I do not hesitate to say that the possession of unprotected wealth maketh cowards of most people. The anxiety connected therewith may keep one awake at night, and bring on a state of nervousness that shall end in a break-up of the general health. But no thought of ever losing the precious nuggets and pearls that had cost him so much hard work came into the mind of Reginald Grahame, until an event took place which proved that gold may tempt even those we trust the most.
Harry Jenkins was a bright little sailor, the pet of his mess. He was always singing when at work in the diggings, and he generally managed to keep his comrades in excellent humour, and laughing all the time. In their messroom of an evening they were all frank and free, and hid nothing one from the other. For each believed in his pal’s honesty.
“I have a thousand pounds’ worth of nuggets at least!” said Harry one evening.
“And I,” said Bill Johnson, “have half as much again.”
They showed each other their gold, comparing nuggets, their very eyes glittering with joy as they thought of how happy they should be when they returned once more to their own country. Then they each stowed away their wealth of nuggets and pearls, placed in tiny canvas bags inside their small sea-chests.
This was about a week after that pleasant Saturday night which was so suddenly broken up by the muttering of subterranean thunder and the trembling of the earth.
But earthquakes were frequent in the island, though as yet not severe. The Queen was by no means alarmed, but Ilda was—terribly so.
“Oh,” she cried, “I wish I were away and away from this terrible island!”
The Queen comforted her all she could.
“I have a presentiment,” replied the poor girl, “that this is not the last nor the worst.”