In Search of Treasure

CHAPTER XXXII

LUKE CLARK MAKES A DISCOVERY

The fear excited by Frank Low’s communication made Guy more anxious than ever to complete his work upon the island as soon as possible. Captain Richmond’s evident hostility and desire to get away excited daily apprehension.

Guy had no desire to repeat the experience of Robinson Crusoe. It would doubtless be romantic, but he preferred to read romances rather than enact them.

Guy’s feelings were shared by his two companions.

“Whenever I come to the island I pray that it may be for the last time,” said Abner Titcomb. “With such a man as Captain Richmond in command of the Osprey I never feel safe.”

“I feel so, too,” added Luke Clark.

A new alarm seized Guy. Would his companions refuse to persevere in the quest?

He had no doubt of their general loyalty, but both had families in far-away Maine, and their affections made them timid.

Guy himself had a father and friends in America, and he, too, shrank from the fate which would be his if the captain should take a fancy to sail away and leave them on the island.

It was certainly a strange and momentous responsibility that rested upon this American boy of but seventeen years. Here were two men of middle age under his direction. He had hired them for a special service, but he could not command them to remain faithful in the face of the danger which they all dreaded.

“Don’t you think, Mr. Titcomb,” said Guy, on the second morning after his conversation with Frank Low, “that we had better work more systematically?”

“What do you mean, Guy?”

“I will tell you. Hitherto we have kept together. Would it not be well to separate and go in different directions, meeting, say, at four o’clock? It would not be so pleasant, but I think it would multiply our chances of success.”

“I am ready for any plan that will have that result. Do you know, I dreamed of my wife and children last night?”

“That must have been pleasant.”

“No; for in my dream one of the children seemed to be very sick with a fever. I could not help thinking of what might happen during our protracted absence.”

Abner Titcomb spoke gravely, and it was easy to see that the dream had made a deep impression upon him. Not only upon him, but upon Luke Clark, to whom the same thought seemed to have come.

“If Captain Grover were in command of the Osprey, we wouldn’t feel so anxious or hurried,” he said.

“No; but we have a very different man in command.”

“True; but he would not have the courage to sail away and leave us in the lurch.”

“Suppose, however, that Frank Low’s conjecture is correct, and the man is insane?”

“Then, of course, he would be capable of anything,” said Luke Clark.

“Don’t let us brood over a danger which perhaps does not exist,” interrupted Guy. “Rather let us consult together how to succeed.”

It was decided to adopt Guy’s suggestion and separate, each of the three taking a different route, and meeting again at four o’clock. It was felt by all that there was no time to be lost.

It may be as well to explain here that each of the three was provided with a watch, so that there would be no difficulty about meeting at any hour agreed upon.

The first day on which this arrangement was carried out proved to be a long one for each member of the party. Previously they were able to converse together, and this made the time slip by more rapidly.

They met on the hill, at the place where they had found the seat already referred to.

Guy and Titcomb were the first to arrive.

“Well, Abner, what success?” asked Guy.

“None at all. I presume you have no better news to report.”

“No.”

“I wonder whether your clue—about the trees in the shape of a cross—can be depended upon?”

“If not, I shall have absolutely nothing to guide me.”

“Then let us trust that it is reliable. Well, I scanned closely every clump of trees in my wanderings, and saw nothing that answered the description.”

“Let us hope that Luke was more fortunate.”

Five minutes later Luke Clark made his appearance, coming from the west. There was an unusual expression upon his face that made Guy hopeful.

“Well, Luke,” he said, “have you discovered anything?”

“Yes,” answered Clark.

“What is it?” asked Guy, eagerly. “Not the cross?”

“No, not the cross. This is what I found.”

He drew from his pocket a small volume, looking like an account book. The cover bore the marks of exposure. It had evidently been out in the rain, but the inside pages were full of writing which was still legible.

“The book must have been left here by one of the pirates,” said Guy.

“No; not by one of the pirates, but by an unfortunate man who met the fate that we have all been dreading.”

“What do you mean, Luke?”

“I mean that the man who wrote the account which you will find in this book was left here purposely by a ship captain who had a grudge against him. So much I have gathered from the pages that I have read.”

“Sit down and read it to us. It is nearly two hours before we shall have to be on the beach to meet the boat.”

The handwriting was plain and legible, though a lead pencil had been employed. It looked very much like a schoolboy’s hand, the letters being round and well formed. The writer had evidently written slowly and deliberately.

The reading was listened to with deep interest. The story ran thus:

“I wonder whether anyone will ever read these lines which I pen in my despair. I hope so, though when they are read I shall be beyond human help. Not that I am sick. I am well in body, but so unhappy that I have made up my mind when this record is completed to throw myself into the sea and end my captivity in the only way that seems practicable.

“Four years I have lived on this island in the completest solitude. Every day I have made a notch on a tree, which I selected for the purpose, as it was the only way of keeping tally of the time. The seasons are so much alike that the changes are not sufficient to be a guide to me.

“I have just been counting the notches I have made, and I find them to number fourteen hundred and sixty. That makes exactly four years, not making account of the extra day for leap year.

“But I must not make my preface too long. Let me say, then, that in the year 187—I set sail from Liverpool for Bombay, rating as an ordinary seaman. I had made other voyages, for I have been a sailor, man and boy, for twenty years, but I had no presentiment that this was to be the last and most disastrous.

“We had a good captain, a man who understood his business, strict, and yet kind. I always liked him, and got on well with him. I may say that I never sailed under a captain whom I more highly respected. His name was Clark–”

“Your name, Luke,” suggested Guy. “I don’t understand how, under such a captain, the poor fellow could have come to grief.”

“You will see further on.”

Luke Clark continued reading:

“The mate, however, was a different man, arrogant, rough, and domineering. None of us liked him. He would have misused the sailors had the captain allowed, but Captain Clark, though a mild and good-tempered man, was one who did not permit his authority to be questioned or disputed. More than once, when the mate was on the point of abusing one of us sailors, the captain interfered and sternly reprimanded him.

“Of course, under these circumstances, the mate could not do the harm or indulge in the brutality to which his nature impelled him. This was fortunate for me, for by ill luck I had managed to incur his special ill will. Once he was on the point of striking me to the deck when Captain Clark interfered.

“The mate never forgot this. He was humiliated, for the captain had reproved him sharply in the presence of some of the crew. He often looked at me in a manner which boded me no good. Still I did not feel anxious, for I knew that Captain Clark was just and humane, and would not tolerate any abuse on the part of the mate.

“But I could not foresee the future. I did not dream what misfortune was in store for us. We were nearing Madagascar, when the captain fell sick of some mysterious disorder, and in the space of two days was dead.

“So it chanced that we sailors lost our best friend, and John Richmond became captain in his place.”

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE END OF JOHN WOLF’S NARRATIVE

The three looked at each other in amazement.

“John Richmond!” repeated Guy. “It is very strange. But read on. I think I can guess how he acted.”

Luke Clark proceeded with the manuscript.

“After the mate became captain, things changed for the sailors. Before, we had a strict disciplinarian, but a kindly one. No sailor who did his duty had anything to complain of. After that we were in charge of a tyrant. Captain Richmond, for this was his title now, did not forget his experiences or animosities as mate. There were several whom he disliked, but I think he hated me the most. He would have abused me, but I knew his feelings, and did not give him a chance.

“I think he disliked me all the more on that account. I could see, by the way he looked at me at times, what hatred for me there was in his heart. I think he disliked me the more because, though only a common seaman, I had had a fine education, and he knew it. In that respect I was his superior.

“Well, about this time there came a storm. It was a very violent storm, unusual in that latitude, and it drove us out of our course very considerably. Instead of trying to get into the regular route for vessels bound to Bombay, Captain Richmond kept the ship in a northeasterly course till we struck the Agalegas Islands.

“What could be his reason I did not comprehend, but I soon understood only too well. He went on shore, taking myself and another of the crew with him. We kept on till we reached the woods. Then the captain took my companion with him, and bade me remain where I was on some pretext. He was to come for me later on.

“I waited unsuspectingly till I got tired. Then I ascended the hill, and to my dismay saw the Miranda—that was the name of our vessel—under full sail, bearing out to sea. In an instant the terrible truth flashed upon me. I had been left, helpless and alone, on this unknown island, with very little chance of ever leaving it, for it was not in the path of trading vessels.

“I was almost frantic when I realized what a fearful fate was reserved for me. I shrieked, I shook my fist at the receding vessel. I called down curses on the head of the fiend who had taken upon me this terrible revenge, or rather had inflicted upon me this unprovoked punishment, for I had done nothing to incur his hostility.

“But do what I would I could not recall the Miranda. What excuse the captain made for my absence I do not know; but though I had friends on board, there was no one who would dare take my part, or call him to account for his action.

“Four years have passed since then. They have been like forty. I have not starved, for the berries and fruits which the island affords, together with the fish I have been able to catch, have sustained me. But there was no one with whom I could hold converse—no one to whom I could speak, so it is a wonder I have not forgotten my native tongue.

“For a time I bore up, sustained by the hope that some vessel would touch at the island and carry me back to England. In the four years I have seen two ships, but I was unable to attract the attention of anyone on board.

“So hope died at last, and I have come to the conclusion that for me there is no release, no way of escape. I am forty-two years of age. Under ordinary circumstances I might hope to live thirty years longer. But what would life be on this island, cut off from human companionship? I would rather end it all, and have decided to do so. When I have completed this record I shall go to a cliff on the northern shore of the island, and fling myself into the sea. Whether any eye will read these lines, I cannot tell. I hope so. I hope that someone will learn the perfidious and cruel conduct of John Richmond, and pity his poor victim.

When the story had been read the three looked at one another in stupefaction.

“It is terrible,” said Guy. “Why is it that such things are permitted?”

“Don’t you think, Guy, that this partly explains Captain Richmond’s reluctance to stay here?” asked Abner Titcomb.

“Yes,” answered Guy, quickly. “I had not thought of that, but it is probably the case.”

“A man who would be capable of wronging a poor sailor like John Wolf, and dooming him to a hopeless captivity, is quite capable of repeating the atrocious act,” observed Luke Clark, significantly.

“Yes,” said Titcomb, gravely. “I agree with you. It will be well for us to find that treasure as soon as possible. We run a risk every time we come here.”

Luke Clark had been turning over the leaves of the memorandum book from which he had read the sailor’s story.

“There is something more,” he said; “a post-script. It may be important. I will read it.”

This was what he read:

“I may as well record here an important discovery I chanced to make one day. It is of no use to me, but it may benefit the persons into whose hands this book may fall. At the north end of the island, about two hundred feet from the edge of the bluff, there is a group of trees arranged singularly in the shape of a cross. Between the second and third trees, at about eighteen inches from the surface, is a sailor’s chest, full of gold, silver, and jewels. I cannot estimate the value, but it must be large. I fancy it was hidden here by pirates. It must have been forgotten, however, for no one has visited it since I have been on this island.

If I could only get away, this treasure would make me rich. It is a tantalizing thought. As I am situated it is of no earthly use to me. Some time—it may be years hence—it will be found by some lucky person, perhaps by the one who reads this account, and it will make him rich. Such good fortune is not for me. If I could only escape from this island, which, charming as it is, I have learned to detest, I would be willing to live in abject poverty for the rest of my life. Wealth is far from my thoughts–”

“Is that all?” asked Guy, when Luke Clark stopped reading.

“Yes.”

“It is indeed strange. I thought the group of trees must be in the wood somewhere. We have been on the wrong scent.”

“But we have succeeded at last. Let us be thankful for that. We can probably finish up our work in a day or two, and then—we can go home.”

“We must go to Bombay first.”

“Yes. We can stand that, since the delay will be brief.”

“Shall we tell Captain Richmond that we have succeeded?” asked Luke.

“Perhaps it will be well to drop a hint that we are on the point of making a discovery. That will encourage him, and insure his waiting. It is not well to tell him too much.”

“It is time to go down to the beach. Only one day more!”

The three descended the hill, and reached the beach about five o’clock.

They were seen from the ship, and the boat was sent for them.

“Well,” said the captain, with his usual sneer, as they climbed on deck, “have you discovered the mare’s nest?”

The remark was addressed to Guy.

“I have reason to think we shall locate the treasure to-morrow, Captain Richmond.”

“What ground have you for that assertion?” asked the captain, quickly.

“Excuse my explaining now, but I have good reasons for my belief.”

Captain Richmond scanned Guy closely, being surprised by his confident tone.

Guy’s face was bright and cheerful, and confirmed his words. He thought that the captain would question him further, but the commander only looked thoughtful, and turning on his heel without a word went down to his cabin.

“I wish I could read his thoughts,” Guy said to himself. “He doesn’t seem glad that I am likely to succeed. He even looks as if he were disappointed.”

“Very likely. He’s a strange man, and a disagreeable one.”

Later in the evening, say about nine o’clock, Abner Titcomb and Luke Clark were leaning over the side, talking, as was natural, of the stirring events of the day, when the captain passed, neither of them being aware of his nearness.

There was one word which caught his attention. It was the name Miranda.

He stopped short, and there was a startled look on his face.

“Did I hear the name Miranda?” he asked, quickly.

“Yes,” answered Titcomb, conscious of his imprudence.

The captain turned away, but he looked suspicious and agitated, and began to mutter to himself, looking darkly from time to time at the two men.

“Does he suspect anything, do you think?” asked Titcomb.

“No; I don’t think so.”

“All the same, I wish that I had kept my tongue between my teeth.”

CHAPTER XXXIV

HOW SUCCESS BECAME FAILURE

The next morning, when Guy and his two companions started for the island, their faces were bright with hope and expectation. They felt that success was at hand.

They never doubted the truth of the statement which they had read in John Wolf’s memorandum book. There had been times when they had been despondent, but all fear of failure was now removed.

They were too much absorbed in their own thoughts to notice the rather remarkable demeanor of the captain, who stood on the deck, silent and watchful, while his three passengers were taking their places in the boat.

They were provided with a pickaxe and a shovel. These Guy had brought with him from home, in the hope that they would be required in unearthing the treasure of which he was in search.

Hitherto they had not carried these implements on their daily trips to the island, but the time had now come when they would be of use.

Captain John Richmond smiled cynically as he watched the boat lowered and the three explorers entering it. Probably no one of the sailors noticed his expression except Frank Low, on whom it produced a feeling of uneasiness.

“I wonder what the captain’s thinking about,” he said to himself.

Captain Richmond stood silent and thoughtful till he saw the party land on the island beach. Then he waited quietly till the boat returned.

He waited longer, and through the glass saw Guy and his companions plunge into the forest.

Then he called the mate, and gave him an order which was received with intense astonishment.

“Surely, Captain Richmond,” he said, “you are not in earnest!”

“Mr. Forbush,” said the captain, sternly, “I’ll thank you not to question my orders.”

“But, Captain Richmond, you are surely not going to put out to sea, leaving your three passengers on the island!”

“That is just what I am going to do,” said the captain, with an oath.

“But, sir–”

“Do you understand, Mr. Forbush, that I am the captain of this vessel?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I understand my business, and I don’t choose to have my orders questioned.”

“But, sir, this is monstrous!” protested the mate.

“Another word, sir, and I will put you in irons!”

The mate looked at the captain, and saw that he was almost beside himself with rage. Evidently he was in no condition to be expostulated with.

It seemed necessary to give in to him for the present, and the mate called the boatswain to pipe the crew to duty.

There was more than one perplexed and wondering face as the sailors prepared the ship for setting sail. They all asked themselves what it meant, and whether the three men on the island were to be left behind.

But no one dared to ask the captain, who, stern and resolute, kept his place on deck, and personally saw that his orders were carried out. Perhaps the one who felt the deepest grief and dismay was Frank Low, who saw that what he had most feared was about to take place.

He knew, too—for Guy had got a chance to tell him—that the scheme was all but discovered, and that this would be the last day upon the island.

Poor Frank! Unwillingly enough he was compelled to take his part in getting the ship ready for a start.

Had he dared, he would have made a personal protest to the captain, but he knew that while this would bring swift punishment to him it would do his friends no good. So with a perplexed brow and sinking heart he bore his part, and kept silence till the mate chanced to be standing near him. Then he felt he must speak.

“Mr. Forbush,” he said, “what does this mean? Are we going to desert Guy Fenwick and his men?”

It was a breach of discipline to say as much as this, but he knew that the mate felt kindly toward him and toward Guy.

“Heaven only knows,” replied the mate, in a low voice. “I have done the best I could to prevent him, but the captain won’t hear a word.”

“They will die!” said Frank, in a faltering voice.

“Not a word more now; the captain is coming!”

Captain Richmond came up, looking stern and forbidding, and watched with a lynx-like glance all that was going on.

The mate determined to make one more remonstrance.

“Captain Richmond,” he said, “does Guy Fenwick know of your intention of putting to sea?”

The captain looked as if he were about to indulge in a burst of furious anger, but he restrained himself, with a sudden thought.

“Yes,” he said, “he understands. We are coming back for him,” he added, after a pause.

Mr. Forbush looked skeptical. He did not believe a word of this.

He was about to speak again when the captain added, peremptorily: “I wish to hear no more on this subject, Mr. Forbush. I know what I am about.”

After this it would not do even for the mate to say more.

Still, the latter regarded the captain fixedly, which appeared to anger him.

“Don’t look at me in that way, Mr. Forbush!” roared the captain. “I repeat that I know what I am about!”