The Hispaniola Plate
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Then he looked around again.
"Which, I wonder, was the spot where Alderly drew up the box from under the water, and where he murdered the diver? Which the spot where the path led up to the hut? Why does not some spirit rise to point these things out to me?"
All was very calm here now as the romantic young man indulged in these meditations. There was no sign of life about the island-of human life; it was as still as though it were uninhabited. Yet all the tropic life was there, all the gorgeous colouring of which the Yankee settler-if he were a Yankee-who told him the story of the place had spoken. The fan-palms, the moriches, and the gros-gros grew side by side; red poinsettias mingled with wild begonias, purple dracæna and yellow crotons; the rattans and orchids were tangled together in an indescribable confusion of beauty.
"It is the isle of Nicholas's description. No doubt about that!" said Reginald. "And," he continued, drawing his pipe from his pocket and lighting it, "I am here as once Nick was here. What a pity there is no one to represent the murdered diver and his assassin, the drunken, maddened pirate."
As he reflected thus he heard the bark of a dog a little distance off; a few moments later he heard another sound as though branches were being parted; presently a voice spoke to the dog, and then the foliage growing down to the river's bank was pushed aside, and a woman came out from that foliage and stood gazing at him.
"Who are you?" she asked. "And what do you want?"
From his cutter to the shore, thirty to forty feet off, he in return gazed upon her, though his surprise did not prevent his remembering he was a gentleman, and, from the distance, taking off his hat to her while he put away his pipe. She stood before him, surrounded by all that luxuriance of colour and tropical vegetation, a girl "something more than common tall," and of, perhaps, nearly twenty years of age. A girl dressed in a light cotton gown-a very West Indian robe, both in its plain quality and pattern-that hung loosely upon her, yet did not conceal the shapely form beneath. On her head she wore a large napping straw hat, but it was not at her hat, but at what was beneath it, that Reginald looked. Her features were beautiful-there is no other word but this simple one to describe them-her colouring that which is often found in these regions, but scarcely anywhere else; the eyes a dark, lustrous hazel, the eyebrows black, the hair, which hung down like a mane upon her back, golden, with a tinge of copper red in it.
"Who are you?" she asked again, though he noticed that her voice was not a harsh one, nor, in spite of the question, an angry one. "What do you require?"
"Pardon me," replied Reginald, still spellbound at her appearance. "Pardon me. I hope this is no intrusion. I am yachting in a small way about the islands here. And among other places that attracted my attention was this river. I trust my presence is not objectionable."
"No," the girl replied quietly. Then she said, "Do you belong to the islands, or are you English or American?"
"I am English," he answered. "A sailor in Her Majesty's service."
She paused a moment, as though, it seemed to him, scarce knowing what to say, then she spoke again.
"Are you going to land?"
"If I may do so. If it is permissible."
"Oh, yes," she said. "You may do so. Sometimes people land here."
He took her permission at once, and, dropping the cutter's anchor, drew up the dinghy that was aft of her, and, getting into it, stepped on shore close by her side. And, as he did so, he wondered, "Was it here that Nicholas landed?"
Then once more taking off his hat as he came near to her, he said:
"Why do people sometimes land here? Have you any particular object of interest in your island?" He would like to have added in a gallant fashion, and sailor-like, "besides yourself," but, on consideration, refrained from doing so.
The girl smiled, as he could see, while she bent down to quiet the dog that was jumping about Reginald as though welcoming a new acquaintance. Then she replied-
"No, not any particular object. Yet people come here because there is a history attached to my family, or, perhaps I should say, my family really has a history connected with this island-though I for one do not believe it."
"And that history is?" Reginald asked eagerly.
"An ancestor of mine was supposed to have buried a treasure, or to have found one, and never been able to remove it. Yet, since he lived a wild life-for I fear he was a pirate-he left with his wife, a mere girl, a full description of where it could be found should he at any time fail to return to her. He did fail at last to return, and the place which he had named was this island, the exact spot being a cellar under a hut." She paused a moment, then she added, "The hut was found and the cellar, but-the treasure was gone."
Whether the faintness which came over Reginald at this moment-a thing he had never experienced before-was caused by the change from the cool sea breezes to the warmth exhaled by the thick vegetation of the island and the rich odour sent forth by the flowers, he has never yet been able to tell. All he knows is that, at her words, the place where they were standing swam round him, the palms seemed to be dancing a stately measure with each other and the island spinning, too, while he heard the girl's voice exclaiming:
"You are not well. What has overcome you?"
"I do not know," he replied. "It must be the heat ashore; yet I am used to all kinds of heat. A little water would revive me. I will go back to the cutter."
"There is a rill close by," she said; "come and drink from that."
He went towards it, following the direction she indicated, his mind still confused, his brain whirling. "Where had he heard of a rill before in connection with the island?" he asked himself; yet as he did so he knew very well it was somewhere in Nicholas's narrative. And the hut and the cellar beneath! Above all, a girl whose red mane was thrown behind her! Where had he heard of one such as that?
He drank from the well and cooled his hands and face-still remembering that Nicholas had in some portion of his story described how he had done this same thing-and all the time the girl stood watching him.
"You will pardon me this exhibition of weakness, I hope," he said. "But I am all right now. And your story is so interesting, so much like a romance, that-if I may stay a little longer-I should like to hear some more of it. That is, if my curiosity is not offensive."
"No," the girl said simply, and her very ease before him and her lack of ceremony showed how much a stranger she was to any worldly conventionality. "I am very glad to have anyone to talk to. One gets tired of living always, or nearly always, alone."
"Alone! But surely you don't live alone in Coffin Island? I had heard there were at least two-two men here."
"There are sometimes-my father and brother; but they go away to sea for weeks together, especially since they have almost abandoned the thought of our finding the fabulous treasure. They are away now, though I expect them back soon."
"And you are not afraid to live here all by yourself?"
"Afraid! Why should I be? We cannot find the buried treasure, therefore it is not likely anyone else could do so. And there is nothing else here to tempt anyone."
"Was there not?" Reginald reflected. "Was there not?" Yet she seemed so innocent and simple that he could not tell her his thoughts. He could not tell her, as he might have told a more worldly girl, that to many men there was a greater temptation in that graceful form and those hazel eyes and tawny golden hair than in all the dross beneath the surface of the earth. So he only said-
"But if you found the treasure? What would you do then?"
"We should go away, I suppose-though I should be sorry to leave this island. We should go into the world then-perhaps to Antigua or Trinidad." Reginald here politely concealed a smile, and she went on, "But I hope we shall never find it. My father and brother are used to the life they lead here; I do not think the outer world would suit them."
"But they are sailors and have seen it, you say?"
"They are sailors, but not such as you. They are simple, rough men, scarcely able to read or to write. That was, I think, why they-why my father-sent me to school at Antigua."
"But how do you live while they are away?" he asked her now.
"Very well. I have the hut, and there is always plenty of dried meat and fresh fruit. And sometimes I fish, or shoot a bird. There are plenty here of both kinds." Then she stopped and, looking at him, said, "Would you like to see our home? It is not far."
The girl's naïveté won on him so that there was but one reply possible-an immediate and fervent assent to this invitation; and a few moments later they were treading a path through the wood.
"The path," Reginald said to himself, "that doubtless he walked, leading to the hut where he saw Alderly die. The same, yet all so different!"
"A little glade on which the moon did shine as though on a sweet English field at home," he remembered Nicholas had written-and, lo! they were in it now. "A little glade bordered on all sides by golden shaddocks, grapefruits, citrons and lime-trees, with, at their feet and trailing round them, the many-hued convolvuli of the tropics, passion-flowers and grandillos." Only, instead of seeking for a bloodstained sea-robber, Reginald was following in the footsteps of this woodland nymph-this girl whose beauty and innocence acted like a charm upon him.
Then, next, they entered the tangled forest that Nicholas had passed through, and here again all was as he had described it. The gleaming leaves of the star-apple shone side by side with the palms and cotton-trees; the fresh cool plantains and the cashews stopped their way sometimes; the avocados and yams and custard-apples were all around them. And turning a bend of the path they came upon the hut, even as, two centuries ago, Nicholas had come upon the hut where Alderly had played host to the spectres of his drunken imagination.
Of course it could not be the same; the old one must long ago have rotted away, even if not pulled down. This to which the girl led him was a large, substantial wooden building, painted white and green, with all around it-which made it appear even larger-a balcony, or piazza, and with jalousies thrown over the rails of the piazza from above the windowless frames. On the balcony were rude though comfortable chairs covered with striped Osnaburgh cloths; against the railing there stood a gun-it was hers! – and there were large calabashes standing about, some full of water and some empty, with smaller ones for drinking from.
"This is my home," the girl said. "And it is here that we have lived for nearly two hundred years, the house being rebuilt as it fell into disrepair from time to time. I pray you to be seated. Later, when you have rested, you shall see where the diggings have been made in the searches for the supposed treasure."
"And where," said Reginald, speaking as one in a stupor, "is the spot you told me of, the cellar where the treasure once had been?"
"It is below the floor of this verandah we are standing on. Why do you ask?"
"Your story interests me so," he replied. "It seems so like a dream. But," he continued, "later on, another day, perhaps you will tell me all of it. For instance, I should so much like to know how your ancestor, who at last never returned, came to possess the treasure and to leave it buried here."
"He found it here," she said, "by chance, and ever afterwards he made this island a resort of his. I have told you he was a bad man-I am afraid, a pirate."
Again there came a feeling into Reginald's mind that he was losing his senses, that he was going mad. And the next question he asked, with the answer he received, might, indeed, have justified him in so thinking.
"Will you tell me," he said, "to whom I owe this hospitable reception on Coffin Island? Will you tell me your name?"
"My name," she replied, "is Barbara Alderly."
CHAPTER XXXI.
SOME LIGHT UPON THE PAST
Her name was Barbara Alderly! This girl whose beauty was as fresh and pure as her mind was innocent, the girl who-in spite of being able to shoot birds for her food and cook them too, or to sail a boat as well as Reginald himself could do-looked as delicate as any girl brought up in an English country house, was Barbara Alderly, his, the pirate's, descendant! It seemed impossible-impossible that she could claim relationship with such as he had been; yet it was so!
A week passed from the time she had divulged her name, a week in which they were always together during the daytime-he going to his boat at night, and joining her again in the early morning-and in that week each had told the other their story, Barbara being the first to relate hers. But in justice to Reginald it must be said that, never from the moment he had heard who she was, had he had one thought of keeping back from her the secret of where the treasure was hidden, or of depriving her and her relations of one farthing of it.
"It must all be theirs," he said to himself, "all, all. I could not go away from this island with one penny of it in my pocket and continue to think myself an honest man."
But first he had to hear her family story-in itself a romance, if ever there was one-she telling it to him a few days after their acquaintance, as they sat on the verandah, while he drank some water from one of the calabashes, flavoured with a dash of whisky brought up by him from the Pompeia, and she played with her inseparable companion, the dog, Carazo.
"You must know," she began, "that it was not until some years after Simon Alderly-who was the man I think to have been a pirate-failed to return to Port Royal, where he lived, that his still young wife, Barbara-her name being the same as mine-found the paper telling her of the treasure in this island."
"Barbara!" Reginald interrupted, memory recalling Nicholas's words once more. "Barbara! A portrait of a girl with blue eyes, red gold hair, and a sweet mouth!"
"What do you mean, sir?" exclaimed his young hostess, looking at him for the first time with something like surprise, if not alarm. "How do you know she was like that? She has been dead for," and she counted rapidly on her fingers-"for one hundred and seventy years!"
"Miss Alderly," Reginald replied, "will you believe me if I tell you that I think I shall be able to throw some light upon your family history when I have heard it? I have something to tell you as well as to listen to."
"Then," said the girl, "your presence here is not due to accident. You have come purposely to this island in connection with the hidden wealth it is supposed to contain."
"Yes!" he said, "yes, I could not tell you an untruth. I have come purposely here to find out about that wealth. Believe me, my presence bodes no harm to you or yours, no deprivation of what belongs rightly to you."
"Oh!" she said, "how happy that will make father. But will you not tell me-"
"With your permission," he replied, "I will not tell you anything until you have told me your story. Then I will keep nothing back from you-I will, indeed, help you to recover that which has been sought for so long-"
"You know where it is?"
"I think so. I discovered the secret in England, and I came out here to dig-"
"But," she again interrupted, "if you discovered the secret, then this treasure is yours, not ours."
"No," he said hastily, "no; it would have been mine had I not found that there were people in existence who are more righteously entitled to it. Now I shall find it, if I can, for you. Pray continue your tale. When that is concluded I will begin mine."
For some time he could not bring her to do so, his words having caused her much excitement; but at last she took up the thread of her narrative-the narrative interrupted so early in its commencement.
"This Barbara," she said at last-while all the time her clear eyes had a searching, almost troubled, look, as she kept them fixed on him-"this Barbara of whom you seem to know, or to have guessed the appearance, though I cannot say if it is a correct one, had herself a strange history. Simon Alderly had found her, a child of about four years old, alone and deserted on one of the Lucayos group, and, since there was a boat washing about on the coast of the island, he thought that possibly she had drifted ashore in it, while her parents, or those who had saved her, had fallen into the sea from the boat after escaping from some sinking ship. He took her off, however, carried her to Port Royal, and, after bringing her up, married her when she was fifteen. Then he left her in charge of his house there, while he, following the calling of a sea-captain, was frequently away from home, sometimes for weeks at a time, sometimes for months, sometimes for more than a year. But whenever he returned he always brought a great deal of money-generally composed of the coins of several different nations-half of which he always gave to her for future household expenses, spending the remainder in great rejoicing while he stayed on shore."
"This is, of course, family history," Reginald hazarded, "handed down from generation to generation? Is it not?"
"You shall hear, though you have guessed right. Our family records since that time have been carefully kept."
"I beg your pardon for interrupting you," Reginald said. "Pray go on."
"However," the girl continued, stroking Carazo's ears all the while as she did so, "the time came when he returned no more; he disappeared finally in 1687."
"Ah!" exclaimed Reginald involuntarily.
Again her soft hazel eyes stared full at him as she exclaimed, "You are aware of that; you know it as well as I do!"
"Yes," he answered, "I know it. Once more forgive me."
"Perhaps," she said, "you know as much, or more than I do!"
"No," he replied, "after that I know no more. After the year 1687 down to this period I know nothing further of Simon Alderly-indeed I did not even know that his name was Simon; what you tell me of incidents after that period will be new to me."
"And you will tell me all you know when I have finished?" she asked, looking at him with such trusting eyes that no man, unless he were a scoundrel, could have had one thought of obtaining her confidence and yet holding his own.
"On my honour I will," he answered, "even to telling you where I believe your wealth is hidden."
She made a gesture as though deprecating the word "your," and then, seeing he was waiting eagerly for her to continue, she did so.
"He disappeared finally in 1687-Barbara never heard of him again. Then as time went on she grew very poor. There had been a son born to them whom she had brought up to be a sailor, too, hoping thereby that, when he also became a roamer, he might somehow gather news of his father; and by turning the house into an inn, she managed to exist. In that way years passed and she began to grow old, while her son still followed the sea, though never rising to be anything more than a humble seaman. But more years after, when she was getting to be quite an old woman, her house was blown down in a hurricane-though it had survived the terrible one of 1722, when all the wharves at Port Royal were destroyed-and then-she found something."
"What?" asked Reginald. "What was it?" He remembered what David Crafer had found under circumstances not dissimilar, and, perhaps, because he was a sailor-and thereby given even in these modern days to belief in strange and mysterious things-he wondered if the hand of Fate had pointed out to that old Barbara some marvellous clue to where the treasure was. Yet he knew that it could scarce have told her of the removal of the chests of treasure from the island to the Key.
"She found," went on the Barbara of to-day, "a little walled-up wooden cupboard-"
"Great Heaven!" he muttered beneath his breath, so that, this time, she did not hear him.
"Close to the place where he used to sit and drink when at home, but of the existence of which she was ignorant. Yet, she remembered, he had often told her that there were secret hiding-places in the house, and that, if he died suddenly or never came back, she was to search diligently and she would find them. Especially he bade her search in that room; but, what with waiting and watching for his return, she had forgotten his instructions. And now that it was burst open, the wall that secured it being only a plank of wood which fell out at the first violence of the hurricane, she found this cupboard full of various pieces of money, gold and silver, and a paper in his writing telling her of his treasure in this island."
"Then it was his!" exclaimed Reginald.
"By discovery. He wrote that he had put into Coffin Island-as it was called even so long ago as his time-in a storm, and that, while roaming about the place, he and his comrades had come upon a hut, old and long since built, but quite deserted now. Then he went on to write-my father has the paper now, and I have often seen it-that the sloop he had was sent to Tortola to fetch provisions-"
"Was it in charge of a man named Martin, by any chance?" asked Reginald.
But now he saw how imprudent he was. As he mentioned that name the girl started from her seat and retreated from him to the other end of the verandah.
"You frighten me," she said. "I do not understand. How do you know this?"
"Do not be alarmed, I beg," he answered in return. "When you have told your story I will put into your hands a paper that has been found, written by a forerunner of mine who knew Simon Alderly. Then you will see how I know what I do. Pray feel no alarm. I mean you nothing but goodwill, nothing. The treasure shall be yours and no one else's. Will you trust in me?"
"Yes," she said, once more calmed. "Yes, I will." Then she seated herself again and at his persuasion continued the narrative, while Reginald could not but reflect how little fear Nicholas need have had of "Martin coming back with the sloop."
The bewildered mind of the drink-inflamed pirate had mixed up two separate sojourns in Coffin Island!
"The sloop went to Tortola to purchase provisions, and, since they were short-handed, there being but three men excepting my ancestor, all went in her but him. And then it was he found the treasure, it being in a vault or cavern beneath the floor of the hut. It was the simplest way in which he unearthed it, he wrote, and had he not been alone it must have been discovered by the others as well as he. There was a trap-door in the flooring, with a great ring to it, quite visible to anyone, and opening easily. And when he went down some steps into the cavern he found it all-all! Only he had no chance to take it away then, he wrote to his wife; so, putting a vast number of gold pieces in his pocket, he carefully closed the trap-door up again and covered it over with earth, which he stamped down with his feet so that his companions should observe nothing. And in the paper which he left, giving such instructions as were necessary, which were not many-the place was so easily to be found-he wrote down that he had since, whenever opportunity offered, paid visits to Coffin Island, but, being always accompanied by comrades, he never yet had had a chance of removing it. And, he said, if he never brought it home and she found the paper, then she must go to Coffin Island after his death and get it for herself. It was a large treasure, a great fortune, he wrote, it must not be lost."
"So," said Reginald, "she came here?"
"She came here," the girl continued, "and with her came her son and a woman he had married, a Barbadian. But through all the generations from the day she came-which was in the year 1723-and I am the eighth in descent from her, they have never found the treasure. The vault was there, but there was nothing in it."
"Yet your family have continued to seek for it," exclaimed Reginald. "I should almost have thought they would have desisted."
"No," Barbara replied, "they never desisted. For first, they thought that Simon might have changed the hiding-place after he had left the paper in Jamaica-the life he led would probably necessitate his doing so, since his companions might otherwise have also found the vault-and, next, the island had become their home. Simon's son bought it for half-a-crown an acre, his wife having some little money, and we have lived here ever since, while every man who has succeeded to it has made further search."