Mrs. Cliff's Yacht

by Frank R. Stockton

Now the excited thoughts of Captain Hagar took another turn. "Lower a boat! Lower a boat!" he cried. "Let me be pulled to the Dunkery! Everything I own is on that ship, the pirates wouldn't let me take anything away. Lower a boat! I can get into my cabin."

Shirley now stepped to the other side of Captain Hagar. "It's no use to think of that, Captain," he said. "It would be regular suicide to go on board that vessel. Those fellows were afraid to stay another minute. She'll go down before you know it. Look at her bows now!"

Captain Hagar said no more, and the little company on the deck of the yacht stood pale and silent, gazing out over the water at the Dunkery Beacon. Willy Croup was crying, and there were tears in the eyes of Mrs. Cliff and Edna. In the heart of the latter was deep, deep pain, for she knew what her husband was feeling at that moment. She knew it had been the high aim of his sensitive and honorable soul that the gold for which he had labored so hard and dared so much should safely reach, in every case, those to whom it had been legally adjudged. If it should fail to reach them, where was the good of all that toil and suffering? He had in a measure taken upon himself the responsibility of the safe delivery of that treasure, and now here he was standing, and there was the treasure sinking before his eyes. As she stood close by him, Edna seized her husband's hand and pressed it. He returned the pressure, but no word was said.

Now the Dunkery Beacon rolled more heavily than she had done yet, and as she went down in the swell it seemed as if the water might easily flow over her forward bulwarks; and her bow came up with difficulty, as if it were sticking fast in the water. Her masts and funnel were slanting far over to starboard, and when, after rising once more, she put her head again into the water, she dipped it in so deep that her rail went under and did not come up again. Her stern seemed to rise in the air, and at the same time the sea appeared to lift itself up along her whole length. Then with a dip forward of her funnel and masts, she suddenly went down out of sight, and the water churned, and foamed, and eddied about the place where she had been. The gold of the Incas was on its way to the bottom of the unsounded sea.

Captain Hagar sat down upon the deck and covered his face with his hands. No one said anything to him,—there was nothing to say. The first to speak was Mrs. Cliff. "Captain Horn," said she, her voice so shaken by her emotion that she scarcely spoke above a whisper, "we did everything we could, and this is what has come of it!"

"Everything!" exclaimed Captain Horn, suddenly turning towards her. "You have done far more than could be expected by mortals! And now," said he, turning to the little party, "don't let one of us grieve another minute for the sinking of that gold. If anybody has a right to grieve, it's Captain Hagar here. He's lost his ship, but many a good sailor has lost his ship and lived and died a happy man after it. And as to the cargo you carried, my mate," said he, "you would have done your duty by it just the same if it had been pig lead or gold; and when you have done your duty, there's the end of it!"

Captain Hagar looked up, rose to his feet, and after gazing for a second in the face of Captain Horn, he took his extended hand. "You're a good one!" said he; "but you're bound to agree that it's tough. There's no getting around that. It's all-fired tough!"

"Burke," said Captain Horn, quickly, glancing up at the noon-day sun, "put her out there near the wreckage, and take an observation."

It was shortly after this that Mr. Portman, the sailing-master, came aft and reported the position of the yacht to be eleven degrees, thirty minutes, nineteen seconds north latitude by fifty-six degrees, ten minutes, forty-nine seconds west longitude.

"What's the idea," said Burke to Captain Horn, "of steering right to the spot? Do you think there'll ever be a chance of getting at it?"