundred single crowns by themselves; the third had two hundred and two small gold pieces, French ones, they being crowns of the sun as originally coined by Louis XI., and valued in England in Elizabeth's time at 7s. each.
"Well, Barbara," Reginald said, as they finished these bags, "what do you think of your fortune as far as it has gone? After we have had some food we will go on and see what more there is."
"I think," the girl replied, as she opened her basket and took from it some bread, eggs, a piece of cold roasted goat's flesh, and some of the fruit which grew in such profusion on Coffin Island-"I think as I have always thought, namely, that it is not my fortune but yours, and that-"
"Ah!" interrupted Reginald. "Well! we won't quarrel over that now. So I'll put my question in a different way. What do you think of the fortune as far as it has gone?"
"I think it is a shame to dig it up. It seems like digging up the poor dead creatures who put it first in the vault-who wrapped it all up so carefully, and tied the money up in bags as if they felt sure the day would come when they, or those dear to them, would inherit it all. And think of what strangers it has come to, not only now but before! Simon Alderly had no real right to it, neither had Nicholas Crafer, nor have you nor I."
"You or I-you, of course-mean to keep it, though, Barbara. It has been ours for two hundred years: yours by the first discovery-namely, by the respected Simon; mine by the second-namely, the worthy Nicholas; and, in spite of any silly old laws about treasure trove, why, finding's keepings. Besides, the treasure trove was two hundred years ago. Our ancestors are responsible for that part of it. We, on the contrary, can show a two centuries' title-that's good enough for all the lawyers in the world, I fancy."
With jokes and badinage such as this the young man passed the luncheon, dinner, or meal-hour-whichever it should be called-away. Indeed, at this time, when the long-buried wealth of the past was being at last revealed to its ultimate heirs and possessors, he was anxious above all things to keep off the discussion of whose it was, and who was to have it and who was not. As has been suggested a little earlier, he saw, he knew-or felt almost positive that he saw and knew-what was the final disposition of all that the Key was now disgorging, only-the present was not the time to speak about that disposition to Barbara. So, as much as possible, he kept to other matters in connection with the task they were now engaged upon.
"Whoever they were," he went on meditatively, as the simple repast drew to an end, "who originally owned it all, they must almost certainly have been our country people. Although we don't either of us know what those coins are, we can at least see that they are mostly English, and all about one period, namely, Elizabeth's and her successor's, James. Now, let's see. Charles I. succeeded James, eh, Barbara?"
"Yes," said the girl. "Yes. At school we thought Charles I. the most interesting of all the English kings."
"Ah!" said Reginald; "well, I've heard other people say differently. Our chaplain in the Ianthe, for instance, used to wrangle with the paymaster for hours about him, and call him all kinds of names. However, let's put two and two together. Charles's was an uncomfortable sort of reign, for others besides himself, and all sorts of rumpusses were going on-people flying from England to America, et cetera. I wonder if the gentleman who owned all these things was one of those? He might be, you know, and have got drifted down here after making bad weather of it in the Atlantic; or the pirates-hem! – of his own day, Barbara-no allusions meant to respected ancestors! – might have seized on him-or-or-half a dozen things. I don't suppose we ever shall find out."
"No," she said, "I don't suppose we shall. Perhaps it's better that we never should. It might interfere with your enjoyment of it all."
Whereon Reginald laughed once more, while a beautiful but tell-tale blush came to the girl's face-possibly it had dawned on her, too, by now, how the ultimate possession of the treasure might be arranged! – and then they proceeded to inspect what remained.