Chapter Twelve.
The Golden Madonna.
“My goodness! you don’t mean that, Hiram?” I exclaimed, seeing from his earnest manner that he was not trying to hoax me, but stating what he really believed to be a fact. “When was it that you saw the ghost?”
“Jest on sundown, Cholly, arter the men hed thaar tea an’ cleared out, the whole bilin’ ov ’em, skipper an’ all, goin’ ashore, like ez ye did, sonny, afore ’em, to prospect the country an’ look at the big turtle an’ other streenge varmint. Thaar warn’t a soul left aboard but thet brute Flinders an’ myself; an’ he wer so basted by the lickin’ ez Jan Steenbock giv him thet he wer lyin’ down in the cabin an’ pizenin’ hisself with rum to mend matters. But, I wer thet dead beat, with shiftin’ gear an’ sendin’ down yards, thet I wer fit fur nuthin’ but ter lean over the gangway an’ smoke a pipe afore turnin’ in, fur I wer mighty tired out, I wer!”
“You must have been, Hiram,” said I, “for, I’m sure I was, and am so still.”
“Yes, I wer dead beat, an’ thaar I rested agen the gangway, smokin’ an’ lookin’ at the chaps that wer a-skylarkin’ with a big turtle they had capsized on ter his back, so ez he couldn’t make tracks; when all at oncest I thort o’ the galley fire a-goin’ out an’ yer tea, Cholly, ez I promist to keep bilin’, an’ so I made back fur the caboose. It wer then close on dark, an’ a sorter fog beginnin’ to spring from seaward afore the land breeze riz an’ blew it orf.”
“And then,” I put in, on his pausing at this point, hanging on his words intently, “what happened then?”
“Lord sakes! Cholly, it kinder makes the creeps come over me to tell you,” he replied, with a shudder, while his voice fell impressively. “I wer jest nigh the galley when I heerd a twang on the banjo, same ez poor old Sam used ter giv’ the durned thin’ afore he began a-playin’ on it—a sorter loudish twang, as if he gripped all the strings at oncet; an’ then, ther’ come a softer sort o’ toonfal ‘pink-a-pink-a-pong, pong,’ an’ I guess I heerd a wheezy cough, ez if the blessed old nigger wer clarin’ his throat fur to sing—I did, so!”
“Goodness gracious, Hiram!” I ejaculated, breathless with expectation, “you must have been frightened!”
“I wer so,” he replied—“I wer so skeart thet I didn’t know what ter dew; but, thinks I, let’s see if anythin’s thaar; an’ so I jest look’t round the corner o’ the galley through the half-door, an’, b’y, thaar I seed Sam a-sottin’, ez I sed, an’ a-playin’ his banjo ez nat’rel ez ever wer!”
“But the banjo wasn’t there last night,” I interposed here. “I looked for it almost as soon as we heard the sound of it being played at the time of the earthquake, and I couldn’t see it hanging up over the door where Tom Bullover, you remember, pointed it out to us.”
“Wa-all, all I ken say is thet I seed the ghostess with the durned thin’ thaar in his grip. I didn’t wait fur to see no more, I can tell ye, Cholly!”
“What did you do?”
“I jest made tracks for the fo’c’s’le, an’ turned inter my bunk, I wer so skeart, till the skipper an’ the rest o’ the hands came aboard ag’in, when I comed out an’ stood hyar a-waitin’ fur ye. I ain’t seed Tom Bullover yet; so ye’re the fust I hev told o’ the sperrit hauntin’ us agen, Cholly.”
“Do you think it’s gone yet?” I asked; “perhaps it is still there.”
“I dunno,” he replied. “P’raps ye’d best go fur to see. I’m jiggered if I will!”
I hesitated at this challenge; it was more than I bargained for.
“It’s all dark now,” I said, glancing towards the galley, from which no gleam came, as usual, across the deck, as was generally the case at night-time; “I suppose the fire has gone out?”
“’S’pose it air,” answered Hiram; “guess it’s about time it wer, b’y, considerin’ I wer jest a-going fur to make it up when I seed Sam. I reckon, though, if ye hev a mind fur to look in, ye can get a lantern aft from the stooard. I seed him a-buzzin’ round the poop jest now, fur he hailed me ez he poked his long jib-boom of a nose up the companion; but, I didn’t take no notice o’ the cuss, fur I wer outer sorts like, feelin’ right down chawed up!”
“All right,” said I, anxious to display my courage before Hiram, his fright somehow or other emboldening me. “I will get a lantern at once and go into the galley.”
So saying, I went along the deck aft, passing into the cuddy by the door under the break of the poop, and there I found Morris Jones, the steward, in the pantry.
He was putting a decanter and glass on a tray for the captain, who was sitting in the cabin, preparing for a jollification after his exertions of the day; for he had returned in high glee from his inspection of the ship’s position with Jan Steenbock, whom he took with him to explain the different points of land and the anchorage.
Jan Steenbock was just leaving the skipper as I entered, refusing, as I surmised from the conversation, his pressing invitation to have a parting drink—a sign of great cordiality with him.
“Wa-all, hev yer own way, but a drop o’ good rum hurts nary a one, ez I ken see,” I heard Captain Snaggs say. “Good-night, Mister Steenbock. I guess we’ll set to work in airnest ter-morrer, an’ see about gettin’ the cargy out to lighten her; an’ then, I reckon, mister, we’ll try y’r dodge o’ diggin’ a dock under her.”
“Yase, dat vas goot,” said the Dane, in his deep voice, in answer. “We will dig oop the zand vrom her kil: an’ zen, she vill vloat, if dere vas no leaks an’ she vas not hoort her back by taking ze groond.”
“Jest so,” replied the skipper; and Morris Jones having gone into the cabin with the glasses and water on his tray, I heard a gurgling sound, as if Captain Snaggs was pouring out some of his favourite liquor and gulping it down. “Ah, I feel right chunky arter thet, I guess! Yes, Mister Steenbock, we’ll float her right off; fur, I don’t think she’s started a plank in her; an’ if we shore her up properly we ken dig the sand from under her, ez ye sez, an’ then she’ll go off ez right ez a clam, when we brings a warp round the capstan from the ankers astern.”
“Ja zo,” agreed Jan Steenbock. “We vill wait and zee.”
“Guess not,” retorted the skipper. “We’ll dew better, we’ll work and try, me joker, an’ dew thet right away smart ter-morrer!”
Captain Snaggs sniggered at this, as if he thought it a joke; and then, I could hear Jan Steenbock wish him good-night, leaving him to his rum and the companionship of Mr Flinders—who must have smelt the liquor, for I caught his voice muttering something about being ‘durned dry,’ but I did not listen any longer, looking out for the steward, who presently followed Jan Steenbock out of the cabin.
“Well, younker, what d’ye want?” Morris Jones asked me, when he came up to where I was still standing alongside his pantry. “I didn’t have time to speak to ye afore. What is it?”
“I want a lantern,” said I. “The galley fire’s gone out.”
“All right, here you are, you can take this,” he replied, handing me one he had lit. “Any more ghostesses about forrud? That blessed nigger’s sperrit oughter go ashore, now we’ve come to this outlandish place, and leave us alone!”
“You’d better not joke about it,” I said solemnly. “Hiram has seen something awful to-night.”
“What d’ye mean?” he cried, turning white in a moment, as I could see by the light of the lantern, and all his braggadocio vanishing. “What d’ye mean?”
“Only not to halloo too loud till you’re out of the wood,” said I, going off forwards. “Hiram has seen Sam’s ghost again, that’s all!”
I felt all the more encouraged by this little passage of arms with the funky Welshman; so, I marched up to the galley door as brave as brass, holding out, though, the lantern in front of me, to light up the place, Hiram, ashamed of his own fears, coming up close behind, and looking in over my shoulder.
Neither of us, though, saw any cause for alarm, for there was no one there; and I was inclined to believe that Hiram had fallen asleep and dreamt the yarn he told me, the more especially as there was a strong smell of tobacco about the place, as if some one had been there recently smoking.
The American, however, was indignant at the bare suggestion of this.
“What d’yer take me fur, Cholly,” he said. “I tell ye I seed him a-sottin’ down thaar in thet corner, an’ heerd the banjo ez plain ez if it wer a-playin’ now! Look at the fire, too; ain’t that streenge? It wer jest a-staggerin’ out when I comed hyar fur to put on some more wood to make it burn up, an’ thaar it air now, ez if some one hez jest been a-lightin’ on it!”
It was as he said. The fire seemed to have been fresh lit, for there was even a piece of smouldering paper in the stoke hole.
It was certainly most mysterious, if Hiram had not done it, which he angrily asserted he had not, quite annoyed at my doubting his word.
While I was debating the point with him, Tom Bullover appeared at the door, with his usual cheerful grin.
“Hullo!” cried he; “what’s the row between you two?”
Thereupon Hiram and I both spoke at once, he telling his version of the story and I mine.
“Well, don’t let such foolish nonsense make you ill friends,” said Tom, grinning. “I dare say you’re both right, if matters could only be explained—Hiram, in thinking he saw Sam’s ghost, and you, Charley, in believing he dreamt it all out of his head. As for the fire burning up, I can tell you all about that, for seeing it just at the last gasp, I stuck in a bit of paper and wood to light it, so as to be more cheerful. I likewise lit my own pipe arterwards, which fully accounts for what you fellows couldn’t understand.”
“Thaar!” exclaimed Hiram triumphantly; “I tolled you so, Cholly.”
“All right,” I retorted. “It’s just as I said, and there’s nothing mysterious about it.”
Each of us remained of his own opinion, but Tom Bullover chaffed us out of all further argument, and we presently followed the example of the other hands, who were asleep snoring in the fo’c’s’le, and turned into our bunks; while Tom went aft to relieve Jan Steenbock as look-out, there being no necessity for all of the watch to be on deck, the ship being ashore, and safer even than if she had been at anchor.
In the morning, I was roused up by the cooing doves again, and the very first man I met after turning out was Morris Jones, who looked seedy and tired out, as if he had been awake all night.
“What’s the matter?” I asked him, as he came into the galley, where I was busy at my morning duty, getting the coppers filled for the men’s coffee, and poking up the fire, which still smouldered, for I had banked it, so as to keep it alight after I turned in. “Anything happened?”
“You were right, Cholly, in tellin’ me not to holler till I was out of the wood last night,” he said solemnly. “I seed thet arterwards the same as Hiram!”
“Saw what?”
“The nigger’s ghost.”
“Nonsense!” I cried, bursting out into a laugh, his face looked so woe-begone, while his body seemed shrunk, giving him the most dilapidated appearance. “You must have been taking some of the cap’en’s rum.”
“None o’ your imperence, master Cholly,” said he, aiming a blow at my head, which I dexterously avoided. “I never touches none o’ the skipper’s ruin; I wouldn’t taste the nasty stuff now, after all I’ve seen it’s done. No, I tell you straight, b’y, I ain’t lying. I see Sam Jedfoot last night as ever was, jest soon arter you went away from the cuddy with the lantern.”
“You did?”
“Yes, I’ll take my davy on it. He comed right through the cabin, and walked past my pantry, stepping over the deck jest as if he was alive; and then I saw something like a flash o’ light’ing, and when I looked agen, being blinded at first, there he were a-floating in the air, going out o’ sight over the side.”
“Did you go to see what had become of him?” I said jokingly, on hearing this. “Where did he make for when he got over the side?”
“I didn’t look no more,” answered the steward, taking my inquiry in earnest. “I were too frightened.”
“What did you do, then?”
“I just stopped up there in my pantry all night, locking the door, so as to prevent no one from getting in. Aye, I kep’ two lights burning, to scare the ghost if he should come again; and theer I stop’t till daylight, when I heard you stirring, and comed here to speak to you, glad to see a human face agen, if only a beast of a b’y like you—far them sperrits do make a chap feel quar all over! Besides, too, the fear o’ seeing the blamed thing agen, I thought the skipper, who was drinking awful arter Jan Steenbock left, he and Flinders having a regular go in at the rum, might have another fit o’ the horrors, and bust out on me with his revolver. Lor, I ’ave ’ad a night on it, I can tell you!”
“Poor fellow! wait and have a pan of coffee,” said I sympathisingly, pitying his condition and not minding his polite allusion to me as a ‘beast of a boy,’ which no doubt my manner provoked. “It will soon be ready.”
“I will,” he replied, thoroughly beaten and speaking to me civilly for the first time. “Thank ye, kindly, Cholly!”
By-and-by the crew turned out; and, after having their coffee, began again the same work they had been at the previous day of lightening the ship, Captain Snaggs superintending operations, and not looking a bit the worse for his drinking bout in which Morris Jones said he had spent the night with his kindred spirit, Mr Flinders.
The scene on the beach all that day and the next was a busy one, all hands hard at it unloading the Denver City, preparatory to our trying to restore her to her native element, the sea—which latter rippled up along her dry timbers forward, as far as the mizzen-chains, the furthest point where she was aground, with a lisping sound, it seemed to me, as if wooing her to come back and float on its bosom again once more, as of yore!
A great deal more had to be effected, however, before this could be accomplished, for a sort of dock, or trench, had to be dug out beneath the vessel’s keel, so as to bring the water beneath her and help to lift her off the sandbank where she was stranded; and this could not be done in a day, work we our hardest, despite the men taking shifts turn and turn about by watches at the task.
Fortunately, while unloading the cargo, a lot of pickaxes were found amongst the miscellaneous assortment of ‘notions’ stowed in the main-hold; and these now came in handy, the hands learning to wield them just as if they had been born navvies, after a bit, under the experienced direction of Captain Snaggs, who said he had been a Californian miner during a spell he had ashore at one period of his life.
On the third day of this labour, the dock was becoming perceptibly deep amidships and the water beginning to ooze through the sand; when, all at once, Tom Bullover, who was wielding a pick like the rest, struck the point of it against something which gave out a clear metallic ring.
After a dig or two more, he excavated the object, which, preserved in the lava that lay beneath the sand and shells on the beach, was found to be an image of the Virgin, such as you see in Roman Catholic countries abroad. It was of a bright yellow colour and shining, as if just turned out of a jeweller’s shop.
It was a golden Madonna!