Clutterbuck's Treasure

by Frederick Whishaw

This evening we supped well upon an antelope shot by Jack in the bush while we laboured in our treasure-field, and by the time darkness was well set in, James Strong and Clutterbuck were already in full snore. Then, moving cautiously, I took rifle, spade, and torch, and sallied forth, not without some trepidation, upon my enterprise.

Whether owing to the occasional shots fired by us in this place in the pursuit of game, or whether by reason of their natural dislike for abiding in the continued proximity of mankind, we had not been bothered during the last few days by the presence of many hyenas or other creatures of the kind about our camp. A few days ago, if I had undertaken the gruesome night enterprise upon which I had now embarked, I should have been startled almost at every step by some suddenly rushing or creeping brute; but to-night I was left to pursue my journey almost in peace.

I had no difficulty in groping my way to our treasure-area, which resembled a ploughed field by this time, with all the digging and re-digging it had suffered. Nor was I long in discovering the post as to which Jack had formed so strong and optimistic an opinion.

After all, it was not unlikely that our old miser should have planted a post over the grave of his treasures, and I was somewhat surprised that it had not occurred either to me or to the Strong faction to remove the posts and look underneath them, since we had dug up the whole of the area enclosed by them without result. Doubtless it would have occurred to us to do so after we had dug a little deeper in the space enclosed.

At all events, here was Jack's post, and I laid hold of it and shook it, and moved it up and down just as he had described that he had done himself. Sure enough, the post struck hard and dead on some flat, unyielding substance beneath. My heart beat in a ridiculous fashion—was I really on the brink of a discovery that would place me for ever out of reach of poverty and of the necessity to embark in some lifelong, uncongenial occupation? I felt so faint in the agitation of the moment that I was obliged to pause and gather strength before I was sufficiently master of my energies to lay hold of the post and pull it up.

"Now, Godfrey," I said to myself, "don't be a fool. In moments of difficulty preserve an equal mind; if you can't do that, what was the use of your learning Horace? Pull yourself together and play the man!"

I seized the post and tugged at it. It was stiff enough to resist displacement, though it had wobbled about when shaken to and fro. But having once mastered my agitation, I was equal to any amount of exertion; and by dint of working it backwards and forwards and up and down for five minutes, and twisting it round in my embracing arms, I succeeded at last in raising and removing it. My torch had gone out meanwhile, and I could see nothing, of course, in the dark hole which had formed the socket of the post.

Kneeling over it, therefore, with palpitating heart, I plunged my hand down. My arm did not reach the bottom in this way, however, and I lay down on my side and plunged it in a second time to the very armpit. This time the ends of my fingers just touched the bottom of the hole, and distinctly felt what seemed a cold, flat substance lying there, but could not grasp and raise it.

I tried to keep cool and think how best to act under the agitating circumstances.

Then I lay down again, after scraping away some of the sandy soil at the edge of the hole, in order to gain a few inches in reach by getting my shoulder lower; and this time I was able to distinguish, by the touch, a small tin box, and to get my fingers under it. In the joy of that moment I could scarcely forbear to shout aloud. Eureka! I had found the treasure! I was a rich man; the whole world was my own—to the full extent of about ninety-eight thousand pounds odd.