Dutch the Diver; Or, A Man's Mistake

by George Manville Fenn

That night Dutch, weary as he was, himself watched beneath the cabin hatch, but many weary hours passed without anything but the talking of the watch being heard; and at last he felt that at all hazards he must sleep, when he started, for something round and soft suddenly fell through the open light upon his head, and feeling about on the floor his hand came into contact with a handkerchief, in which something soft was tied up. A powder evidently—yes, gunpowder.

He stood pondering with about a couple of pounds of the combustible in his hand, thinking of what power it would have if exploded, and longing for the battery and the dynamite cartridges, as he thought that if matters came to the worst he would blow up the ship sooner than the women should suffer insult.

During the next few days the diving work progressed steadily, and, with the exception of a few interruptions by sharks, all went well; but not the slightest sign struck Dutch as evincing a desire on the part of Rasp or Oakum to make any communication, and both he and his friends were puzzled, wondering which of them would be the faithful one, for they felt that they would be too sanguine if they imagined that both were on their side, though Mr Parkley was as convinced that Rasp was at work for them as Dutch was that it was Oakum.

All the while both were working hard in their interest to contrive the re-capture of the ship, but the difficulty was that the whole party were so watched that they could find no means of communication, but still they hoped.

Oakum had found where the arms were stowed in the fore cabin, which Lauré had taken for his own use, and which he shared with one of the men, whom he seemed to trust entirely, but who was a thoroughly drunken scoundrel, and who used to make Mr Meldon’s blood boil by the way he used to stand and watch Bessy Studwick whenever she was on deck in the evening, for Lauré had insisted that the women should share his prisoners’ walk for a couple of hours each day.

“If I could get at those tools,” thought Oakum, “and pass ’em down, we should be all right, and might make the scoundrels shake in their shoes.” But no opportunity occurred, and the glorious bright days glided by.

The treasure had been thoroughly reached at last, and in a hopeless way Dutch and Mr Parkley worked on, bullied sharply by Rasp, who threatened short supplies of air if more work were not done, and the consequence was that an immense treasure in silver bars was recovered, though for the most part terribly corroded and mingled with calcareous matter.

At last the time arrived when Mr Parkley came up announcing that the last ingot had been found, and that nothing remained but the black and rotting wood.

“Nonsense,” exclaimed Lauré angrily; “there must be hundreds more. Here, you Pugh, it is your turn to go down now. Make a good search, and don’t come back till you have found more.”

The eyes of the two men encountered as Lauré spoke, and a strange foreboding feeling came over Dutch as he slowly made his preparations. It seemed to him that it was quite possible, now the treasure of two sunken galleons had been recovered, Lauré might forego further search, having determined to make sure of his find, and if this were the case, the young man argued, he might now begin to put in force some of his former tactics. What if he were now to try to get rid of him for Hester’s sake—for the sake of the woman who had repelled all his advances, but who was now completely in his power.