The last time that my poor father passed down Channel, outward-bound, Bob had the misfortune (as we thought it then), to fall off the poop and break his arm. It was what the surgeons call a compound fracture, and certainly looked to be a very ugly one; so, as the ship happened at the time to be off Saint Alban’s Head, my father ran into Weymouth roads, and sent Bob ashore to our house to be cured, and to bear me company; shipping in his stead the second mate, and picking up a new second mate somewhere about the town.
Thus it happened that Bob and I, old shipmates as we were, happened to be both away from our ship when her mysterious fate overtook her. As soon as we were both recovered, we sought and obtained berths, always in the same ship, for short voyages; returning home about once in every six weeks or two months, with the hope of hearing either that my father had returned, or that some news had arrived of him. For the last twelve months we had abandoned the former hope, but the latter would probably be many years before it finally took its flight.
This introduction and explanation are necessary to the understanding of what is to follow; and now, having fairly weathered them both, we may take up the thread of the story, and follow it out to the end without further interruption.
I have already said that I took an early opportunity to give Bob a detailed account of the Spaniard’s revelation to me. This was on the evening of the day on which we laid the poor fellow in his grave; and I told my story while we and my sister were seated comfortably round the fire after tea, with the curtains drawn close, and everything made snug for the night.
Bob listened with the utmost attention to my story (as did also my sister), occasionally requesting me to “say that again,” as some point in the narrative was reached which he wished to bear particularly in mind; and when I had finished he sat for some time staring meditatively between the bars of the grate.
At length, “Well, Harry, my lad, what do you intend to do?” said he.
“That,” replied I, “is just the point upon which I want your advice. If this story be true—”
“No fear about that,” said Bob. “It’s true enough. The thing’s as plain and circumstantial as the ship’s course when it’s pricked off upon the chart. There ain’t a kink in the yarn from end to end; it’s all coiled down as neat and snug as a new hawser in the ropemaker’s yard; and besides, dyin’ men don’t spin yarns with no truth in ’em, just for divarsion’s sake like.”
“Well,” said I, “I am disposed, with you, to think that the story is quite true; the man could have no object in telling it if it were not so. The question is, what is to be done in the matter?”
“Done!” exclaimed Ada, “why, what should be done, Harry, except that you go to this island, dig up the gold, bring it home, and live like a gentleman ever afterwards?”
This was Ada’s great ambition; that I should be placed in the position of a gentleman. She had a theory—whence derived I know not—that it was my destiny to become a man of unbounded means; and that my life was to be passed in an atmosphere of splendour and luxury only equalled by that enjoyed by the most favoured heroes of the “Arabian Nights.” And this was an entirely disinterested feeling on her part too; for though she would often laughingly prophesy what would happen “when I should become a rich man,” I never knew her to utter a word which suggested the idea that she would in any way be a gainer by my acquisition of wealth.
“More easily said than done, pet,” replied I, patting her soft cheek. “What is to become of you whilst I am gone?”
“Why, I shall stay here with Mrs. Moseley (our housekeeper) until your return, and be the first to welcome you back,” said she.
“Well,” replied I, “I think suitable arrangements for your comfort and safety could be made without much difficulty; but,” said I, appealing to Bob, “how is this gold to be got at and brought home in safety? I have not the means of purchasing a ship of my own; and if I had, do you think it would be safe to trust so much treasure with a crew, picked up though ever so carefully?”
“Ah! now you ’pawls me,” replied Bob, rubbing the back of his head reflectively. “I’ve sailed with crews as you might ha’ trusted with untold gold, at least I’ve thowt so at the time I was with ’em; but mayhap, if temptation was throwed in their way, they mightn’t be able to stand out agin it; there’s no gettin’ to the bottom o’ the heart o’ man. As to the ship, that’s easy enough. If you ain’t got the cash to buy, you can always charter?”
“True,” said I, “and if I could make sure of finding a sufficient number of thorough good men, that is the course I should be inclined to pursue. Do you think, Bob, that by diligent search we could find some six or eight really reliable men? The craft need not be a large one, you know—”
“There you’ve hit the solution of the enigmy, as the schoolmaster said,” replied Bob, bringing his clenched fist down upon my knee with an emphasis which impressed me for the remainder of the evening: “How much of that gold now do you reckon would make your fortune, lad? you’re pretty good at figures; just cipher it up and let’s hear?”
“How much!” exclaimed I; “oh, a very small portion of the whole cargo would satisfy me if I had it here at this moment.”
“How much?” persisted Bob. “Would a ton of it be enough for you, boy?”
“Yes, indeed,” laughed I; “a ton of pure gold—why, what do you suppose that would be worth, Bob?”
“Hain’t much of a idee,” replied he.
“A ton of pure gold,” said I, “is worth over one hundred thousand pounds, Bob; I believe one hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds is nearer it’s value; though I cannot say for certain.”
“Then,” said Bob, “if we can manage to get, say, a couple of tons of it home, you will be satisfied—eh?”
“Perfectly,” I replied; “but how do you propose to accomplish this?” for I saw he had a scheme to bring forward.
“Nothing easier,” replied Bob. “Build a little craft big enough to accommodate the two of us; with room to stow away our grub and water, and the two tons of gold; and up anchor and away.”
“But,” said I, “you forget that this island is somewhere in the Pacific. Such a craft as you speak of would be totally unfit for the voyage we contemplate.”
“Why?” inquired Bob.
“Why?” repeated I, astonished at the question. “Simply because we should never get across the Bay of Biscay in her, to say nothing of the remainder of the voyage.”
“Why not?” demanded Bob, rather pugnaciously.
“Do you mean to say,” I retorted, “that you can sit there and propose in cold blood such a hair-brained scheme as that we two should undertake a voyage to the Pacific in a mere boat?”
“I do,” replied Bob emphatically. “That’s a simple way out of all your difficulties. The craft will be your own; there will be no risk of the crew rising upon us for the sake of our cargo; and nobody to say ‘What are we doing here?’ or ‘What do you want there?’ Why, it will be a mere pleasure trip from end to end, all play and no work, leastways none to speak on!”
“But, my dear fellow, do be serious,” protested I. “You know, as well as I do, that we should be swamped the first time we fell in with a capful of wind.”
“Maybe we should, if we went to work like a couple of know-nothing land-lubbers,” retorted Bob; “but if we went to work like seamen, as we are, I should like to know what’s to purvent our sailing round the world if we like! Answer me that.”