Matt: A Story of A Caravan

by Robert Williams Buchanan

His first impulse was to displace the debris, and at once to explore the mysterious place; but reflecting that he was unprovided with lights of any kind, and that the cavity below would most certainly be in total darkness, he determined to postpone his visit of inspection until daylight. By this time there was no sight or sound of the boat. Rising to his feet, he mused. It was all very well to talk of returning another time, but how was he to find the spot? The sea of sandy hillocks stretched on every side, and he knew by experience how difficult it was to distinguish one hillock from another. As to the cairns of loose stones, such cairns were nearly as numerous as the hillocks themselves.

At last he thought of the rock where he had first concealed himself. Such rocks were numerous, too; but pulling out his ease of crayons, he marked the base of the rock with a small streak of colour. Finally, remembering that the drift sand might cover this mark so made, he drew out his penknife, and made a large cross in the hard sand. Having taken these precautions, he made the best of his way down to the cliffs, and following the open green sward which fringed the crags, made the best of his way home to the caravan.

At daybreak the next day he strolled back along the crags, first taking a bird’s-eye view of the village; and perceiving no sight of William Jones, who had doubtless no suspicion that he would rise so early, he soon found the spot where he had stood overnight, watching the approach of the boat; and first reconnoitring the neighbourhood, struck off among the sand-hills. At first he was guided by footprints, but as the sand grew harder, these disappeared. At length, after a somewhat bewildering search, he found the sandhill he sought, the rock with his mark upon it, the cross marked in the ground, and finally, the well-concealed mouth of the hole.

He looked keenly to right and left. No one was visible. Stooping down he displaced the stones and loose sand, and disclosed the trap-door with its iron ring. A long pull, a strong pull, and up came the trap. Open Sesame! Behind him was a dark cavity, with a slanting path descending into the bowels of the earth.

Anxious to lose no time, he squeezed himself through the aperture, and began descending. While he did so he heard the hollow roaring he had heard the night before. As he proceeded he drew out a box of matches and a candle, which he lit. Proceeding cautiously on his back, and restraining himself with his elbows from too rapid descent, he found himself surrounded not by sand, but by solid rock, and peering downward, saw that he was looking down into a large subterranean cave.

Just beneath him was a flight of steps cut in the solid. Descending these carefully, for they were slippery as ice, he reached the bottom, and found it formed of sea-gravel and loose shells, forming indeed a decline like the sea-shore itself, to the edge of which, filling about half the cavern, the waters of the sea crept with a long monotonous moan. Approaching the water’s edge he saw facing him the solid walls of the cliff, but just at the base there was an opening, a sort of slit, almost touching the waves at all times, quite touching them when the swell rose, and through this opening crept beams of daylight, turning the waves to a clear malachite green.

The mystery was now clear enough. The cave communicated directly with the sea, but in such a way as to make an entrance for any large object impossible from that direction.

Turning his back upon the water, and holding up the candle, he examined the interior. The damp black rocks rose on every side, and from the roof hung spongy weeds and funguses like those which are to be seen in sunless vaults of wine, but piled against the inner wall was a hoard of treasures enough to make a smuggler’s mouth water or turn a wrecker’s brain.

Puncheons of rum and other spirits, bales of wool, planks of mahogany and pine, oars, broken masts, coils of rope, tangles of running rigging, flags of all nations, and other articles such as are used on ship-board; swinging tables, brass swinging lamps, masthead lanterns, and hammocks; enough and to spare, in short, to fit out a small fleet of vessels. Lost in amazement, Brinkley examined this extraordinary hoard, the accumulation doubtless of many years. All at once his eye fell upon a large canvas bag, rotten with age, and gaping open. It was as full as it could hold with pieces of gold, bearing the superscription of the mint of Spain.

Oh, William Jones! William Jones! And all this was yours, at least by right of plunder, upon the Queen’s sea-way; all this which, turned into cash, would have made a man rich beyond the dreams of avarice, was the possession of one who lived like a miserly beggar, grudged himself and his flesh and blood the common necessaries of life, and had never been known, from boyhood upward, to give a starving fellow-creature so much as a crust of bread, or to drop a penny into the poor-box. Oh, William Jones! William Jones!