Chapter Fifteen.
The Mysterious Barque.
When Leslie returned to the camp he found the tent lighted up, and Flora and dinner awaiting him. He was tired, for the day had been an unusually fatiguing one; and when a man is tired he usually prefers to be silent. Nevertheless, he recapitulated in detail to Flora all that had been in his mind during his walk home; and finally put the question to her whether she would rather leave in the barque, or in the cutter; the former, perhaps, offering her more comfortable—because more roomy—quarters than the latter.
“What have you decided to do, Dick?” she asked.
“Oh,” he replied, “so far as I am concerned, I have quite made up my mind to adhere to my original plan of going home in the cutter, and taking our treasure with me.”
“Then, of course, that settles everything,” said Flora, simply. “Where you go, Dick dear, I go also—that is to say, if you will have me.” This last with a most angelic smile.
There was but one reply possible to such a remark, so that matter was settled; after which, having lighted his pipe, he strolled over to the hut, to discuss with Nicholls and Simpson the unexpected appearance of the barque in their neighbourhood.
“If she means to touch here, as I feel pretty certain that she does,” remarked Leslie, after he had related to the two men the result of his observations, “she will doubtless dodge off and on until daylight—as of course she cannot know the whereabouts of the channel through the reef—and then we can go out in the canoe and pilot her in. Meanwhile, what do you two men think of doing? Are you going to keep to your arrangement with me; or would you prefer to get the skipper of the barque to take you?”
Nicholls regarded Leslie with some surprise. “I hope, sir,” he said, “that you don’t want to cry off your bargain with us! I’ve already been planning in my mind what I’ll do with that five hundred—”
“Certainly not,” interrupted Dick, with a laugh; “I have no wish to cry off my bargain, as you term it. I merely wish you to understand that I will not attempt to hold you to it if you would prefer the barque to the cutter. The barque would doubtless be more comfortable than the cutter in heavy weather.”
“May be she would, or may be she wouldn’t,” observed Nicholls. “Anyhow, the difference wouldn’t be so very great, one way or the other. But there’s no five hundred pound to be got out of the barque; and I’m bound to have that money, Mr Leslie—”
“Same here,” cut in Simpson.
“All right,” laughed Leslie. “Then that matter is settled for good and all; so we need say no more about it.”
“Question is: What’s she comin’ here for?” inquired Simpson, volunteering a remark for the first time on record.
“Oh, who can tell?” returned Leslie. “She may be a whaler—although I do not believe that she is—putting in here in the hope of finding water. That is the only explanation that has occurred to me as accounting for her presence in this locality—which is really a long way out of any of the usual ship tracks. She is the first craft that I have sighted since my arrival upon this island. But no doubt we shall learn to-morrow—”
“Why, there she is,” interrupted Nicholls, pointing. “By Jingo, just look at that; coming in through the channel as confidently as though she had been in the habit of sailin’ in and out of it every day of her life! And with nothing better than the starlight to see her way by. Well, dash my wig, but that’s a rum go, and no mistake!”
It was even as he said; for while the three men stood there talking together the shadowy form of the barque, under her two topsails and fore-topmast staysail, was seen gliding into the lagoon close past Cape Flora—her skipper evidently perfectly acquainted with the exact situation of the entrance channel—and presently her topsail halliards were let run and the sails clewed up, the rattle of the gear and the cheeping of the blocks being distinctly audible to the three on the beach. Then a minute or two later came the splash of the anchor and the rumbling rattle of the cable through the hawse-pipe, and the barque was seen to swing to her anchor.
“Well, it is perfectly clear that the man who has charge of her has been in here at least once before,” remarked Leslie. “Evidently he knows the place quite well. Now, I wonder what it is that has brought him here; I would give a trifle to know. And, of course, I could readily find out by taking the canoe and paddling off aboard to ask the question. But I will not do that; and, furthermore, it may be just as well not to let those people know—until to-morrow morning, at any rate—that there is anybody on the island, therefore pleads take care, both of you, that no light shows from your hut to-night. And I will just step up to the tent and give Miss Trevor a similar caution. Good night, men. We had better be stirring by dawn to-morrow morning.” So saying, Leslie turned away, and made his way to the tent, where he not only cautioned Flora against showing a light, but took such simple precautions as were required to render it impossible that the necessary lights in the tent should be seen from the barque. Then, this done to his satisfaction, he lighted his pipe and, taking the telescope—which was both a day and a night-glass—once more sauntered down to the beach to watch the proceedings aboard the strange vessel. For although he could find no legitimate reason or excuse for the feeling, it was an undeniable fact that the appearance of this barque upon the scene affected him disagreeably, producing within him a vague sense of unrest that almost amounted to foreboding. Why had she come to the island? That was the question that persistently haunted him, and to which he could find no entirely satisfactory reply. That her presence there was accidental he could not believe, else how came it that the person in charge of her knew so well where to find the channel giving access to the lagoon, and entered it so confidently, not even waiting for the daylight to enable him to see his way in? And as he mused thus he employed himself in intently watching the barque through the night-glass, again noting the fact that the vessel was curiously short-handed, for her people furled only one topsail at a time, and—so far as he could make out—had only four men available for the job, instead of at least twice that number. Furthermore, he noticed that, even for that small number of men, the time consumed in rolling up and stowing the sails was quite unconscionable, arguing the existence of an exceedingly lax discipline—if any at all—aboard the craft. He estimated that it occupied those four men fully two hours to furl the two topsails; and when it was at last done and the men had descended to the deck with exasperating deliberation, he came to the conclusion that, if the night-glass was to be trusted, the job had been done in a most disgracefully slovenly manner.
He patiently watched that barque until all visible signs of life aboard her had vanished, and then he walked thoughtfully back to the tent and turned in—Flora having retired some time before. But ere he could get to sleep he was disturbed by the sounds of a hideous uproar that came floating shoreward from the stranger; and, going again into the open air to hear more clearly, he presently recognised the sounds as those of discordant singing, finally recognising the fact that a regular drunken orgie was in progress aboard the craft—still further evidence of a singularly lax state of discipline.
Leslie’s couch was a sleepless one that night; for the fact was that, taking everything into consideration, he could neither account satisfactorily for the presence of the barque at the island, nor convince himself that her errand there was an altogether honest one. Therefore, with the first faint flush of dawn he was again astir; and rousing Flora and the two men, he bade them get their breakfasts forthwith and make the best of their way out of the camp ere the barque’s people should have had an opportunity to see them and become aware of their presence on the island. And he further gave Nicholls and Simpson instructions to proceed with and complete the rigging of the cutter and the bending of her sails, in readiness for getting under way at a moment’s notice. Unfortunately the Flora had still to be provisioned and watered for her voyage; and it was just this fact, and the possibility that the strangers might be disposed to interfere with these operations, that discomposed him. But for this he would most cheerfully have marched himself and his little party out of the camp and left it, with everything it contained, to the mercy of the barque’s crew—whom he had already, in some unaccountable fashion, come to look upon as outlaws. He gave the men the strictest injunctions that Flora was to forthwith take up her quarters aboard the cutter, while they—Nicholls and Simpson—were to camp in the natural fortress to which he had that same afternoon drawn their attention, holding it against all comers, and on no account leaving it altogether unguarded, either day or night. As for himself, he announced that he would remain, as sole occupant of the camp, to meet the strangers and ascertain the reason for their visit; after which his further actions would be guided by circumstances.
Leslie was of opinion that, after the orgie of the preceding night, the crew of the barque would be in no particular hurry to turn out; and his surmise proved to be quite correct, for although he kept a keen watch upon the vessel it was not until nearly nine o’clock that he detected the first signs of movement on board her, in the shape of a thin streamer of smoke, issuing from the galley funnel. He then watched for the usual signs of washing down the decks, the drawing of water, the streaming of the scuppers, and so on, but could detect nothing of the kind; neither was the bell struck on board to mark the passage of time—two additional indications of the absence of discipline that still further increased his fast-growing uneasiness respecting the character of his unwelcome visitors. As soon as the light was strong enough, it may be mentioned, he had taken a look at the barque through his telescope, and had read the words “Minerva, Glasgow,” painted across her counter; he thus knew that the vessel was British, as, indeed, he had already suspected.
Now, it was Dick’s purpose to learn as much as he possibly could about the strangers, and to let them know as little as possible about himself—and nothing at all about his companions—in return, until he had had an opportunity to get some notion of their true character. He had therefore determined to pose as a solitary castaway; and now, in that character, proceeded down to the beach, stepped into the canoe, and began to paddle laboriously off toward the barque. For he knew that one of the first things to be done by the skipper of that vessel would be to bring his telescope to bear upon the island, and this would immediately result in the discovery of his tent, his pile of salvage from the brig, the hut, and all the litter upon the beach; and as it was consequently impossible to conceal the fact of his presence upon the island, he judged that the natural action of such a castaway as himself would be to eagerly seize the first opportunity to communicate with a calling ship.
The canoe being a big, heavy craft for one man to handle, it took him a full hour to paddle off to the barque; but it was not until he was within a hundred yards of her that he was able to detect any open indication of the fact that his presence had been discovered. Then he saw a big, burly-looking individual come aft along the vessel’s full poop, and deliberately bring a pair of binocular glasses to bear upon him. He at once ceased paddling, and, placing his hands to his mouth, hailed—
“Minerva ahoy!”
“Hillo!” came the response across the water, in a gruff voice that accurately matched the build and general appearance of the owner.
“May I come aboard?” inquired Dick resuming his paddle.
“Ay, ay; come aboard, if ye like,” was the somewhat ungracious response.
Without further parley Leslie paddled up alongside under the starboard main channels, and, flinging his painter up to an individual who came to the side and peered curiously down upon him over the bulwarks, scrambled up the side as best he could in the absence of a side-ladder, and the next moment found himself on deck.
He cast an apparently casual but really all-embracing glance round him, and noted that the barque was evidently just an ordinary trader, with nothing in the least remarkable about her appearance save the extraordinary paucity of men about her decks. Under ordinary circumstances and conditions, at this hour all hands would have been on deck and busy about their preparations for the carrying out of the object of their visit to the island—whatever that might be; instead of which the man on the poop, the man who had made fast his painter for him, and the cook—a fat-faced, evil-looking man with a most atrocious squint—who came to the galley door and stared with malevolent curiosity at him—were the only individuals visible. It was not, however, any part of Leslie’s policy to exhibit surprise at such an unusual condition of affairs, so he simply advanced to the poop ladder, with the manner of one a little uncertain how to act, and, looking up at the burly man who stood at the head of the ladder, glowering down upon him, said—
“Good morning! Are you the captain of this barque?”
“Ay,” answered the individual addressed; “I’m Cap’n Turnbull. Who may you be, mister? and how the blazes do you come to be on that there island? And how many more are there of ye?”
“As you see, I am alone, unfortunately,” answered Leslie; “and a pretty hard time I have had of it. But, thank God, that is all over now that you have turned up—for I presume you will be quite willing to give me a passage to the next port you may be calling at?”
“Give ye a passage?” reiterated the burly man, scornfully; “give nothin’! I’m a poor man, I am, and can’t afford to give anything away, not even a passage to the next port. But if you’m minded to come aboard and work your passage, you’re welcome. For I’m short-handed, as I dare say you can see; and it’s easy enough to tell that you’re a sailor-man. It you wasn’t you wouldn’t be here, would ye?” This last with a grin that disclosed a set of strong irregular, tobacco-stained teeth, and imparted to the speaker the expression of a satyr.
The conversation thus far had been conducted as it had started, with Leslie down on the main deck and Turnbull on the poop. The incongruity of the arrangement now seemed to strike the latter, for he added—
“Come up here, mister; we can talk more comfortably when we’re alongside of one another; and you can spin me the yarn how you come to be all alone by yourself on yon island.”
In acceptance of this graciously worded invitation, Leslie ran lightly up the poop ladder and, slightly raising his cap, said—
“Permit me to introduce myself, Captain Turnbull. My name is Leslie,”—with emphasis—“and the recital of the chain of circumstances which ended in my being cast away upon the island yonder will be so lengthy that, with your permission, I will smoke a pipe as I tell it.”
And therewith he calmly drew his pipe from his pocket and, filling it, lighted up. Meanwhile his manner, language, and appearance had been steadily impressing the other man, who insensibly began to infuse his own manner with a certain measure of respect as the interview lengthened itself out.
Having lighted his pipe, Leslie proceeded to relate the whole story of his adventure, beginning with his embarkation on board the Golden Fleece, and ending up with the stranding of the Mermaid, but carefully suppressing all reference whatsoever to Miss Trevor; and representing himself not as an ex-naval officer, but as an amateur yachtsman. He was careful also to mention nothing about the existence of the cutter, but, on the other hand, dwelt at some length upon the idea he had entertained of building a craft capable of carrying him and a sufficient stock of provisions away from the island. “I doubt, however, whether I should ever have managed it, single-handed. But your arrival renders all further trouble on that score unnecessary,” he said, in conclusion.
“Well, yes,” returned Turnbull, somewhat more genially than he had yet spoken; “there’s no call for you to worry about buildin’ a boat now, as you says, ’specially as you’re a good navigator. You can come home with us, workin’ your passage by navigatin’ the ship. For a good navigator is just exactly what I happens to want.”
“Ah, indeed! Cannot you rely upon your mate, then?” inquired Leslie, blandly.
“My mate?” ejaculated the burly man; “well, no, I can’t. That’s to say,” he continued confusedly, “he’s the only navigator I’ve got now, and—well, no, I can’t depend upon him.”
“Do you find, then, that your own observations and his yield different results?” asked Leslie, still in the same bland, quiet manner.
“My own observations?” reiterated Captain Turnbull. “I don’t take no observations. Ye see,” he added, looking hard at Leslie’s impassive face to discover whether the latter had noticed anything peculiar in such an extraordinary admission, “my sight’s a little bit peculiar; I can see ordinary things plain enough, but when it comes to squintin’ through a sextant I can’t see nothin’.”
“Ah, indeed; that must be exceedingly awkward for you, Captain,” returned Leslie. “I am not surprised at your anxiety to secure the services of another navigator. By the way, how long do you propose to remain here? I should like to know, so that I may make my preparations accordingly.”
“Well,” answered Turnbull, “there’s no particular reason for you to hurry; I s’pose half an hour ’ll be about time enough for you to get your few traps together and bring ’em off, won’t it?”
“Oh yes,” answered Leslie, nonchalantly, “that time will amply suffice. I will do so at once, if you like.”
“There’s no occasion for hurry, as I said just now,” retorted Turnbull. “Now that we’re here I think I shall give the men a spell and let ’em have a run ashore a bit. In fact, I think I could do with a week ashore there myself. Most lovely place it looks like, from here. By-the-bye, how long did you say you’d been on that there island?”
“A trifle over nine months,” answered Leslie.
“Over nine months!” ejaculated the other in tones of intense surprise. “Well, nobody’d think as you’d been a castaway for nine months, to look at ye. Why, you look strong and healthy enough, and as smartly rigged as though you’d just stepped out of the most dandy outfitter’s in the Minories!”
“Oh, but there is nothing very wonderful in that,” laughingly protested Leslie. “Nine months of life, practically in the open air all the time, is just the thing to keep a man fit, you know; while as for my ‘rig,’ I found a big stock of clothes among the Mermaid’s cargo, and I have drawn freely upon that.”
“Nine months on the island,” repeated Turnbull, still dwelling upon that particular fact; “why, I s’pose you know every inch of the ground ashore there by this time?”
There was a certain ill-suppressed eagerness in the tones of the man’s voice as he asked this question that acted very much as a danger-signal to Leslie. It seemed to suggest that thus far the man had merely been fencing with him, but that he was now trying to get within his guard; that, in short, the object of the Minerva’s visit to the island was nearing the surface. He therefore replied, with studied carelessness—
“No, indeed I do not. On the contrary, I know very little of it—not nearly as much as I ought to know. I have been to the summit once, and took a general survey of the island from that point, and I have wandered for a short distance about the less densely bush-clad ground on this side of the island; but that is about all. The fact is that I was much too keen upon saving everything I possibly could out of the brig to think of wasting my time in wandering about an island the greater part of which is covered with almost impassable bush.”
“Ah, yes; I s’pose you would be,” rejoined Turnbull, with an expression of relief that set Leslie wondering.
What on earth did it matter to Turnbull whether he—Dick Leslie—had explored the island or not? he asked himself. Turnbull’s next remark let in a little light upon the obscurity, and distinctly startled Leslie. For, staring steadfastly at the island, the burly man presently observed—
“Yes; it’s a fine big island, that, and no mistake. With a mountain on it and all, too. I should say, now, that that island would be a very likely place for caves, eh? Looks as though there might be any amount of caves ashore there in the sides of that there hill, don’t it?”
Caves! Like a flash of lightning the true explanation of the Minerva’s visit stood clearly revealed to Leslie’s mind. That one word “caves,” spoken as it was in tones of mingled excitement and anxiety, ill-suppressed, had furnished him with the key to the entire enigma. Caves! Yes, of course; that was it; that explained everything—or very nearly everything—that had thus far been puzzling Leslie, and gave him practically all the information that he had been so anxious to acquire. He had read of such incidents in books, of course, but had so far regarded them merely as pegs whereon to hang a more or less ingeniously conceived and exciting romance; but here was a similar incident occurring in actual prosaic earnest; and he suddenly found himself confronted with a situation of exceeding difficulty. For the mention by Turnbull of the word “caves”—careless and casual as he fondly believed it to be, but actually exceedingly clumsy—had in an instant driven home to Leslie’s mind the conviction that somehow or other this man had become possessed of information of the existence of the treasure on this island, and had come to take it away! By what circuitous chain of events the information had fallen into the fellow’s hands it was of course quite impossible to guess; but that this was the explanation of everything Dick was fully convinced. And now that he possessed the clue he could not only guard his own tongue against the betrayal of information, but could also doubtless so order his remarks as to extort from some one or another of his visitors all the details that he himself might require. So, in reply to Turnbull’s last remark, he said carelessly—
“Caves! oh, really I don’t know; very possibly there may be—unless the earthquake has shaken them all in and filled them up—”
“Earthquake!” roared Turnbull, in tones of mingled rage and consternation; “you don’t mean to say as you’ve had a hearthquake here, do ye?”
“Certainly,” answered Dick, with as much sang-froid as though an earthquake were a mere pleasant interlude in an otherwise monotonous life; “it occurred about three months ago, and gave the place a pretty severe shaking up, I can assure you. It also started that volcano into activity again after ages of quiescence.”
“The mischief!” ejaculated Turnbull, with manifest discomposure. “I must go ashore at once!”
“I am afraid,” said Leslie, gently, “that my mention of the earthquake and its possible effect upon the caves of the island has somewhat upset you. Are you going ashore in the hope of finding any particular cave? If so, I shall be most happy to assist you in your search.”
“Assist! I’ll be—I mean of course not,” exclaimed Turnbull, beginning with a savage bellow and suddenly calming himself again. “What d’ye s’pose a man like me wants to go pokin’ about ashore there, huntin’ after caves for? I’ve somethin’ else to do. I’ve come in here because our fresh water’s turned bad, and I thought that maybe I might be able to renew my stock, I s’pose there’s fresh water to be had on the island?”
“Certainly,” answered Leslie; “there is a most excellent supply, and quite accessible to your boats. It lies over there,” pointing toward Mermaid Head; “and falls over a low ledge of rock into deep-water. You can go alongside the rock and fill up your boats or tanks direct, if you like.”
“Ah, that’ll do first-rate,” remarked Turnbull; “I’ll give orders for the men to start the foul water at once. And now, as I see that the sun’s over the fore-yard, what’ll you take to drink? I s’pose you’ve been pretty hard up all these months for drink, haven’t ye?”
“No, indeed,” answered Leslie; “on the contrary, I found an abundance of wines and spirits aboard the brig. The only thing that I have lacked has been mineral waters; therefore if you happen to have any soda-water on board it will give me great pleasure to take a whisky and soda with you.”
“I believe we have some sodas left,” answered Turnbull, doubtfully. “You won’t mind takin’ it up here on the poop, will ye?” he continued. “Fact is there’s a man lyin’ sick in one of the cabins below, and I don’t want to disturb him with our talk.”
Of course Leslie, although he had his doubts about the genuineness of the “sick man” story, readily acquiesced in the suggestion of the other, and seated himself in one of two deck-chairs that were standing on the poop, while Turnbull retired ostensibly for the purpose of quietly hunting up the steward.
A few minutes later the steward—a young Cockney of about twenty-five years of age, who had the worn, harassed appearance of a man living in a state of perpetual scare—came up the poop ladder, bearing a tray on which were a couple of tumblers, an uncorked bottle of whisky, and two bottles of soda-water, which he placed upon the skylight cover. Then, taking up the whisky-bottle and a tumbler, he proceeded to pour out a portion of the spirit, glancing anxiously about him as he did so.
“Say ‘when,’ sir, please,” he requested, in a loud voice, immediately adding under his breath, “Are you alone, ashore there, sir, or is there others there along with you?”
His whole air of extreme trepidation, and the manner of secrecy with which he put this singular question, was but further confirmation—if any were needed—of certain very ugly suspicions that had been taking a strong hold upon Leslie during the whole progress of his interview with the man Turnbull; Dick therefore replied to the steward by putting another question to him in the same low, cautious tones—
“Why do you ask me that, my man?” he murmured.
“Because, sir, there’s— Is that about enough whisky, sir?”
The latter part of the steward’s speech was uttered in a tone of voice that could be distinctly heard as far forward as the break of the poop, and, with the man’s abrupt change of subject was evidently caused—as Leslie could see out of the corner of his eye—by the silent, stealthy appearance of Turnbull’s head above the top of the ladder, and the glance of keen suspicion that he shot at the two occupants of the poop.
Dick took the tumbler from the steward’s shaking hand and calmly held it up before him, critically measuring the quantity of spirit it contained.
“Yes, thanks,” he replied; “that will do nicely. Now for the soda.”
And he held the tumbler while the steward opened the soda-water bottle and emptied it’s effervescing contents into the spirit. Turnbull glanced keenly from Leslie to the steward and back again, but said nothing, although the unfortunate attendant’s condition of terror was patent to all observers. Dick waited patiently while the trembling man helped Turnbull, and then, lifting his tumbler, said—
“Your health, Captain; and to our better acquaintance.”
“Thank ’ee; same to you,” gruffly replied the individual addressed; adding to the steward, “That’ll do; you can go back to your pantry now, and get on with your work.”
The fellow departed in double-quick time, obviously glad to get away from the neighbourhood of his somewhat surly superior; and as he went Turnbull watched him until he disappeared down the poop ladder.
“Rum cove, that,” he remarked to Leslie, as the man vanished. “Good sort of steward enough, but nervous as a cat. Did ye notice him?”
“It was quite impossible not to do so,” answered Dick, with a laugh. “And I could not help feeling sorry for the poor beggar. I take it that he is the simpleton of the ship, and that all hands make a point of badgering him.”
“Ay,” answered Turnbull, eagerly, clearly relieved that Dick had taken this view of the man’s condition; “that’s just exactly what it is; you’ve hit the case off to a haffigraphy. Well, enough said about him. If you’re ready to go ashore now I’ll go with ye.”
“By all means,” answered Leslie, genially; not that he was in the least degree desirous to have the man’s company, or even that he or any of his crew should land upon the island at all. Still, he knew that, the barque being where she was, it was inevitable that at least some of the ship’s company would insist upon going ashore, and he could not see how he was to prevent them; meanwhile, it was much better to have the fellow alone with him than accompanied by half a dozen or more of his men.
As he spoke he rose from his seat and led the way toward the canoe, Turnbull following him. Upon reaching the gangway, however, Dick looked over the side, and then, turning to his companion, said—
“I think you would find it more convenient if your people rigged the side-ladder. My canoe is rather crank, and if you should happen to tumble overboard in getting into her I would not answer for your life; the lagoon swarms with sharks, and as likely as not there are one or two under the ship’s bottom at this moment.”
Turnbull grunted and turned away, looking forward to where two or three men were loafing about on the forecastle, hard at work doing nothing.
“For’ard, there!” he shouted; “rouse out the side-ladder and rig it, some of ye, and look sharp about it. Steward,” he added, turning toward the cabin under the poop, “bring me out a handful of cigars.”
The two men with the ladder, and the steward with the cigars, appeared simultaneously; and, pocketing the weeds, the skipper proceeded to the gangway to supervise the rigging of the ladder. As he did so, Leslie felt something being thrust surreptitiously into his hand. It felt like a folded piece of paper, and he calmly pocketed it, glancing casually about him as he did so. The steward was the only man near him, and he was shuffling off nimbly on his way back to his pantry.
Leslie took his time paddling ashore, and when at length the pair landed on the beach the sun had passed the meridian.
“Now, Captain,” said Dick, “where would you like to go in the first place?”
Turnbull stood and looked about him admiringly. “Why,” he exclaimed, “this here hisland is a real beautiful place, and no mistake. Dash my wig! why, a man might do a sight worse than settle here for the rest of his natural, eh?”
“Ay,” answered Leslie, indifferently; “I have often thought so myself. Indeed it is quite on the cards that I may return here some day, with a few seeds and an outfit of gardeners’ tools. As you say, a man might do worse. By the way, perhaps it will be as well to get lunch before we start out on our ramble. Will you come up to my tent? You will find it a very comfortable little shanty. I must apologise for the fare that I shall be obliged to offer you, but I have lived on tinned meat and fish ever since I have been here; and I have caught no fish to-day.”
“Well, I must say as you’ve managed to make yourself pretty tidy comfortable,” observed Leslie’s guest as he entered the tent and stared about him in astonishment; “picters, fancy lamps, tables and chairs with swagger cloths and jigmarees upon ’em, and a brass-mounted bedstead and beddin’ fit for a king! They’re a blame sight better quarters than you’ll find aboard the Minerva, and so I tell ye.”
Leslie laughed lightly. “What does that matter?” he demanded. “True, I am fond of comfort, and always make a point of getting it where I can; but I can rough it with anybody when it becomes necessary.”
Dick was obliged to leave his guest alone in the tent for a short time while he looked after the preparations for luncheon; and he had little doubt that during his absence the man would without scruple peer and pry into the other compartments of the tent. But to this contingency he was quite indifferent, for he had foreseen and forestalled it, before going off to the barque, by carefully gathering up and stowing away such few traces of a woman’s presence as Flora had left behind her. That Turnbull had followed the natural propensity of men of his stamp was made clear immediately upon Dick’s return, for, quite unabashed, the fellow remarked—
“I say, mister, you’re doin’ the thing in style here, and no mistake. I’ve been havin’ a look round this here tent of yourn while you’ve been away, and I see as you’ve acshully got a pianner in the next room. And where’s your shipmate gone to?”
“My shipmate?” repeated Leslie, staring blankly at him.
“Ay, your shipmate,” reiterated Turnbull, severely. “You told me you was all alone here, but I see as you’ve got two bedrooms rigged up here. Who’s t’other for, and where is he?”
“Really, Captain,” said Dick, coldly, “I cannot see what possible difference it can make to you whether I have a shipmate or not, if you will pardon me for saying so. But,” he continued, somewhat more genially, “it is perfectly evident that you have never lived alone on an island, or you would understand what a luxury it is to be able to change one’s sleeping-room occasionally.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” returned Turnbull, with sudden relief. “You sleeps sometimes in one bed and sometimes in t’other, by way of a change, eh?”
“As you see,” answered Dick, briefly. “And now, will you draw up your chair? It is not a very tempting meal that I can offer you; but you can make up for it when you return to your ship this evening.”
It was evident to Leslie that Turnbull was much exercised in his mind about something, for he ate and drank silently and with a preoccupied air; and later on the reason for this became manifest, for when at length they rose from the table the fellow remarked with a clumsy effort at nonchalance—
“Look here, mister, I expect you’ve a plenty of matters to look after and attend to, so don’t you worry about showin’ me round this here hisland of yourn; you just go on with what you’ve got in hand, and I’ll take a stroll somewheres by myself.”
So that was it. He wanted an opportunity to go off upon an exploring expedition unrestrained by Dick’s presence! But this did not at all chime in with Leslie’s plans; for he felt certain that if he yielded to his companion’s suggestion the latter would at once make his way in the direction of the treasure-cave, and endeavour to discover its locality, with the result that he would inevitably come into collision with Nicholls and Simpson. This, in any case, would doubtless happen, sooner or later; but Dick wished to acquire a little further information before it occurred. He therefore replied—
“Oh, thanks, very much. I was busy enough, in all conscience, before you arrived; but now that you have turned up, and have kindly consented to take me off the island, I have nothing further to do. So I may as well accompany you, since I know the shortest way to such few points of interest as the island possesses. Where would you like to go? The crater and the watering-place are about the only spots that are likely to tempt you, I think.”
Turnbull glared at Dick as though he could have eaten him; and for a moment the ex-lieutenant thought that his guest was about to try violent measures with him. But if that thought was really in his mind he suffered more prudent counsels to prevail with him, and, after a few moments’ hesitation, intimated that he would like to have a look at the watering-place. Dick accordingly piloted his morose companion to the spot, and pointed out how excellently it was adapted to the purpose of watering ships, drawing his attention to the deep-water immediately beneath the low cascade, and dilating upon the facility with which boats could be brought alongside. But it was clearly apparent to him that Turnbull was absolutely uninterested in the subject; and he was by no means sorry when, upon the return to the camp, the latter declined his invitation to remain on shore to dinner, and curtly requested to be at once put off to the barque. During the passage off to the vessel the man’s surliness of demeanour suddenly vanished, and, as though a brilliant idea had just struck him, he became in a moment almost offensively civil, strongly urging Dick to remain aboard the barque and “make a night of it.” But neither did this suit Dick’s plans; the sudden change in the man’s demeanour at once roused Leslie’s suspicions; and as he had no intention whatever of placing himself in the fellow’s power, he suavely declined the invitation, remarking that, as he would soon be having quite as much of the sea as he wanted, he would continue to enjoy his present roomy quarters as long as he could.