"All yourn, cap'n!" asked Maka.

"Yes, all mine," was the reply.

That night Maka told his comrades that when the captain got to the end of
this voyage, he would be able to buy a ship bigger than the _Castor_, and
that they would not have to sail in that little brig any more, and that
he expected to be cook on the new vessel, and have a fine suit of clothes
in which to go on shore.

For nearly a month the work went on, but the contents of the mound
diminished so slowly that the captain, and, in fact, the two sailors,
also, became very impatient. Only about forty pounds could be carried by
each man on a trip, and the captain saw plainly that it would not do to
urge greater rapidity or more frequent trips, for in that case there
would be sure to be breakdowns. The walk from the cove to the caves was
a long one, and rocky barriers had to be climbed, and although now but
one man was left on board the vessel, only thirty bags a day were stored
in its hold. This was very slow work. Consultations were held, and it
was determined that some quicker method of transportation must be
adopted. The idea that they could be satisfied with what they already
had seemed to enter the mind of none of them. It was a foregone
conclusion that their business there was to carry away all the gold that
was in the mound.

A new plan, though rather a dangerous one, was now put into operation.
The brig was brought around opposite the plateau which led to the caves,
and anchored just outside the line of surf, where bottom was found at a
moderate depth. Then the bags were carried in the boats to the vessel. A
line connected each boat with the ship, and the negroes were half the
time in the water, assisting the boats backward and forward through the
surf. Now work went on very much more rapidly. The men had all become
accustomed to carrying the heavy bags, and could run with them down the
plateau. The boats were hauled to and from the vessel, and the bags were
hoisted on board by means of blocks and tackle and a big basket. Once the
side of the basket gave way, and several bags went down to the bottom of
the sea, never to be seen again. But there was no use in crying over
spilt gold, and this was the only accident.

The winds were generally from the south and east, and, therefore, there
was no high surf; and this new method of working was so satisfactory that
they all regretted they had not adopted it from the first,
notwithstanding the risk. But the captain had had no idea that it would
take so long for five men to carry that treasure a distance of two miles,
taking forty pounds at a time.

At night everybody went on board the brig, and she lay to some distance
from the shore, so as to be able to run out to sea in case of bad
weather, but no such weather came.

It was two months since the brig had dropped anchor in the Rackbirds'
cove when the contents of the mound got so low that the captain could not
hand up the bags without the assistance of a ladder, which he made from
some stuff on board the brig. By rough measurement, he found that he
should now be near the level of the outside floor of the cave, and he
worked with great caution, for the idea, first broached by Ralph, that
this mass of gold might cover something more valuable than itself, had
never left him.

But as he worked steadily, filling bag after bag, he found that, although
he had reached at the outer edge of the floor of the mound what seemed to
be a pavement of stone, there was still a considerable depth of gold in
the centre of the floor. Now he worked faster, telling Shirley, who was
outside, that he would not come out until he had reached the floor of the
mound, which was evidently depressed in the centre after the fashion of a
saucer. Working with feverish haste, the captain handed up bag after bag,
until every little bar of gold had been removed from the mound.

The bottom of the floor was covered with a fine dust, which had sifted
down in the course of ages from the inside coating of the mound, but it
was not deep enough to conceal a bar of gold, and, with his lantern and
his foot, the captain made himself sure that not a piece was left. Then
his whole soul and body thrilled with a wild purpose, and, moving the
ladder from the centre of the floor, he stooped to brush away the dust.
If there should be a movable stone there! If this stone should cover a
smaller cavity beneath the great one, what might he not discover within
it? His mind whirled before the ideas which now cast themselves at him,
when suddenly he stood up and set his teeth hard together.

"I will not," he said. "I will not look for a stone with a crack around
it. We have enough already. Why should we run the risk of going crazy by
trying to get more? I will not!" And he replaced the ladder.

"What's the matter in there?" called Shirley, from outside. "Who're you
talking to?"

The captain came out of the opening in the mound, pulled up the ladder
and handed it to Shirley, and then he was about to replace the lid upon
the mound. But what was the use of doing that, he thought. There would be
no sense in closing it. He would leave it open.

"I was talking to myself," he said to Shirley, when he had descended. "It
sounded crack-brained, I expect."

"Yes, it did," answered the other. "And I am glad these are the last bags
we have to tie up and take out. I should not have wondered if the whole
three of us had turned into lunatics. As for me, I have tried hard to
stop thinking about the business, and I have found that the best thing I
could do was to try and consider the stuff in these bags as coal--good,
clean, anthracite coal. Whenever I carried a bag, I said to myself,
'Hurry up, now, with this bag of coal.' A ship-load of coal, you know, is
not worth enough to turn a man's head."

"That was not a bad idea," said the captain. "But now the work is done,
and we will soon get used to thinking of it without being excited about
it. There is absolutely no reason why we should not be as happy and
contented as if we had each made a couple of thousand dollars apiece on a
good voyage."

"That's so," said Shirley, "and I'm going to try to think it."

When the last bag had been put on board, Burke and the captain were
walking about the caves looking here and there to take a final leave of
the place. Whatever the captain considered of value as a memento of the
life they had led here had been put on board.

"Captain," said Burke, "did you take all the gold out of that mound?"

"Every bit of it," was the reply.

"You didn't leave a single lump for manners?"

"No," said the captain. "I thought it better that whoever discovered that
empty mound after us should not know what had been in it. You see, we
will have to circulate these bars of gold pretty extensively, and we
don't want anybody to trace them back to the place where they came from.
When the time comes, we will make everything plain and clear, but we will
want to do it ourselves, and in our own way."

"There is sense in that," said Burke. "There's another thing I want to
ask you, captain. I've been thinking a great deal about that mound, and
it strikes me that there might be a sub-cellar under it, a little one,
most likely, with something else in it--rings and jewels, and nobody
knows what not. Did you see if there was any sign of a trap-door?"

"No," said the captain, "I did not. I wanted to do it,--you do not know
how much,--but I made up my mind it would be the worst kind of folly to
try and get anything else out of that mound. We have now all that is good
for us to have. The only question is whether or not we have not more than
is good for us. I was not sure that I should not find something, if I
looked for it, which would make me as sick as Shirley was the first time
he looked into the mound. No, sir; we have enough, and it is the part of
sensible men to stop when they have enough."

Burke shook his head. "If I'd been there," he said, "I should have looked
for a crack in that floor."

When the brig weighed anchor, she did not set out for the open sea, but
proceeded back to the Rackbirds' cove, where she anchored again. Before
setting out, the next day, on his voyage to France, the captain wished to
take on board a supply of fresh water.




CHAPTER XXXIV

BURKE AND HIS CHISEL


That night George Burke went off his watch at twelve o'clock, and a few
minutes after he had been relieved, he did something he had never done
before--he deserted his ship. With his shoes and a little bundle of
clothes on his head, he very quietly slipped down a line he had fastened
astern. It was a very dark night, and he reached the water unseen, and as
quietly as if he had been an otter going fishing. First swimming, and
then wading, he reached the shore. As soon as he was on land, he dressed,
and then went for a lantern, a hammer, and a cold-chisel, which he had
left at a convenient spot.

Without lighting the lantern, he proceeded as rapidly as possible to the
caves. His path was almost invisible, but having travelled that way so
often, he knew it as well as he knew his alphabet. Not until he was
inside the entrance to the caves did he light his lantern. Then he
proceeded, without loss of time, to the stone mound. He knew that the
ladder had been left there, and, with a little trouble, he found it,
where Shirley had put it, behind some rocks on the floor of the cave. By
the aid of this he quickly descended into the mound, and then, moving
the foot of the ladder out of the way, he vigorously began to brush away
the dust from the stone pavement. When this was done, he held up the
lantern and carefully examined the central portion of the floor, and very
soon he discovered what he had come to look for. A space about three feet
square was marked off on the pavement of the mound by a very perceptible
crevice. The other stones of the pavement were placed rather irregularly,
but some of them had been cut to allow this single square stone to be set
in the centre.

"That's a trap-door," said Burke. "There can't be any doubt about that."
And immediately he set to work to get it open.

There was no ring, nor anything by which he could lift it; but if he
could get his heavy chisel under it, he was sure he could raise it until
he could get hold of it with his hands. So he began to drive his chisel
vigorously down into the cracks at various places. This was not difficult
to do, and, trying one side after another, he got the chisel down so far
that he could use it as a lever. But with all his strength he could not
raise the stone.

At last, while working at one corner, he broke out a large piece of the
pavement, eight or nine inches long, and found that it had covered a
metal bar about an inch in diameter. With his lantern he carefully
examined this rod, and found that it was not iron, but appeared to be
made of some sort of bronze.

"Now, what is this?" said Burke to himself. "It's either a hinge or a
bolt. It doesn't look like a hinge, for it wouldn't be any use for it to
run so far into the rest of the pavement, and if it is a bolt, I don't
see how they got at it to move it. I'll see where it goes to." And he
began to cut away more of the pavement toward the wall of the dome. The
pieces of stone came up without much trouble, and as far as he cut he
found the metal rod.

"By George!" said he, "I believe it goes outside of the mound! They
worked it from outside!"

Putting the ladder in place, he ran up with his lantern and tools, and
descended to the outside floor. Then he examined the floor of the cave
where the rod must run if it came outside the mound. He found a line of
flat stones, each about a foot square, extending from the mound toward
the western side of the cave.

"Oh, ho!" he cried, and on his knees he went to work, soon forcing up one
of these stones, and under it was the metal rod, lying in a groove
considerably larger than itself. Burke now followed the line of stones to
the western side of the cave, where the roof was so low he could scarcely
stand up under it. To make sure, he took up another stone, and still
found the rod.

"I see what this means," said he. "That bolt is worked from clean
outside, and I've got to find the handle of it. If I can't do that, I'll
go back and cut through that bolt, if my chisel will do it."

He now went back to a point on the line of stones about midway between
the side of the cave and the mound, and then, walking forward as nearly
as possible in a straight line, which would be at right angles with the
metal rod, he proceeded until he had reached the entrance to the
passageway which led to the outer caves, carefully counting his steps as
he went. Then he turned squarely about, entered the passage, and walked
along it until he came to the door of the room which had once been
occupied by Captain Horn.

"I'll try it inside first," said Burke to himself, "and then I'll
go outside."

He walked through the rooms, turning to the right about ten feet when he
came to the middle apartment,--for the door here was not opposite to the
others,--but coming back again to his line of march as soon as he was on
the other side. He proceeded until he reached the large cave, open at the
top, which was the last of these compartments. This was an extensive
cavern, the back part being, however, so much impeded by rocks that had
fallen from the roof that it was difficult for him to make any progress,
and the numbering of his steps depended very much upon calculation. But
when he reached the farthest wall, Burke believed that he had gone about
as great a distance as he had stepped off in the cave of the lake.

"But how in the mischief," thought he, "am I to find anything here?" He
held up his lantern and looked about. "I can't move these rocks to see
what is under them."

As he gazed around, he noticed that the southeast corner seemed to be
more regular than the rest of the wall of the cave. In fact, it was
almost a right-angled corner, and seemed to have been roughly cut into
that shape. Instantly Burke was in the corner. He found the eastern wall
quite smooth for a space about a foot wide and extending about two yards
from the floor. In this he perceived lines of crevice marking out a
rectangular space some six inches wide and four feet in height.

"Ha, ha!" cried Burke. "The handle is on the other side of that slab,
I'll bet my head!" And putting down the lantern, he went to work.

With his hammer and chisel he had forced the top of the slab in less than
two minutes, and soon he pulled it outward and let it drop on the floor.
Inside the narrow, perpendicular cavity which was now before him, he saw
an upright metal bar.

"The handle of the bolt!" cried Burke. "Now I can unfasten the
trap-door." And taking hold of the top of the bar, he pulled back with
all his force. At first he could not move it, but suddenly the resistance
ceased, and he pulled the bar forward until it stood at an angle of
forty-five degrees from the wall. Further than this Burke could not move
it, although he tugged and bore down on it with all his weight.

"All right," said he, at last. "I guess that's as far as she'll come.
Anyway, I'm off to see if I've drawn that bolt. If I have, I'll have that
trap-door open, if I have to break my back lifting it."

With his best speed Burke ran through the caves to the mound, and,
mounting by means of the stone projections, he was about to descend by
the ladder, when, to his utter amazement, he saw no ladder. He had left
it projecting at least two feet through the opening in the top of the
mound, and now he could see nothing of it.

What could this mean? Going up a little higher, he held up his lantern
and looked within, but saw no signs of the ladder.

"By George!" he cried, "has anybody followed me and pulled out
that ladder?"

Lowering the lantern farther into the mound, he peered in. Below, and
immediately under him, was a black hole, about three feet square.
Burke was so startled that he almost dropped the lantern. But he was a
man of tough nerve, and maintained his clutch upon it. But he drew
back. It required some seconds to catch his breath. Presently he
looked down again.

"I see," said he. "That trap-door was made to fall down, and not to lift
up, and when I pulled the bolt, down it went, and the ladder, being on
top of it, slipped into that hole. Heavens!" he said, as a cold sweat
burst out over him at the thought, "suppose I had made up my mind to cut
that bolt! Where would I have gone to?"

It was not easy to frighten Burke, but now he trembled, and his back was
chilled. But he soon recovered sufficiently to do something, and going
down to the floor of the cave, he picked up a piece of loose stone, and
returning to the top of the mound, he looked carefully over the edge of
the opening, and let the stone drop into the black hole beneath. With all
the powers of his brain he listened, and it seemed to him like half a
minute before he heard a faint sound, far, far below. At this moment he
was worse frightened than he had ever been in his life. He clambered down
to the foot of the mound, and sat down on the floor.

"What in the name of all the devils does it mean?" said he; and he set
himself to work to think about it, and found this a great deal harder
labor than cutting stone.

"There was only one thing," he said to himself, at last, "that they could
have had that for. The captain says that those ancient fellows put their
gold there keep it from the Spaniards, and they must have rigged up this
devilish contrivance to work if they found the Spaniards had got on the
track of their treasure. Even if the Spaniards had let off the water and
gone to work to get the gold out, one of the Incas' men in the corner of
that other cave, which most likely was all shut up and not discoverable,
would have got hold of that bar, given it a good pull, and let down all
the gold, and what Spaniards might happen to be inside, to the very
bottom of that black hole. By George! it would have been a pretty trick!
The bottom of that mound is just like a funnel, and every stick of gold
would have gone down. But, what is more likely, they would have let it
out before the Spaniards had a chance to open the top, and then, if the
ancients had happened to lick the Spaniards, they could have got all that
gold up again. It might have taken ten or twenty years, but then, the
ancients had all the time they wanted."

After these reflections, Burke sat for a few moments, staring at the
lantern. "But, by George!" said he again, speaking aloud, though in low
tones, "it makes my blood run cold to think of the captain working day
after day, as hard as he could, right over that horrible trap-door.
Suppose he had moved the bolt in some way! Suppose somebody outside had
found that slab in the wall and had fooled with the bar! Then, there is
another thing. Suppose, while they were living here, he or the boy had
found that bar before he found the dome, and had pulled out the concern
to see what it was! Bless me! in that case we should all be as poor as
rats! Bat I must not stop here, or the next watch will be called before I
get back. But one thing I'll do before I go. I'll put back that lid.
Somebody might find the dome in the dark, and tumble into it. Why, if a
wandering rat should make a slip, and go down into that black hole, it
would be enough to make a fellow's blood run cold if he knew of it."

Without much trouble Burke replaced the lid, and then, without further
delay, he left the caves. As he hurried along the beach, he debated
within himself whether or not he should tell Captain Horn what he had
discovered.

"It will be mighty hard on his nerves," said he, "if he comes to know how
he squatted and worked for days and weeks over that diabolical trap that
opens downward. He's a strong man, but he's got enough on his nerves as
it is. No, I won't tell him. He is going to do the handsome thing by us,
and it would be mean for me to do the unhandsome thing by him. By George!
I don't believe he could sleep for two or three nights if he knew what I
know! No, sir! You just keep your mouth shut until we are safe and sound
in some civilized spot, with the whole business settled, and Shirley and
me discharged. Then I will tell the captain about it, so that nobody need
ever trouble his mind about coming back to look for gold rings and royal
mummies. If I don't get back before my watch is called, I'll brazen it
out somehow. We've got to twist discipline a little when we are all hard
at work at a job like this."

He left his shoes on the sand of the cove, and swam to the ship without
taking time to undress. He slipped over the taffrail, and had scarcely
time to get below and change his clothes before his watch was called.




CHAPTER XXXV

THE CAPTAIN WRITES A LETTER


On the afternoon of the next day, the Miranda, having taken in water, set
sail, and began her long voyage to Rio Janeiro, and thence to France.

Now that his labors were over, and the treasure of the Incas safely
stored in the hold of the brig, where it was ignominiously acting as
ballast, Captain Horn seated himself comfortably in the shade of a sail
and lighted his pipe. He was tired of working, tired of thinking, tired
of planning--tired in mind, body, and even soul; and the thought that
his work was done, and that he was actually sailing away with his great
prize, came to him like a breeze from the sea after a burning day. He
was not as happy as he should have been. He knew that he was too tired
to be as happy as his circumstances demanded, but after a while he would
attend better to that business. Now he was content to smoke his pipe,
and wait, and listen to the distant music from all the different kinds
of enjoyment which, in thought, were marching toward him. It was true he
was only beginning his long voyage to the land where he hoped to turn
his gold into available property. It was true that he might be murdered
that night, or some other night, and that when the brig, with its
golden cargo, reached port, he might not be in command of her. It was
true that a hundred things might happen to prevent the advancing
enjoyments from ever reaching him. But ill-omened chances threaten
everything that man is doing, or ever can do, and he would not let the
thought of them disturb him now.

Everybody on board the Miranda was glad to rest and be happy, according
to his methods and his powers of anticipation. As to any present
advantage from their success, there was none. The stones and sand they
had thrown out had ballasted the brig quite as well as did the gold they
now carried. This trite reflection forced itself upon the mind of Burke.

"Captain," said he, "don't you think it would be a good idea to touch
somewhere and lay in a store of fancy groceries and saloon-cabin grog? If
we can afford to be as jolly as we please, I don't see why we shouldn't
begin now."

But the captain shook his head. "It would be a dangerous thing," he said,
"to put into any port on the west coast of South America with our present
cargo on board. We can't make it look like ballast, as I expected we
could, for all that bagging gives it a big bulk, and if the custom-house
officers came on board, it would not do any good to tell them we are
sailing in ballast, if they happened to want to look below."

"Well, that may be so," said Burke. "But what I'd like would be to meet a
first-class, double-quick steamer, and buy her, put our treasure on
board, and then clap on all steam for France."

"All right," said the captain, "but we'll talk about that when we meet a
steamer for sale."

After a week had passed, and he had begun to feel the advantages of rest
and relief from anxiety, Captain Horn regretted nothing so much as that
the _Miranda_ was not a steamer, ploughing her swift way over the seas.
It must be a long, long time before he could reach those whom he supposed
and hoped were waiting for him in France. It had already been a long,
long time since they had heard from him. He did not fear that they would
suffer because he did not come. He had left them money enough to prevent
anything of that sort. He did not know whether or not they were longing
to hear from him, but he did know that he wanted them to hear from him.
He must yet sail about three thousand miles in the Pacific Ocean, and
then about two thousand more in the Atlantic, before he reached Rio
Janeiro, the port for which he had cleared. From there it would be nearly
five thousand miles to France, and he did not dare to calculate how long
it would take the brig to reach her final destination.

This course of thought determined him to send a letter, which would reach
Paris long before he could arrive there. If they should know that he was
on his way home, all might be well, or, at least, better than if they
knew nothing about him. It might be a hazardous thing to touch at a port
on this coast, but he believed that, if he managed matters properly, he
might get a letter ashore without making it necessary for any meddlesome
custom-house officers to come aboard and ask questions. Accordingly, he
decided to stop at Valparaiso. He thought it likely that if he did not
meet a vessel going into port which would lay to and take his letter, he
might find some merchantman, anchored in the roadstead, to which he
could send a boat, and on which he was sure to find some one who would
willingly post his letter.

He wrote a long letter to Edna--a straightforward, business-like
missive, as his letters had always been, in which, in language which she
could understand, but would carry no intelligible idea to any
unauthorized person who might open the letter, he gave her an account of
what he had done, and which was calculated to relieve all apprehensions,
should it be yet a long time before he reached her. He promised to write
again whenever there was an opportunity of sending her a letter, and
wrote in such a friendly and encouraging manner that he felt sure there
would be no reason for any disappointment or anxiety regarding him and
the treasure.

Burke and Shirley were a little surprised when they found that the
captain had determined to stop at Valparaiso, a plan so decidedly opposed
to what he had before said on the subject. But when they found it was for
the purpose of sending a letter to his wife, and that he intended, if
possible, barely to touch and go, they said nothing more, nor did Burke
make any further allusions to improvement in their store of provisions.

When, at last, the captain found himself off Valparaiso, it was on a
dark, cloudy evening and nothing could be done until the next morning,
and they dropped anchor to wait until dawn.

As soon as it was light, the captain saw that a British steamer was
anchored about a mile from the _Miranda_, and he immediately sent a boat,
with Shirley and two of the negroes, to ask the officer on duty to post
his letter when he sent on shore. In a little more than an hour Shirley
returned, with the report that the first mate of the steamer knew Captain
Horn and would gladly take charge of his letter.

The boat was quickly hauled to the davits, and all hands were called to
weigh anchor and set sail. But all hands did not respond to the call. One
of the negroes, a big, good-natured fellow, who, on account of his
unpronounceable African name, had been dubbed "Inkspot," was not to be
found. This was a very depressing thing, under the circumstances, and it,
almost counterbalanced the pleasure the captain felt in having started a
letter on its way to his party in France.

It seemed strange that Inkspot should have deserted the vessel, for it
was a long way to the shore, and, besides, what possible reason could he
have for leaving his fellow-Africans and taking up his lot among absolute
strangers? The crew had all worked together so earnestly and faithfully
that the captain had come to believe in them and trust them to an extent
to which he had never before trusted seamen.

The officers held a consultation as to what was to be done, and they very
quickly arrived at a decision. To remain at anchor, to send a boat on
shore to look for the missing negro, would be dangerous and useless.
Inquiries about the deserter would provoke inquiries about the brig, and
if Inkspot really wished to run away from the vessel, it would take a
long time to find him and bring him back. The right course was quite
plain to every one. Having finished the business which brought them
there, they must up anchor and sail away as soon as possible. As for the
loss of the man, they must bear that as well as they could. Whether he
had been drowned, eaten by a shark, or had safely reached the shore, he
was certainly lost to them.

At the best, their crew had been small enough, but six men had sailed a
brig, and six men could do it again.

So the anchor was weighed, the sails were set, and before a northeast
wind the _Miranda_ went out to sea as gayly as the nature of her build
permitted, which is not saying much. It was a good wind, however, and
when the log had been thrown, the captain remarked that the brig was
making better time than she had made since they left Acapulco.




CHAPTER XXXVI

A HORSE-DEALER APPEARS ON THE SCENE


When the brig _Miranda_ was lying at anchor in the Rackbirds' cove, and
Mr. George Burke had silently left her in order to go on shore and pursue
some investigations in which he was interested, his departure from the
brig had not been, as he supposed, unnoticed. The big, good-natured
African, known as Inkspot, had been on watch, and, being himself so very
black that he was not generally noticeable in the dark, was standing on a
part of the deck from which, without being noticed himself, he saw a
person get over the taffrail and slip into the water. He knew this person
to be the second mate, and having a high respect and some fear of his
superiors, he did not consider it his business to interfere with him. He
saw a head above the water, moving toward the shore, but it soon
disappeared in the darkness. Toward the end of his watch, he had seen Mr.
Burke climb up the vessel's side as silently as he had gone down it, and
disappear below.

When Inkspot went to his hammock, which he did very shortly afterwards,
he reflected to the best of his ability upon what he had seen. Why did
Mr. Burke slip away from the ship so silently, and come back in the same
way? He must have gone ashore, and why did he want no one to know that he
had gone? He must have gone to do something he ought not to do, and
Inkspot could think of nothing wrong that Mr. Burke would like to do,
except to drink whiskey. Captain Horn was very particular about using
spirits on board, and perhaps Mr. Burke liked whiskey, and could not get
it. Inkspot knew about the storehouse of the Rackbirds, but he did not
know what it had contained, or what had been left there. Maka had said
something about the whiskey having been poured out on the sand, but that
might have been said just to keep people away from the place. If there
were no whiskey there, why did Mr. Burke go on shore?

Now, it so happened that Inkspot knew a good deal about whiskey. Before
he had gone into the service of the Rackbirds, he had, at different
times, been drunk, and he had the liveliest and most pleasant
recollections of these experiences. It had been a long time since he had
had enough whiskey to make him feel happy. This had probably been the
case with Mr. Burke, and he had gone on shore, and most likely had had
some very happy hours, and had come back without any one knowing where he
had gone. The consequence of this train of thought was that Inkspot
determined that he would go on shore, the next night, and hunt for
whiskey. He could do it quite as well as Mr. Burke had done it, perhaps
even better. But the _Miranda_ did not remain in the cove the next night,
and poor Inkspot looked with longing eyes upon the slowly departing spot
on the sands where he knew the Rackbirds' storehouse was located.

The days and nights went on, and in the course of time the _Miranda_
anchored in the harbor of Valparaiso; and, when this happened, Inkspot
determined that now would be his chance to go on shore and get a good
drink of whiskey--he had money enough for that. He could see the lights
of El Puerto, or the Old Town, glittering and beckoning, and they did
not appear to be very far off. It would be nothing for him to swim as
far as that.

Inkspot went off his watch at midnight, and he went into the water at
fifty minutes to one. He wore nothing but a dark-gray shirt and a pair of
thin trousers, and if any one had seen his head and shoulders, it is not
likely, unless a good light had been turned on them, that they would have
been supposed to be portions of a human form.

Inkspot was very much at home in the water, and he could swim like a dog
or a deer. But it was a long, long swim to those glittering and
beckoning lights. At last, however, he reached a pier, and having rested
himself on the timbers under it, he cautiously climbed to the top. The
pier was deserted, and he walked to the end of it, and entered the town.
He knew nothing of Valparaiso, except that it was a large city where
sailors went, and he was quite sure he could find a shop where they sold
whiskey. Then he would have a glass--perhaps two--perhaps three--after
which he would return to the brig, as Mr. Burke had done. Of course, he
would have to do much more swimming than had been necessary for the
second mate, but then, he believed himself to be a better swimmer than
that gentleman, and he expected to get back a great deal easier than he
came, because the whiskey would make him strong and happy, and he could
play with the waves.

Inkspot did find a shop, and a dirty one it was--but they sold whiskey
inside, and that was enough for him. With the exception of Maka, he was
the most intelligent negro among the captain's crew, and he had picked up
some words of English and some of Spanish. But it was difficult for him
to express an idea with these words. Among these words, however, was one
which he pronounced better than any of the others, and which had always
been understood whenever he used it,--whether in English or Spanish, no
matter what the nationality might be of the person addressed,--and that
word was "whiskey."

Inkspot had one glass, and then another, a third, and a fourth, and then
his money gave out--at least, the man who kept the shop insisted, in
words that any one could understand, that the silver the big negro had
fished out of his dripping pockets would pay for no more drinks. But
Inkspot had had enough to make him happy. His heart was warm, and his
clothes were getting drier. He went out into the glorious night. It was
dark and windy, and the sky was cloudy, but to him all things were
glorious. He sat down on the pavement in the cosey corner of two walls,
and there he slept luxuriously until a policeman came along and arrested
him for being drunk in the street.

It was two days before Inkspot got out of the hands of the police. Then
he was discharged because the authorities did not desire to further
trouble themselves with a stupid fellow who could give no account of
himself, and had probably wandered from a vessel in port. The first
thing he did was to go out to the water's edge and look out over the
harbor, but although he saw many ships, his sharp eyes told him that not
one of them was the brig he had left.

After an hour or two of wandering up and down the waterside, he became
sure that there was no vessel in that harbor waiting for him to swim to
her. Then he became equally certain that he was very hungry. It was not
long, however, before a good, strong negro like Inkspot found employment.
It was not necessary for him to speak very much Spanish, or any other
language, to get a job at carrying things up a gang-plank, and, in pay
for this labor, he willingly took whatever was given him.

That night, with very little money in his pocket, Inkspot entered a
tavern, a low place, but not so low as the one he had patronized on his
arrival in Valparaiso. He had had a meagre supper, and now possessed
but money enough to pay for one glass of whiskey, and having procured
this, he seated himself on a stool in a corner, determined to protract
his enjoyment as long as possible. Where he would sleep that night he
knew not, but it was not yet bedtime, and he did not concern himself
with the question.

Near by, at a table, were seated four men, drinking, smoking, and
talking. Two of these were sailors. Another, a tall, dark man with a
large nose, thin at the bridge and somewhat crooked below, was dressed in
very decent shore clothes, but had a maritime air about him,
notwithstanding. The fourth man, as would have been evident to any one
who understood Spanish, was a horse-dealer, and the conversation, when
Inkspot entered the place, was entirely about horses. But Inkspot did
not know this, as he understood so few of the words that he heard, and he
would not have been interested if he had understood them. The
horse-dealer was the principal spokesman, but he would have been a poor
representative of the shrewdness of his class, had he been trying to sell
horses to sailors. He was endeavoring to do nothing of the kind. These
men were his friends, and he was speaking to them, not of the good
qualities of his animals, but of the credulous natures of his customers.
To illustrate this, he drew from his pocket a small object which he had
received a few days before for some horses which might possibly be worth
their keep, although he would not be willing to guarantee this to any one
at the table. The little object which he placed on the table was a piece
of gold about two inches long, and shaped like an irregular prism.

This, he said, he had received in trade from a man in Santiago, who had
recently come down from Lima. The man had bought it from a jeweller, who
had others, and who said he understood they had come from California. The
jeweller had owed the man money, and the latter had taken this, not as a
curiosity, for it was not much of a curiosity, as they could all see, but
because the jeweller told him exactly how much it was worth, and because
it was safer than money to carry, and could be changed into current coin
in any part of the world. The point of the horse-dealer's remarks was,
however, the fact that not only had he sold his horses to the man from
Lima for very much more than they were worth, but he had made him believe
that this lump of gold was not worth as much as he had been led to
suppose, that the jeweller bad cheated him, and that Californian gold
was not easily disposed of in Chili or Peru, for it was of a very
inferior quality to the gold of South America. So he had made his trade,
and also a profit, not only on the animals he delivered, but on the pay
he received. He had had the little lump weighed and tested, and knew
exactly how much it was worth.

When the horse-dealer had finished this pleasant tale, he laughed
loudly, and the three other men laughed also because they had keen wits
and appreciated a good story of real life. But their laughter was
changed to astonishment--almost fright--when a big black negro bounded
out of a dark corner and stood by the table, one outstretched ebony
finger pointing to the piece of gold. Instantly the horse dealer
snatched his treasure and thrust it into his pocket, and almost at the
same moment each man sprung to his feet and put his hand on his favorite
weapon. But the negro made no attempt to snatch the gold, nor did there
seem to be any reason to apprehend an attack from him. He stood slapping
his thighs with his hands, his mouth in a wide grin, and his eyes
sparkling in apparent delight.

"What is the matter with you?" shouted the horse-dealer. "What do
you want?"

Inkspot did not understand what had been said to him, nor could he have
told what he wanted, for he did not know. At that moment he knew nothing,
he comprehended nothing, but he felt as a stranger in a foreign land
would feel should he hear some words in his native tongue. The sight of
that piece of gold had given to Inkspot, by one quick flash, a view of
his negro friends and companions, of Captain Horn and his two white men,
of the brig he had left, of the hammock in which he had slept--of all, in
fact, that he now cared for on earth.

He had seen pieces of gold like that. Before all the treasure had been
carried from the caves to the _Miranda_, the supply of coffee-bags had
given out, and during the last days of the loading it had been necessary
to tie up the gold in pieces of sail-cloth, after the fashion of a
wayfarer's bundle. Before these had been put on board, their fastening
had been carefully examined, and some of them had been opened and retied.
Thus all the negroes had seen the little bars, for, as they knew the bags
contained gold, there was no need of concealing from them the shape and
size of the contents.

So, when, sitting in his gloomy corner, his spirits slowly rising under
the influence of his refreshment, which he had just finished, he saw
before him an object which recalled to him the life and friends of which
he had bereft himself, Inkspot's nature took entire possession of him,
and he bounded to the table in ecstatic recognition of the bit of metal.

The men now swore at Inkspot, but as they saw he was unarmed, and not
inclined to violence, they were not afraid of him, but they wondered at
him. The horse-dealer took the piece of gold out of his pocket and held
it in his hand.

"Did you ever see anything like that before?" he asked. He was a shrewd
man, the horse-dealer, and really wanted to know what was the matter with
the negro.

Inkspot did not answer, but jabbered in African.

"Try him in English," suggested the thin-nosed man, and this the
horse-dealer did.

Many of the English words Inkspot understood. He had seen things like
that. Yes, yes! Great heaps! Heaps! Bags! Bags! He carried them! Throwing
an imaginary package over his shoulder, he staggered under it across the
floor. Heaps! Piles! Bags! Days and days and days he carried many bags!
Then, in a state of exalted mental action, produced by his recollections
and his whiskey, he suddenly conceived a scorn for a man who prized so
highly just one of these lumps, and who was nearly frightened out of his
wits if a person merely pointed to it. He shrugged his shoulders, he
spread out the palms of his hands toward the piece of gold, he turned
away his head and walked off sniffing. Then he came back and pointed to
it, and, saying "One!" he laughed, and then he said "One!" and laughed
again. Suddenly he became possessed with a new idea. His contemptuous
manner dropped from him, and in eager excitement he leaned forward and
exclaimed:

"Cap' 'Or?"

The four men looked at each other and at him in wonder, and asked what,
in the name of his satanic majesty, the fellow was driving at. This
apparent question, now repeated over and over again in turn to each of
them, they did not understand at all. But they could comprehend that the
negro had carried bags of lumps like that. This was very interesting.




CHAPTER XXXVII

THE "ARATO"

The subject of the labors of an African Hercules, mythical as these
labors might be, was so interesting to the four men who had been drinking
and smoking in the tavern, that they determined to pursue it as far as
their ignorance of the African's language, and his ignorance of English
and Spanish, would permit. In the first place, they made him sit down
with them, and offered him something to drink. It was not whiskey, but
Inkspot liked it very much, and felt all sorts of good effects from it.
In fact, it gave him a power of expressing himself by gestures and single
words in a manner wonderful. After a time, the men gave him something to
eat, for they imagined he might be hungry, and this also helped him very
much, and his heart went out to these new friends. Then he had a little
more to drink, but only a little, for the horse-dealer and the thin-nosed
man, who superintended the entertainment, were very sagacious, and did
not want him to drink too much.

In the course of an hour, these four men, listening and watching keenly
and earnestly, had become convinced that this black man had been on a
ship which carried bags of gold similar to the rude prism possessed by
the horse-dealer, that he had left that vessel for the purpose of
obtaining refreshments on shore and had not been able to get back to it,
thereby indicating that the vessel had not stopped long at the place
where he had left it, and which place must have been, of course,
Valparaiso. Moreover, they found out to their full satisfaction where
that vessel was going to; for Maka had talked a great deal about Paris,
which he pronounced in English fashion, where Cheditafa and Mok were, and
the negroes had looked forward to this unknown spot as a heavenly port,
and Inkspot could pronounce the word "Paris" almost as plainly as if it
were a drink to which he was accustomed.

But where the vessel was loaded with the gold, they could not find out.
No grimace that Inkspot could make, nor word that he could say, gave them
an idea worth dwelling upon. He said some words which made them believe
that the vessel had cleared from Acapulco, but it was foolish to suppose
that any vessel had been loaded there with bags of gold carried on men's
shoulders. The ship most probably came from California, and had touched
at the Mexican port. And she was now bound for Paris. That was natural
enough. Paris was a very good place to which to take gold. Moreover, she
had probably touched at some South American port, Callao perhaps, and
this was the way the little pieces of gold had been brought into the
country, the Californians probably having changed them for stores.

The words "Cap' 'Or," often repeated by the negro, and always in a
questioning tone, puzzled them very much. They gave up its solution, and
went to work to try to make out the name of the vessel upon which the
bags had been loaded. But here Inkspot could not help them. They could
not make him understand what it was they wanted him to say. At last, the
horse-dealer proposed to the others, who, he said, knew more about such
things than he did, that they should repeat the name of every
sailing-vessel on that coast of which they had ever heard--for Inkspot
had made them understand that his ship had sails, and no steam. This they
did, and presently one of the sailors mentioned the name _Miranda_, which
belonged to a brig he knew of which plied on the coast. At this, Inkspot
sprang to his feet and clapped his hands.

_"Miran'a! Miran'a.'"_ he cried. And then followed the words, "Cap' 'Or!
Cap' 'Or!" in eagerly excited tones.

Suddenly the thin-nosed man, whom the others called Cardatas,
leaned forward.

"Cap'n Horn?" said he.

Inkspot clapped his hands again, and exclaimed:

"Ay, ay! Cap' 'Or! Cap' 'Or!"

He shouted the words so loudly that the barkeeper, at the other end of
the room, called out gruffly that they'd better keep quiet, or they would
have somebody coming in.

"There you have it!" exclaimed Cardatas, in Spanish. "It's Cap'n Horn
that the fool's been trying to say. Cap'n Horn of the brig _Miranda_. We
are getting on finely."

"I have heard of a Cap'n Horn," said one of the sailors. "He's a Yankee
skipper from California. He has sailed from this port, I know."

"And he touched here three days ago, according to the negro," said
Cardatas, addressing the horse-dealer. "What do you say to that, Nunez?
From what we know, I don't think it will be hard to find out more."

Nunez agreed with him, and thought it might pay to find out more. Soon
after this, being informed that it was time to shut up the place, the
four men went out, taking Inkspot with them. They would not neglect this
poor fellow. They would give him a place to sleep, and in the morning he
should have something to eat. It would be very unwise to let him go from
them at present.

The next morning Inkspot strolled about the wharves of Valparaiso, in
company with the two sailors, who never lost sight of him, and he had
rather a pleasant time, for they gave him as much to eat and drink as was
good for him, and made him understand as well as they could that it would
not be long before they would help him to return to the brig _Miranda_
commanded by Captain Horn.

In the meantime, the horse-dealer, Nunez, went to a newspaper office, and
there procured a file of a Mexican paper, for the negro had convinced
them that his vessel had sailed from Acapulco. Turning over the back
numbers week after week, and week after week, Nunez searched in the
maritime news for the information that the _Miranda_ had cleared from a
Mexican port. He had gone back so far that he had begun to consider it
useless to make further search, when suddenly he caught the name
_Miranda_. There it was. The brig _Miranda_ had cleared from Acapulco
September 16, bound for Rio Janeiro in ballast. Nunez counted the months
on his fingers.

"Five months ago!" he said to himself. "That's not this trip, surely.
But I will talk to Cardatas about that." And taking from his pocket a
little note-book in which he recorded his benefactions in the line of
horse trades, he carefully copied the paragraph concerning the _Miranda_.

When Nunez met Cardatas in the afternoon, the latter also had news. He
had discovered that the arrival of the _Miranda_ had not been registered,
but he had been up and down the piers, asking questions, and he had found
a mate of a British steamer, then discharging her cargo, who told him
that the _Miranda_, commanded by Captain Horn, had anchored in the harbor
three days back, during the night, and that early the next morning
Captain Horn had sent him a letter which he wished posted, and that very
soon afterwards the brig had put out to sea. Cardatas wished to know much
more, but the mate, who had had but little conversation with Shirley,
could only tell him that the brig was then bound from Acapulco to Rio
Janeiro in ballast, which he thought rather odd, but all he could add was
that he knew Captain Horn, and he was a good man, and that if he were
sailing in ballast, he supposed he knew what he was about.