‘But it was too late, mates. The sky got black, and with a loud roar the squall came, tearing up the sea before it, and in the very centre of the flying foam Ned swore he saw Foul-Weather Don, with his arms stretched forth, as if in triumph. In an instant the blast struck the sails, heaving the turtler bodily on her broadside, and as she lurched over, the heavy box of gold fetched away with a mighty surge, and went crashing through and through the frail bulwark, and then with a great plunge down to the bottom of the ocean, there to lie, mates, even until the day when the sea shall give up its dead! All this passed in a moment, and the next instant the ship, as though relieved by having cast forth the guilty gold, righted with a heavy roll, which sent the seamen sprawling across the deck, with their knives in their hands, and bloody gashes in their faces and limbs. The squall was over, and the sun burst out; Ned rushed to the lee-beam, and saw, just where the gold had fallen into the sea, the bottom of a boat all covered with barnacles and sea-weed, which he knew well. She seemed now saturated and rotten with water, for the charm was off her, mates; and while Ned gazed at her, she went gradually down into the great depths of the sea, and the sharks sunk out of sight with her. As they disappeared, Ned felt a heavy load leave his heart, and he thought that he had got cheaply rid of it, even at the expense of the gold. The curse was taken off him, and he rather surprised the turtlers, who were standing looking very like fools, by cutting a set of capers on the deck. The first thing they did was to try for soundings, but the line ran out every fathom, and the lead touched no bottom. So they lengthened the cord with every piece of loose rope in the ship, but the sea appeared unfathomable. The gold was sunk in a gulf from which no power of man could raise it; and so at length, mutually cursing and blaming each other, they wore the ship round, and stood back to pursue their turtling cruise. From that time to this, mates, no mariner has ever seen Foul-Weather Don. Ned Purvis got safely back to England, and, as I informed you already, he told this tale, aboard the Bristol ship, to him who made it known to me. Regarding its truth, I leave every man to judge for himself.’
CHAPTER IX.
THE AUTHOR, WITH SUNDRY OF HIS COMRADES, SET OUT FOR THE
CREEK WHERE HE LEFT HIS BARK, AND THERE BRAVELY
CAPTURE A SPANISH SCHOONER.
Nearly a month passed away since the evening on which I listened to the story of Foul-Weather Don, and no ship had yet passed within a dozen miles of the mouth of the bay. So all hands began to grow very impatient, and divers schemes were proposed, such as shifting our quarters to some other point of the coast, where we might have better luck. It was then that I, for the first time, called to mind the boat which I had left in the creek, where I first landed on the island. Now, as I had heard many stories of buccaneers putting to sea in boats or canoes, and boarding and capturing Spanish vessels, it occurred to me, that if we could get possession of the Frenchman’s skiff, we could divide our party between it and the canoe, leaving ample room for the stowage of provisions and water for a cruise. This scheme I imparted to Stout Jem, by whom it was received with approbation. We were nine in number, well armed, and therefore of quite sufficient force to capture any Spaniard, not a man of war, which we were likely to fall in with. It was therefore resolved that Le Picard, one of our Frenchmen, Blue Peter, and Nicky, should start, under my guidance, for the cove to the westward, and if we found the boat, should navigate her round the coast to the bay, where the rest of the party would be prepared with provisions and water, ready to stow on board, so that, in company with the canoe, we could put to sea at once. No time was lost in putting the scheme into execution. Meinheer, who knew something of sail-making, cut out a small square sail or lug, which we were to carry with us, and which would suit the boat, it being easy for us to cut and fashion a mast and yard after we had found her. We also carried a good-sized keg for water, and a small quantity of beef and cassava bread, trusting chiefly, however, to our guns for our subsistence.
We set out by moonlight, intending to sleep during the heat of the day; and after an hour’s trudge through the wet grass and bushes, which were quite drenched with the copious dews, passed the spot where lay the Buccaneers who had been hanged by the Spaniards. Truly our poor comrades slept in a tranquil resting-place—a spot of greenest grass, with feathery palms overhead, bending and rustling in the night wind. We stopped to rest, when the sun rose, until the sea-breeze should set in, watching its coming from beneath a thick mango-tree, whence we could look down upon the blue sea beneath. After the land-breeze flickered and failed, there was a pause, during which the sun shone with blistering power. Then, far off, on the glassy surface of the sea, came the dark belt of roughened water, streaked with white, which proclaims the daily return of the brisk north-westerly trade, and in half an hour more, it was whistling through the bushes in half a gale of wind. We dined this day by the little runnel where I had killed the duck, and then travelled until sunset, when we encamped in our blankets, well worn out by our long day’s march. The journey to the cove was fatiguing, but performed without any particular adventure. We sometimes saw wild cattle, and heard the cry of wild dogs, and I observed, when we got glimpses of the sea, numerous great brown pelicans, flapping heavily over the water, somewhat like the cranes on our own coasts, and often diving down with a splash into the sea after the fish, which they mark from a great height. In the afternoon of the second day, I reckoned that we could not be far from the cove, but the exact spot was difficult to hit, as the general appearance of the coast hereabouts was very similar, and the tangled growth of underwood prevented us from always keeping so close to the edge of the sea-cliff as we otherwise should have done. We had trudged along all the afternoon, keeping a sharp look-out, and sometimes forcing our way with our great knives through the creepers and brushwood, so as to be able to gaze down the iron-bound sea wall to where the great driving swells were rising and sinking upon the rock, and foaming furiously over every projecting peak and pinnacle of stone; when, having stopped to hold a consultation—for I was now becoming very fearful that we had overshot our mark—we all suddenly heard the report of a musket or fowling-piece, fired not far off. This terribly disconcerted us, for we knew that the cove could not be distant, and we feared that the secret of its existence was not known to me alone. However, we withdrew into the thicket, where we could not well be discovered, and lay close. In the course of the next hour, we heard three shots fired from different points around us, and discoursed eagerly as to whether they were probably Buccaneers, or Spaniards who were hunting in the neighbourhood. At all events, we now despaired of recovering the boat, inasmuch as the great chance was that the hunters had landed in my cove, as I called it, and would, of course, appropriate the skiff, if she still lay there, to their own purposes.
While we were talking lowly among ourselves, Blue Peter, the Mosquito-man, suddenly started up on his knees, and told us to listen. We did so, very intently, and presently heard a rustling and a snapping of dry twigs in the wood, but although we looked with all our eyes, we could see nothing.
‘Tush!’ says Nicky; ‘you are a fool, Peter! and take a wild pig for a Spaniard.’
But the Indian seized his piece, cocked it, and suddenly levelling it, fired, before we could prevent him.
‘Hush!’ quoth he, very earnestly—‘hush! and we will be safe.’
‘Safe!’ said Nicky. ‘Why, if they are Spaniards, they will be down upon us in a twinkling.’