Poole’s grim face hardened.
“We will fight for it!” he said, “for they will never take the treasure from us while we live.”
The crew cheered at this bold declaration and then scampered aloft. Meanwhile Poole watched the distant steamer with varied sensations.
“Just our luck,” he muttered. “By the gods, I believe I am cursed by fate! Let them overhaul us, curse them! We will give them all the fight they want.”
Then he went back to the cabin and began to gloat over the treasure. He picked up one of the coins and scraped away the rust and mold. Then he snapped his eyes.
How was this?
It was white metal instead of yellow—silver instead of gold!
If all that bulk of coin was silver, its value was but small; if of gold, it would be immense. Quite a difference. He dropped the coin with a grunt.
He picked up another and scratched its surface. It was also silver.
Another and another. Then a sickening sensation came over him, and he smiled in a ghastly way.