Latitude 19 degree Part 35

"Shan't we wait for the Bo's'n, Captain?" said I.

"Well, well, as you like," answered the Skipper, a little impatiently.

"You know this, Jones: You're a short time living and a long time dead, and you'd better make all out of this life that you can."

I saw that Cynthia turned her tear-stained face my way, as if she endorsed this remark. But she withdrew her eyes at once when I returned her glance, and looked out to sea again. She stood gazing far out over the water. The morning was fresh and bright, a gentle wind rippled the surface of the wide bay. The tide was low.

"Uncle," she said, turning suddenly, "do you know that part of the Yankee is there still? A good bit of her stands up out of the water."

She handed the gla.s.s to the Skipper, ignoring me by even so much as a glance. The old man put the gla.s.s to his eye.

"You're right, Cynthy, girl, you're right; you're perfectly right in what you say. She does stand up, a good deal of her. Gad, how I should like to tread her deck again!"

I looked at the Skipper pityingly. Poor old man! So little left in life, while I felt that mine was just beginning. As the Skipper maundered along about the bark, and what good times he had had in her, and how she and they were gone forever, Cynthia crossed the cave to where I still sat, wondering when the Bo's'n would have finished his task on the sh.o.r.e.

"You mustn't mind what Uncle says," said she.

"Mind it!" I broke in. "I like----"

"Hush, Mr. Jones! No compliments, please. He has aged wonderfully, poor dear, since the Yankee blew up. There isn't anything I wouldn't do to please him. I won't contradict him again. I ought not to have then--I'll try not to mind----"

Her face was pink, her eyes downcast.

"Gad! where is that Bo's'n? I'd like my nip now. Oh, there he is!--Come, come, Bo's'n, I want my toddy! I was just telling Jones here that we're a short time living and----"

I arose from my seat and looked at the Bo's'n, asking my question by only raising my eyebrows. He nodded affirmatively.

"Help yourself, Bo's'n," said the Skipper. We all stood round, in the fas.h.i.+on of seafaring men, and drank the health of "The Lady," and then "To you, Captain," and then "To you, Mr. Jones," and then "To you, Bo's'n."

"Give us a regular toast, Bo's'n," said the Skipper; "one of the old timers." The Skipper filled his gla.s.s to the brim and waited. The Bo's'n hemmed and hawed.

"I don't know anything very new, sir, Cap'n, sir," he said. "Just the same old one I always knew." He hawed and hemmed again, bowed to Miss Archer, bowed to the Captain, and bowed to me. He bowed to the rec.u.mbent form of the young Englishman. After that he gave a comprehensive bow all round. Then, with flushed cheeks and eyes staring straight ahead, he rattled off as a schoolboy would:

"Thewindthatblowsandthes.h.i.+pthatgoesandthela.s.sthatlovesasailorthat's prettystrongcap'nsir."

We all drank to the Bo's'n's toast, knowing it well from time immemorial. Cynthia gazed in amaze at the Bo's'n, as if he were speaking a new tongue.

"Now yours, Captain," said I.

The Skipper cleared his throat, raised himself a little on tiptoe, and swayed back and forth with a swinging motion, to which his sing-song voice kept time:

"_Here's_ to all _them_ that love _this_, And _here's_ to all _those_, And _them_ that love _those_.

And _those_ that love _them_ that love _this_."

I can see them now as they stood there--the Skipper, his face beaming with good nature; the Bo's'n, bashful, but enjoying the privilege of drinking on an equality with his Captain; Cynthia, looking on, half amused. I see them against the background of that dim cavern, the sunlight flecking the floor and wall in spots, where it had pierced the lattice work of leaves. There was a human background also, composed of two figures, the sleeping lad, and Lacelle who hovered ever near her rescuer and protector. And behind all we were conscious of a presence, we knew not quite what, but a kindly personality, which aided us with un.o.btrusiveness and in a thousand thoughtful ways. With all the privations that we suffered, with all the anxieties and troubles that we had to bear, there is still something which fascinates and draws me back to much that I experienced in those days--dead this many a year. The sweetest odours were wafted in through the leaves, the mocking-bird sang as nothing but a mocking-bird can sing, the vines swayed to and fro in the open window. Glancing between, one perceived the wondrous blue water of the Caribbean Sea, dotted with the white caps of which the trade wind is ever lavish, and, above all the sounds of voices and singing of birds, there was the lap and swish of the fierce little waves as they rushed up over the s.h.i.+ngle. It was May, the latter part of May, and the seasons, following round as our seasons at Belleville do, brought each their variety of leaf and flower. If one leaned out of the natural window in the blazing sun, with the fresh wind blowing the hair awry, one's eyes rested on a slope of brilliant tropic colour, where creepers hung from the trees or threaded under and over fallen forest giants, or crept down the hill and made beds and ma.s.ses of bloom too beautiful to be credited. Great yellow velvet cups stood out from their background of green. Lilies of white and crimson drooped from stems which glowed with life. Had we been but free from care, and had Cynthia possessed but the ordinary comforts to which she had been wonted, I should have asked for nothing better than to pa.s.s the rest of our days in this enchanting spot.

We had drained our gla.s.ses dry. The Skipper looked directly at the Bo's'n's knees.

"What do you wear your trousers at half mast for, Bo's'n?" asked the Skipper.

The Bo's'n looked down and tugged at his shrunken cotton legs.

"For Captain Dacres, sir," replied he, with ready wit.

"We're through mourning for him," said the Captain. "Run 'em up or haul 'em down."

"They've shrunk to h.e.l.l and gone, sir," said the Bo's'n, with superfluous explanation.

"And where's your toast, Mr. Jones?" asked the Skipper in his most enticing voice. His gla.s.s was empty.

"It's ready, sir, but my gla.s.s is dry."

We all took a finger more, and I, looking over the rim of my pewter cup at Cynthia, gave them "Sweethearts and Wives."

Cynthia expressed it as her conviction that we had all had quite enough, and replaced the bottle upon a ledge in the rock and then resumed her occupation of looking through the gla.s.s.

"Cynthy," said the Skipper suddenly, "you must get married."

Cynthia started as if a bombsh.e.l.l had exploded in the cavern. She dropped the gla.s.s, so that I feared it had been broken as it thumped upon the stone flooring.

"Married, Uncle? Are you insane? Married!"

"I mean it, Cynthy." The Skipper wagged his head and drained his gla.s.s dry.

Cynthia drew herself up to her full height. She was only a slight young girl, dressed in a blue dungaree not much the better for her stay ash.o.r.e, but if I ever saw dignity personified, it was then.

"And to whom, Uncle? To one of the pirates, to the ghost of the cave, to the Minion, to this little English lad, or to yourself? I really don't see any one else I could possibly marry."

"It isn't any of those," said the Skipper, as if Cynthia was quite as forgetful of my presence as she seemed. "You've missed one, Cynthy; it's Jones here," and he indicated me with a jerk of his short stub thumb over his shoulder in my direction.

CHAPTER XII.

THE SKIPPER AGAIN ENACTS THE RoLE OF CHAPLAIN.

I am writing the exact truth when I state it here as a fact that had the entire cave with its occupants slid down the hill and out into the waters of the bay, it would not have caused me more surprise or consternation. As for Cynthia, she burst into tears. I turned and ran, but not too soon to hear the words:

"So--so--mor--ti--tified. Doesn't--ca--care--fo--for--me--at--atall.

Don't ca--care--for--hi--hi--him." I flew through the pa.s.sage, up over the hill, and down the eastern slope. There I found the Minion, still lying stupid and heavy. I bathed his hot head and moved him farther into the shade, whereupon he snarled at me, and asked me, as far as his limited vocabulary permitted, to attend to my own affairs. Finding myself unwelcome, I looked about for occupation, loitered miserably up the beach, feeling that Belleville was the place for me, after all. As I walked thus, gloomily thinking, I raised my eyes, and looking along the sh.o.r.e, I saw something white underneath a tree not a hundred feet away.

I quickened my pace, and there, at the foot of an immense ironwood, I discovered a necktie. I at once recognised it as the Bo's'n's. So this was the tree that he had climbed when he asked me not to look. There above me was desposited a part or the whole of our splendid treasure. I scanned the tree with curiosity. I saw some scratches upon the bark, and was pleased with myself to feel what a keen insight I possessed into the ways of man from the traces which I could procure in this way. I had heard of the Bow Street detectives, and I felt all at once that I might rank with the most clever among them. There were several large deserted nests in the tree, and I at once decided that these contained our hidden fortune. Well, it was a very good place, for no one would ever dream that jewels were hidden up there in the ironwood. I was puzzled as to how the Bo's'n had managed to get himself up the tree, but that he was a good climber I knew, going up any kind of rigging at all hours of the day or night and in any weather, and I felt that what would be a matter of much difficulty to most men would be merely child's play for the cat-like Bo's'n. I stuffed the necktie into my pocket, with a good mind to give the Bo's'n a few words of advice when we met. He had been careless beyond words, and if he must climb to hide the treasure, and if he must remove his neckerchief, why not put it into his own pocket, instead of forcing me to put it into mine? There was small need for the Bo's'n to array himself in a neckerchief. In the first place, it was hot weather, and then a man with both s.h.i.+rt sleeves gone has no need of beautifying. I felt very cross toward the Bo's'n for his carelessness as I wandered, not knowing where to go. I glanced toward the westward, and saw that the little boat was still there. She had been washed sideways against the beach. The heavy rock attached to the painter had held her there. I scanned the ocean; there was nothing to be seen but a small portion of the deck of the Yankee Blade standing up out of the water.

This, of course, we could not see while the smoke hung round the wreck, and lately there had been so much to claim our attention that we had not thought of looking seaward.

I crossed the stream on the great tree and ran down the beach toward the place where the boat lay. I was glad to see her again. I walked into the water and pushed and pulled and twisted her round, until finally I got her afloat. I climbed over the gun'l and paddled idly about, hardly knowing what to do with myself. I did not like to return to the cave.

From Cynthia's last words, I felt that she wanted never to see me again.

I was very wretched and extremely mortified. I landed the boat in the cove and went slowly up the hill, and sat myself down under a tree in a most dejected frame of mind. I had been there but a few minutes when I heard a tramping through the underbrush, and the puffing of some animal, brute or human. I pulled out my pistol and looked to the priming, but in a moment I heard a snort which I knew, and saw the Skipper making toward me as fast as his short legs could carry him.