Chapter XI: Part 11

"I can't say, Rasp," was the reply. "His case puzzles me. To-night he sleeps so easily that he seems to me better, and as if he were rallying fast."

"Oh no, he ain't," said Rasp, shaking his head oracularly; "that's the artfulness of his nature. He's a-dying sharp."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause I heerd him a muttering to hisself when he thought as I warn't listening, and then he got talking to hisself in his foreign lingo; and when I came into sight again he began picking at his blanket."

"May be," said Mr Meldon, "but all the same, he is certainly better."

"Yah! stuff!" ejaculated Rasp, as he descended to the cabin. "He's dying fast, and it's going to be to-night. I can feel it as plain as can be, poor chap. But he's an out and out bad 'un, and only got what he deserves."

Rasp took several pinches of snuff in succession.

"How rum this snuff is to-night," he muttered, as he settled himself on the locker opposite where Laure lay, and then proceeded to watch the night through, after refusing the help of Oakum and 'Pollo, both of whom had offered to relieve him, and in the course of half-an-hour he was sleeping heavily.

And so a couple of hours glided away; when, just as all was perfectly silent on board the schooner, and all save the watch on deck slept soundly, Laure, the Cuban, rose from his simulated sleep, and after a glance at Rasp stole to the locker in which lay his clothes, slipped them on silently, and then made softly for the deck.

It was no tottering walk of a feeble man, but the quick, soft cat-like tread of some one full of life and energy, and bent upon some set design. And so it was; for the time for the execution of the fell purpose upon which his mind had been fixed ever since he had lain there, feeble at first from the shock, but daily growing stronger and meditating revenge, had arrived.

He was too well acquainted with the routine of the schooner not to be fully aware of what he could do, and while the man bent drowsily over the wheel, and Oakum and another were on the look-out in the bows, he took the falls in his hands, and cleverly let the boat on the davits glide down and kiss the softly heaving wave almost without a sound, but not until he had secured the painter to one of the pins, after which he slid down the falls with the activity of a boy, unhooked the boat, and climbed back on deck.

Next he paused to listen for a few moments in the darkness, and then with cat-like step descended into the portion of the vessel which had been set apart for the store connected with the diving apparatus.

It was evident that he had often been here before, as he seemed to know where everything was kept; and after lifting down the large jar of the galvanic battery, which, from the care with which he took it was evidently half-full of acid, he bore it to the steps, and then placing his hand on a particular shelf he took down a canister of dynamite cartridges and placed it against the bulkhead.

This done he felt along the shelf to where, days before, he had placed a large reel of thin silk-covered wire, and tying it to the loop of metal in one of the cartridges, he backed slowly out of the cabin, unwinding the wire as he went till he reached the deck, where he continued his way to the side, and lowered the reel into the boat.

The next thing was the awkward jar of the battery; but his plans had all been made, and with a piece of cord he lowered it down carefully, raising it again and again until he felt that it rested safely in the bottom of the boat.

Water was already there, and provisions that he had been storing up for days; and now the first sound that had left his lips escaped in the form of a low demoniacal chuckle as, lightly raising himself upon the bulwark, he sat there for a moment, and he shook his fist in the direction of the cabin.

"Curse you!" he muttered. "You thought to outwit me, but you did not know your enemy. Sink! perish with the silver that carries you down, for revenge is sweet even at such a cost."

He swung himself down by the ropes hanging from one of the davits, and there felt that he had outwitted himself for the boat was not beneath his feet, and he was getting nearly exhausted by his efforts.

"I shall have to let go," he muttered; "and in the darkness I shall never reach the boat again."

He swung himself to and fro, and struggled hard to reach the boat, but though he nearly touched it each time, he was never near enough to trust himself to lose his hold, and with the perspiration running down his face, and his hair bristling with horror, he began to thoroughly realise that his long rest in bed had weakened him terribly. The thought was horrible now that he had been brought face to face with it--that he who had been so careful in laying his plans for the destruction of others had been caught in his own trap, and was himself called upon to die. The idea was terrible. He was not fit to die. When roused by his passions to fight desperately, he could, perhaps, have faced death with a certain amount of manly composure, but now swinging at the end of this rope, to hold on till he could cling no longer, and then plunge suddenly into the sea to feel the black rushing and thundering waters close over his head--it was too horrible to be borne.

He made a desperate struggle to get his legs up, and cling with them to the rope, but his strength was gone, and he only weakened himself, and hanging now at the full stretch of his arms, feeling, as the sinews of his wrists seemed ready to crack, that any moment he must leave go, he--

The thought was too horrible. He could not face death; sooner must he shriek for help and forego his revenge--anything to be saved.

His lips parted, and he tried to yell loudly, but a harsh gurgle was all that came now from his dry throat. He tried again and again, but horror had paralysed him, and he could do nothing but pant hoarsely like one in a nightmare, and believe that, after all, this was but some fearful dream from which he would awaken, as he often had before, bathed with perspiration, and shivering with dread.

At last he tried to close his starting eyes, and hide from his distorted vision the horrible resemblance of the davit above him to the gallows, as he swung to and fro by the rope. But even this relief was denied him, for it seemed as if the whole muscular strength of his body was condensed in his arms, by which he clung to the fall, and power had left him to perform any other act than that of clinging for life. The deadly sense of terror increased, and with men at either end of the vessel ready to come to his help--men who, by the slightest effort of will, could have saved him--he felt he must die. He would have called them to his help now regardless of the exposure of his plans, but it was too late: he could do no more than hold on, and wait till he fell.

No torture could possibly have been greater than that felt by this wretch as he softly swung to and fro within a few inches of the safety he had provided, and yet unable to reach it. A thousand thoughts rushed through his brain, but they were mostly regrets that he had been unable to compass his revenge; that he had neglected his opportunities when he might have made himself the master of Hester, seeing how thoroughly he had her in his power, and his bared teeth glistened in the darkness as a wave curled and, splashing against the side of the schooner, sent forth a phosphorescent flash.

And now he told himself that it was all over; he must die unrevenged, unable to make a single struggle, for the last moments had come, his muscles were relaxing, the sense of terror was growing more dull, and he must fall. His eyes were staring straight up at the davit, now black above his head, just faintly seen through the darkness, and it seemed more than ever the instrument of his death as the slipping rope for a moment scorched his hands, his eyes convulsively closed as the strain on the muscles of his arms ceased, and he fell.

But not to plunge into the black waters beneath him, and only a few feet from where he had hung, for the wave that curled against the side, and with its phosphorescent glare shewn his distorted features, swept the boat beneath his feet, and he sank all of a heap in the bows, to lie there motionless as the boat rose and fell. For he was utterly prostrate, and it was some minutes before he could realise that he was still alive.

When, however, by slow degrees the feeling came upon him that he was safe, no thanks rose to his cracked, dry lips, but a smile of malignant satisfaction, for revenge was still open to him, and as soon as he could recover himself somewhat, he might put his plan into execution.

For fully half-an-hour Laure lay there crouching in the bows of the boat waiting for the strength that would enable him to achieve his nefarious ends, while the watch hung drowsily over the bulwarks, and those below slept peacefully, in ignorance of the horrible fate that was in store.

At last, like some deadly monster uncoiling its folds, the Cuban began to move, and his first attempt was to reach a bottle of spirits, from whose gurgling throat he drank with avidity, the potent fluid giving him the restoration he sought. Then as the blood began to tingle in his veins, he sat up, looked round, and gently chafed his benumbed arms.

A slight motion in the fore part of the ship roused him to the necessity for immediate action, and now with eager haste he cautiously felt about, and placed the galvanic battery in a convenient spot, took hold of the reel of fine silk-covered wire, arranged it so that it was not entangled, and then, having assured himself that all was right, he took out his knife and cut the boat's painter, floating now gently away in the wake of the schooner, while as he did so he let the wire run rapidly out so that a connection was kept up.

There must have been at least a hundred yards of wire, and the schooner glided away so gently that there was never any stress on the frail metal cord, till the last rings ran off the reel, when Laure, with a cry of exultation, checked the progress softly and felt for the wire's end.

The schooner could hardly be distinguished now, and there was not a moment to lose, for if the wire were tightened till it dragged on the boat it must part, so with trembling eagerness the Cuban twisted the slight metal strand twice round his left hand, while with his right he placed the end against the brass connection of the plates in the battery.

The work was instantaneous.

As he touched the connection with the tiny point of copper there was a hissing noise in the jar, a little point of light darted at the end of the wire, and simultaneously a hundred yards away in the darkness there was a tremendous flash, the darkness was illuminated by a fountain of sparks, which rose high in air, driven by a fan-like wave of flame; the fire curved over, and the sparks fell hissing into the sea.

As the flame rose, spreading wider and wider, there was a roar as of thunder, a rush as of the wind in a tempest struck Laure, the boat rocked to and fro, shipping no small amount of water, and the wire twisted round the Cuban's hand cut and bit into the flesh ere it snapped short off.

But he did not feel the pain, and saw not the danger to which he was exposed as he gazed straight beyond him at the doomed ship, and exulted in the wild shriek of horror that he had heard as the noise of the explosion died away.

He heard no more, for an awful silence fell upon the ocean, now blacker than ever, and rising up in the boat he held out one hand, shaking his fist in the direction where a faint glow told him of burning fragments of the wreck, and then with a shriek of exultation he cried--

"Sink, sink, with your accursed freight. Who wins now?"

He tottered as he spoke, and though straining his voice to hurl out his curse at the schooner and those on board, it was but a feeble cry, and he fell back senseless over the thwarts to lie in the bottom of the boat, with the water that had been shipped washing over him.

STORY ONE, CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

THE CATASTROPHE.

The occupants of the cabin had sat long that night, talking of poor John Studwick's peaceful end, and then separated, feeling low-spirited and heavy, as if some fresh trouble were in store; but Bessy had said good-night to Meldon, with her hands resting lovingly in his, and she did not shrink away when he pressed his lips to her forehead.

It had been arranged that the remains of the dead should be committed to the deep next day, and at last all had retired, after the captain and Dutch had heard the doctor's report of Laure's state, which caused them some uneasiness, for if he recovered they felt that much trouble was in store.

But there was not the faintest suspicion of danger: trusty men were at the look-out and helm, and it had been arranged that Dutch was to take turns with the doctor and captain to visit the deck during the night, the doctor having his patient to watch. Then there was Rasp, too, who would be on the move several times during the night, and all promised well.

And so the time wore on till Dutch, who had lain down in his clothes, rose and kissed his sleeping wife as she lay there peacefully dreaming. All was very still, and on reaching the deck he found the darkness intense, but, guided by the faint glow from the binnacle lantern, he went aft to where Lennie was softly crooning to himself some old ditty about "Coming back to Sairey in the good ship Jane."

"Yes, sir, all right," said the sailor; "the breeze keeps nice and steady, only it's like sailing in a tar barrel, it's so awful black."

Dutch went forward and found Sam Oakum leaning with his elbows on the bulwark, matched by his companion on the other side of the bowsprit gazing straight out ahead.

"Right as nails, sir," said the old sailor, "only I was a thinking, being a man as never used it, if this here sea looked as black in the sunshine as it do now, what a fortune a man might make in bottles o' ink. You might go on filling 'em up, sir, for ever and ever, amen, and there'd be plenty left to sail the ships in all the same."

"It is black, Sam," said Dutch, "and I often wonder that you sailors are not afraid of being run down, or of running into some other vessels."

"There's plenty o' room," said Sam, "and as to being afraid, what's the use? We're too busy. 'Course there is a collision sometimes, but not often, thank goodness."

"Keep a sharp look-out," said Dutch, turning to go.

"Ay, ay, I'll keep a sharp look-out," said the old fellow. "Lord, it's ticklish work, sailing with all this silver aboard, and I shall be glad when we're safe in. How's the prisoner, sir?"

"I'm going down to see," replied Dutch; and going to the hatch, he descended, to find Rasp sleeping soundly, and the lamp burned down to a dim light, that did not show the state of the Cuban's berth.

Dutch shook the old diver roughly, and he started up muttering, while, as the former turned up the lamp, he started with surprise.

"Where is--"

The words had not left his lips when there was a tremendous concussion, a deafening roar, and the two men were thrown down, to struggle up again, with the air of the little cabin filled with a strange choking vapour, which nearly suffocated them before they had staggered up the steps to sink helplessly on the deck, now covered with burning fragments which kept showering down.

As Dutch fell, stunned and confused, on the fore part of the deck it seemed to him that he heard wild shrieks and cries for help from the direction of the stern cabins, but he was too helpless to comprehend what had taken place till he heard Oakum speaking to him and shaking his arm.

"Are you killed, Mr Dutch?" said the old fellow. "Oh, do say you ain't."

"I don't think I'm hurt, Sam," faltered Dutch, as he struggled to his feet. "I feel stunned, though," and he clung to the old sailor to keep from falling backwards.

"Here's poor old Rasp killed," exclaimed Oakum, "and the ship sinking. Quick, to the boat."

"You're an obstinate old liar," exclaimed Rasp, staggering to his feet. "I ain't killed. Who's been a-doing of this?"

"Here, quick, Oakum," exclaimed Dutch, who, now that he could think, had his first thoughts for his wife and friends, "the ship must be going down. Help me to reach those astern."

"There's no getting to them, if they're alive," exclaimed Oakum; "the whole of the schooner's blown out amidships."

"Ahoy!" there came a voice from beyond the great black gulf in the centre of the schooner, which now began to blaze.

"Who's that? Ahoy!" shouted Dutch. "Captain Studwick?"

"Right! Who's with you there?"

"Oakum, Rasp, and one of the men," cried Dutch. "Who's with you?"

"I think all," replied the captain, shouting across the gulf.

"Is my wife--Miss Studwick--safe?" faltered Dutch; and on receiving a reply in the affirmative, he muttered a prayer of thankfulness.

The question then arose--was the schooner sinking?

"I think not," shouted the captain, for a disposition was shown to get out the boats. "If she was sinking, she would not begin to blaze like that down in the hold. It seems to me that the explosion struck upwards, and that she is sound below--for the present."

And so it proved; for the dynamite had ripped up the deck and snapped off the mainmast as if it had been the stem of a flower, and it now lay alongside, with such of its ropes as were out of water blazing.

Not a moment was to be lost, and buckets being brought into requisition, the flames were attacked, for portions of the wreck below began now to blaze fiercely. One of the pumps, too, was set to work, and for long hours nothing was heard but the hissing of the flames as they were attacked by the water; but all that could be done was to keep them from increasing, and when at last the morning broke, it was to show two groups, one forward, the other astern, sullenly drawing buckets of water and dashing them into a hissing gulf of fire in the centre of the schooner, from which rose a column of black smoke to spread overhead and form a cloud like a funeral pall for the unlucky ship.

As the wind wafted the smoke on one side, Dutch waved his hand in token of encouragement to his wife, who stood with Bessy by the wheel, their task being to keep the ship's head in one direction, so that the flames and heated vapour should not be driven astern. But all was done now in a hopeless duty-driven fashion, for those on board now realised the fact that it was only a matter of hours before the fire would eat its way through the side, and the work they tried so hard to do would be accomplished by the ship sinking beneath the waves.

"It's of no use," said Captain Studwick at last. "Dutch Pugh, Oakum, lower down that boat and come aft."

This was done in a steady, deliberate manner, although at any moment a fresh explosion might have taken place, and the schooner gone down. And into the boat Oakum, Rasp, the sailor, and Dutch lowered themselves, paddled along the side, and joined their companions in misfortune aft.

As Oakum made fast the painter, and they all stood on the deck, Captain Studwick exclaimed:

"Where is Laure? We must not leave him to perish."

"Is he not with you?" said Dutch.

"No," said the captain, bitterly.

"Has the poor wretch, then, been blown up in the explosion?"

"Heaven knows," cried Mr Parkley, "but if he is missing, that explains all. It is his work."

"It was those blowing-up cartridges o' yourn," growled Oakum.

"Of course it was, stupid," snarled Rasp, turning on the old sailor fiercely, "but the cartridges wouldn't go off by themselves, would they?"

"You said he was better, doctor," said the captain.

"Yes, so much so that the change was puzzling."

"This was his work, then," cried the captain. "He was well enough to take some terrible revenge upon us."

"And to perish himself in accomplishing it," said Dutch.

"Don't know that," said the captain. "One of the boats has gone."

"But it may have been destroyed in the explosion."

The captain shook his head and walked to the side where the ropes and blocks hanging from the davits showed plainly enough that a boat had been lowered down.

As he pointed to this the diabolical plot was made perfectly manifest, and its objects saw plainly enough how the villain had compassed their destruction.

"And I was so deceived," exclaimed the doctor, stamping upon the deck in his rage. "The scoundrel was ill at first, but the latter part of the time it was subterfuge. Dutch Pugh, this is my fault. I must go back to hospital to learn my profession."

"Suppose, gentlemen, we begin to load the boat with necessaries and construct a raft," said the captain, bluntly. "It strikes me that we have but little time to spare. Mr Parkley, your silver is going back to its home at the bottom of the sea."

"Yes," said that gentleman, "and where it will lie, for there seems to be a curse with it all along."

The boat already launched was as rapidly as possible supplied with water, cold provisions, compass, and sail; and, as soon as these were in, Dutch suggested, and his proposal was agreed to, that his wife and the captain's daughter should be lowered down in--case of any sudden disposition shown by the ship to sink; but they objected to leave yet until one sad duty that had to be attended to was done.

A funeral at sea is a sad event, and it was more painful here at such a time, when it was a question whether before long everyone present would not have to seek a resting-place in the sea. Below lay the body of poor John Studwick, just as the doctor and Sam Oakum had arranged it, wrapped in a piece of sail-cloth, with a few heavy pieces of iron at the feet, waiting to take its last plunge.

The second boat, only a small one, had also been laden with provisions and water, so that in case of emergency there was nothing to do but to leap into one or the other and push off; and though Captain Studwick proposed making a raft, that was deferred until after the funeral.

It was a solemn scene as the body was reverently brought up from below and laid by the open gangway. The fire still burned slowly and steadily, and the smoke rose and floated away like a great black plume far over the golden water, on whose long swell the schooner rose and fell as easily as if there was no ruin in her midst. All was perfectly still and peaceful as, the arrangements having been made, Captain Studwick stood at the head of the silent, muffled figure, book in hand, and with trembling voice read the prayers for the dead, while those who clustered round forgot their sufferings and all dangers as they listened to the solemn words.

At last the captain stopped and made a sigh, when Sam Oakum gently raised the end of the hatch upon which the body lay, and with a slight rustling noise it glided off with a heavy plunge into the sea, Bessy uttering now a low wail and throwing herself on the deck.

She lay motionless there as, struggling hard to maintain his firmness, the captain finished the solemn words laid down for such an occasion, and then, closing the book, he was the stern man of business again. He gave his orders sharply, and Dutch took his wife in his arms, made fast a rope round her, and lowered her into the larger boat, Bessy submitting herself, as Mr Meldon helped, to be lowered to her side.

Mr Wilson and the doctor followed, Oakum and one of the sailors being the next, so as to take the management of the boat, with orders to push off and lie at about a hundred yards' distance.

Hester half rose, with outstretched hands, but a word from Dutch reassured her as he set to with the captain and the rest on board to lower down such necessaries as the cabin contained to freight the second boat.

This work had been going on for about half-an-hour; the boat had been loaded as far as was safe, and coops, spars, rope, casks, and hatches were being thrown over, with axes and a saw lashed to them, so as to construct a kind of raft from the boats, whose object was to bear the heavier portion of their freight, and also to act as a kind of breakwater in case the sea should roughen, when the boats could lie to leeward and wait until some vessel hove in sight to rescue them from their perilous position.

The fire still blazed furiously, melting down the silver, old Rasp said, and this latter worthy had given a great deal of trouble, from the fact that he considered that the only thing worth saving was the diving apparatus. He had strewed the deck with various articles which he had brought up, only to be peremptorily rejected. And now all left on board found that their minutes there were numbered; but still they toiled on, till a warning cry from Oakum in the further boat drew their attention to a strange hissing noise where the fire burned most fiercely.

"She's sinking," cried Dutch, as the schooner gave a heavy roll.

"Yes, quick! over with you all," cried the captain. Then, with a groan, "Poor old schooner! she deserved a better fate."

One by one they slid down the rope left ready into the boat, till all were in save the captain and Dutch, neither of whom would go first.

"Quick, quick!" cried Mr Parkley, "or we shall be sucked down."

"Push off!" roared the captain, who saw their peril; and as they hesitated he seized the rope and swung himself down, Dutch leaping headlong into the water at the same moment.

It was a close shave, for as Dutch rose and caught at the boat's gunwale the oars were dipped and plied manfully, while the schooner blazed now with suddenly increased fury, as if the flames meant to secure all they could before the waters seized their prey. The vessel had begun to roll heavily, and the flames, which had now caught the mizen and fore masts, were running rapidly up the rigging, starting in tongues of fire from the tarry ropes, and curling up the masts till they were perfect pyramids of fire.

Three more heavy rolls succeeded, with the hissing of the fire increasing to a shriek, when a cloud of steam began to rise, and the schooner careened over, so that those in the last boat, as they toiled to get sufficiently far away, could see right down into the burning hold. This lasted but for a few moments though, and then the burning masts, with their fluttering sheets of flame, rose up perpendicular, and with a dive forward the vessel plunged down, there was a rushing sound, a tremendous explosion as the steam and confined air blew up the stern deck, and then the hull disappeared, followed slowly by the burning masts, while the small boat, with all the spars and raft material, was drawn towards the vortex.

"Pull," shouted Captain Studwick, and the oars bent as every possible effort was made, but slowly and surely the boat was drawn back towards where coops and hatches, casks and planks, eddied round for a few minutes, and then disappeared.

Dutch had been dragged on board, and, like the captain, he helped at an oar, wondering the while at the power with which they were sucked towards the whirlpool, round which they at last began to sail.

No earthly power could have saved them had they not been able to delay their backward progress for a few minutes; as it was, when they neared the vortex, and over which a barrel was drawn, the bows of the boat were about to plunge down, but by a tremendous effort. Dutch dragged the little vessel round, and a succession of fierce tugs sent her once more away from the centre, and another minute's struggle saved them, for the waters were less troubled now, and the danger past.

As they lay off, though, they saw very few of the objects selected return to the surface, and at last, heartsick, but thankful for their escape, they gave up the idea of the raft as hopeless, and now steadily rowed to join their consort.

STORY ONE, CHAPTER FORTY.

A DREARY TIME.

The occupants of the two boats, as they lay together that evening beneath the spangled canopy of heaven, little thought that the third of the schooner's boats lay within a few miles of them, with Laure on board, or they would not have slept in turn so peacefully and in such calm hope of being saved, for as the schooner sank with its treasure it seemed to all on board that with the silver sank the kind of curse that had been upon them all along.

It was an empty sense of superstition, but it influenced them and cheered them on through the long, sunny, scorching days as they bent to their oars and toiled on; and in the evenings, when, taking advantage of the soft breezes, the little sails were spread, and they crept on ever north and east in the hope of gaining the course of one of the vessels going south or west. But the days stole slowly by, and no sail gladdened their sight, and at last, as the water grew low in the little breakers and the provisions threatened to become exhausted, Dutch felt his heart sink, and told himself with a bitter smile that they had not yet worn out the power of the curse, if curse there were.

After long days of rowing, in which every man in the boats took part in urging them up the sides of the long rollers and then down their hill-like descent, the feeling of weary lassitude made itself more and more felt. They suffered, too, from their cramped position in the boats, but no one murmured. Even Rasp and Oakum ceased to wrangle, and the former pursed up his wrinkled mouth and followed the example of Oakum in whistling for a favouring wind.

At times the breeze would come, and, the sails filling, the boats sped onwards, but the few miles they made before the wind again dropped seemed as nothing in the immensity of the watery space around, and at last, half-delirious with the heat, after being reduced to a few drops of warm water each day, the sun went down like a great globe of fire, and Dutch Pugh felt that the time had come when they must die.

A re-arrangement of the occupants of the boat had long been made, so that both Dutch and Meldon were by those they loved, and now it seemed that the nuptial bed of the latter would be that of death. Hope seemed long before to have fled upon her bright wings, leaving only black despair to brood over them like the eternal night. Hardly a word was spoken in either boat, and once more the rope had been passed from one to the other so that their desolate state might not become more desolate by parting company during the night.

The night in question had fallen as black as that when the schooner was blown away, but no one heeded it, neither did they listen to the ravings of poor Wilson, who lay back in the stern sheets talking of his birds, and calling some particular pet by name. Then he would whisper Bessy's name, and talk to himself constantly about his love for her, till at last the poor girl would be roused from her state of lethargy, and laying her head on Meldon's breast sob for a few minutes--dry hysterical sobs--and then subside once more. Oakum sat twisting up a piece of yarn, crooning scraps of old songs, and 'Pollo would now and then, in a half-delirious fashion, try to sing the fragment of a hymn; but these attempts had grown now more and more spasmodic, and with the knowledge bluntly felt now that they had but a few fragments to support them on the following day, and no water, all sat or lay in a kind of stupefied despair, waiting for the end.

Upon Dutch Pugh had of late fallen the leading of the little party, for Captain Studwick had been taken ill from over-exertion with his oar beneath the burning sun, and before dusk Dutch had directed a longing gaze round the horizon in search of a sail, but in vain; and now he sat with Hesters head resting upon his lap, her large bright eyes gazing up into his, as longingly and full of love as ever, till, in the madness of his despair, as he saw her dying before him, he had strained her wasted form to his breast, and held her there when the darkness fell.

"Is there no hope, Dutch?" she whispered to him, faintly, as her lips rested close by his ear.

"Yes, always--to the last, darling," he whispered.

"I am not afraid to die," she whispered back; "it is for you. If I could only save your life."

He covered her lips with his kisses, and her arms passionately embraced his neck, till a kind of heavy stupor fell on both, even as on all the others in the boat. The rest of the food was eaten next day, and then they sank back in their places to die.

But their fate was not that of Laure, whose boat was never seen again. 'Ere another day had passed, a fast steamer sighted them where they lay, and bore down upon them as 'Pollo, the only one with strength enough left, hoisted a handkerchief upon one of the oars and held it aloft.

It was but just in time, and long and energetic was the attention required before the little party was out of danger, and by that time the port of Southampton was reached, and the next day--home.

STORY ONE, CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

CONCLUSION.

Quite a year elapsed before the subject was broached again from a business point of view. Mr Parkley had been a good deal disheartened by his losses, and shook his head when Dutch suggested a second trip.

"No, no," he said; "no more chance."

"Suppose there is no chance in the matter," said Dutch, quietly; and he then proceeded to tell of that which he had kept a secret in his own breast ever since--to wit, of the rich treasure of gold he had found, after the silver had been removed.

"Is this a fact, or some dream left by our troubles when coming home?" said Mr Parkley, who looked at him in doubt.

"A fact," said Dutch; and he described exactly where the treasure lay.

"That's enough," exclaimed Mr Parkley. "I had made a vow that I would never be tempted again; but I will this once, Dutch--this once, my lad."

He kept his word, and though Hester shivered at the idea, she saw her husband's great desire for the trip, gave way, and prevailed upon him to consent to take her.

For a time he held out, so painful were the recollections of the last voyage; but on Captain Studwick taking the command of the vessel they were to sail in once more, and the doctor and his newly-made wife begging to accompany them, he agreed.

Rasp insisted upon going again, because Oakum was likely to interfere, and Oakum insisted on being one of the party because old Rasp would be there to meddle: where Sam Oakum went, 'Pollo was sure to be his companion.

The result was that the vessel, well found and manned by a good crew, sailed one day, made a rough but prosperous voyage to the Gulf of Mexico, and there, in the placid weather they enjoyed, made first for one of the sunken galleons, where, after the removal of the sand, and the destruction of sundry sharks, so great a treasure in golden ingots was brought to the surface and carefully stowed away as made Mr Parkley propose that they should tempt fortune no further, but up anchor and go back home.

Dutch, however, was of too manly a grit to go away without exploring the other galleon, and, on this being reached, a second golden store was rescued from the wave where it had been three hundred years--a treasure large enough not only to recompense all past losses, but to make its winners wealthy for life.

So far from any imaginary curse attending this voyage, it was accomplished without difficulty, and home reached once more, with the mysteriously won treasure, of which there was much talk, but little information gained; for, saving what oozed out from the well-paid sailors, nothing was known, Mr Parkley saying that perhaps one of the Spanish States might put in a claim.

And so ended the eventful search for the gold and silver of the Spanish galleons--wealth won by conquest by the filibustering followers of Philip of Spain, but never enjoyed by them when dragged by torture from the simple-hearted Peruvians, who had hidden it in the tropic sands. What might have been its purpose had the treasure reached the Spanish Court, who can tell? Suffice it that, as far as money could do so, it made happy several English homes, not the least happy that of the man who, with true penitence, sought in the rest of his career to recompense the woman who had been the object of his doubts.

"Yes," said he, "I was mad, and bent on seeking treasure when I had a greater one at home. Ah, Hester, love, I have gone down many times, and have found strange things, but I shall never reach to the bottom of your heart, or gather all its most secret depths of love, so long as I am what I am, _Dutch the Diver_."

STORY TWO, CHAPTER ONE.

STORY TWO--VIOLETS IN THE SNOW.

On one side there was a square, with trees that tried to look green in summer, but in winter time stuck in scraggy form out of the soot-peppered snow, with a beadle who wore a gold band round his hat and lived in a lodge, out of which he issued every morning with a thin rattan cane to keep away the boys; on the other side there was a row of goodly mansions, with a mews for the horses and carriages of the grandees who inhabited those mansions; and down between square and mansions, hidden behind the mews, as if it was a brick-and-mortar snake, there was Gutter-alley.

People said, how could such a dirty, squalid, unhealthy, beggar-inhabited place get there between the mansions of the rich. People said so to the parish officers, and the parish officers shook their heads; not so much as to say that they did not know, but to imply thereby, a great deal, as if the wickedness of the inhabitants had something to do with it. Then people said so to the dwellers in Gutter-alley in an ill-used fashion, to which Gutter-alley very reasonably replied that it must get somewhere, which was perfectly true; that it squeezed itself up as much out of the way as it could, which was also quite true; that it--to wit, Gutter-alley--did not get between the square and the row of mansions, but that the square came and sat upon it on one side, and the row of mansions came and sat upon it on the other, which was true again; and lastly, Gutter-alley said, where was it to go, for it must have living room? Then people who knew its squalor said that it was all very shocking, and that a meeting ought to be held. And it was very shocking, but a meeting was not held; and Gutter-alley stood where it had stood before, in the year of our Lord 1862, when there was a very great exhibition building very close at hand; and Gutter-alley remained an exhibition itself, staying as it did where, without much effort, it could have thrown a stone into the grounds of a palace.

STORY TWO, CHAPTER TWO.

Now, whether in summer or winter, poor people can patronise as well as rich; and so it fell out that the custom in poverty-stricken, hunger-pinched Gutter-alley was for the poor folk there to speak condescendingly to old Dick Bradds, when he stood at the door of Number 5, with his poor old head on one side as he looked up the court; head on the other side as he looked down. "Dickey" he was generally called, and more than one stout costermonger--they did a deal in costering in Gutter-alley, and if you penetrated into the rooms of the human rabbit-warren, fish could be found mingled with furniture, turnips amongst the wash-tubs, and a good full bucket of mussels often formed the seat of the father of a family while he helped his wife to make up ropes of onions for the morrow's sale--well, many a stout costermonger told his wife in confidence that old Dickey Bradds always put him in mind of a moulting thrush. No inapt simile, and doubtless taken from the life, for there were always plenty of feathered captives to be seen in Gutter-alley.

It was quite true Dick--old Dickey Bradds--did look very much like some aged and shabby bird, lame of one leg; and when he stood on a cold winter's morning peering up and down through the fog that loved to hang about the court, no one would have felt at all surprised to have seen the old man begin to peck, or to whet his long sharp old nose against the door-post.

Not that Dick did do anything of this kind--he only gave two or three keen one-sided bird-like looks about before slowly hopping up-stairs to his room on the second floor--the front room--to wait for Jenny.

A keen old blade though was Dick--a piece of that right good true steel so often to be found in the humblest implements, while your finely-polished, gaily-handled, ornamental upper-ten-thousand cutlery is so often inferior, dull of edge, and given to shut up just when they are wanted the most. Dick was not human hurried up, but a piece of fine old charcoal-made steel. Toil and hard usage had ground and ground Dick till there was little left of him but the haft, and seventy years of existence rubbing away through the world--that hard grindstone to some of us--had made that haft very rickety of rivet and springs. Certainly there was blade enough left to cut in one direction, but you could not trust Dick for fear of his giving way, or perhaps closing upon the hand that employed him.

It was so with poor old Dick when he left the great auction-rooms, where he had been kept as long as was possible; and, being proud, Dick would not believe in Nature when she told him that he had grown to be an old man, and that the time had gone by when he was lusty and strong, and able to lift great weights; and when Dick's fellow-porters told him that a piece of furniture was too heavy for him to lift, he only felt annoyed, and grew angry and stubborn.

The fact was that Dick knew from old experience how hard a matter it was for even an industrious man to get a living in the great city; and for him, whose livelihood depended entirely upon his muscles, to turn weak and helpless meant misery, privation, and perhaps the workhouse for his old age.

That was what Dick thought, and therefore he fought hard against even the very semblance of weakness, making a point always at the auction-rooms of doing far more than he need, rushing at heavy pieces of furniture, tiring himself with extra work, and making himself an object of sport to the thoughtless, of pity to his older fellow-servants of the firm.

The consequence was that poor old Dickey Bradds had to go one day to the hospital, to lie there for many weary weeks, and come out at last lame and uncured, for at threescore and ten there is not much chance of a man building up new tissue, piling on fresh muscle and strength, and renewing the waste of so many years.

Poor old Dick left the hospital a confirmed cripple, but hopeful ever of regaining his strength and activity--at least he said so, whether merely to cheer up his grandchild or to mask his sufferings, that was known only to his own heart.

STORY TWO, CHAPTER THREE.

Now this was how old Dick became a cripple.

It was early in winter, and there was a heavy sale on at the rooms, for the furniture of a noble mansion had been sent up from the country, and bargain-hunters and Jew brokers were there that day in force, chaffering, running down the value of the goods they coveted, and turning the crowded room into a Babel of confusion.

The sale was progressing, and under the superintendence of one Joseph Brown, the head porter, the lots had been submitted to competition with ease and facility. Old Dick had as usual been working very hard, but, not content to show the others his power, he sought to do more.

"You can't take that there chist o' drawers down," said the head porter, a man most careful in the way in which he looked after the corners and polish of pieces of furniture, saving them from scratch and chip. So careful, in fact, was Brown that he had never had time to look after the polish and corners of her Majesty's English, which he chipped and scratched most terribly. So "you can't take that there chist o' drawers down," said Brown, "it's too much for you;" and he meant it kindly, though his words were rough.

"You wouldn't ha' talked to me like that ten year ago, Joe Brown!" quavered Dick, turning angrily upon the porter, for he was hurt and annoyed at being spoken to before the other men.

"I didn't mean to hurt the poor old chap," said Brown at home to his wife that night, "for I like old Dick, who's as honest and true-hearted an old chap as ever stepped. All the years we've been together I never knew Dick do a man an ill turn; while the way he turns out o' Sundays to take that there granchile of his to a place o' wasshup ought to be a patten for some on us.

"In course I wouldn't ha' spoke to him in that way ten years ago: for why? 'cos he could ha' carried the chist o' drawers easily; but 'stead o' actin' sensible, he was that proud, bless you, that he wriggled hisself under 'em like a young cuckoo with a hegg, hystes hisself up slowly by taking hold of the bannisters, and then begins to stagger downstairs.

"`Now then: lot 'underd and two, waitin' for lot 'underd and two,' they calls out below. `Comin'--comin'--comin',' pants out Dick; and I see as it was too much for the poor old chap, who felt touched at being thought past his work, though the governors only expected him to take down the light things. So seeing how matters stood, I steps forrard to help him, when if he didn't seem to shut up all at once like; and that there chist o' handsome French-polished mahogany drawers, 'underd and two in the catalogue, went downstairs a deal too fast for its constitution.

"Poor old Dick! he never groaned nor made no fuss when we got him down to the cab to take him to the 'orsepittle, although his poor old leg was broke, through his coming down a whole flight arter that there chist o' handsome French-polished mahogany drawers; but his lips was shaking, and his face drored as he gets hold of my button and pulls me to him, and says, says he, `This'll be a sad upset for my Jenny, but don't let 'em frighten her, Joe Brown, don't please. You're a married man and got feeling, though I spoke nasty to you just now. Please go and tell her gently, yourself. O, Joe, I shan't be able to help in many more sales.'

"Poor old chap, how the tears did run down his cheeks as he whispered me again--

"`Don't say it's much, Joe; tell her it's a bit of a scratch, and she isn't to fidget about me. Tell her gently, Joe; good bye, Joe; I shall be over again to-morrow or next day, Joe; and, Joe,' he calls out in his weak piping way, as the keb begins to move, `Joe,' he says, `just take my apern and give the lookin'-glass in the big wardrobe a bit of a rub before it comes down; and don't forget about Jenny.'

"Poor old Dickey: got his 'art in his work, he had; and somehow as he went off, and I knew as we shouldn't never see him again at work, if we ever see him at all, my nose wanted blowing to that degree that nothing couldn't be like it; and it's my belief, Sarah, if I hadn't been roused up by a call for the next lot, that I should have turned soft; for you see, says I to myself, I says, suppose as that had been me.

"But he told me to tell Jenny gently, and I did."

STORY TWO, CHAPTER FOUR.

Old Dick went no more to porter at the rooms when he came out of the hospital; his smoothly-shaven face did not peer out of windows where he was hanging out hearthrugs with, pinned upon them, the bills announcing the capital modern household furniture for sale; but when he returned to Gutter-alley, Dick would always be clean-shaven of a morning, spending an hour over the process, pulling out wrinkles to get at the silver stubble lurking in the bottoms of the furrows, and stopping at times, when his hands grew tremulous, to rest. Many was the time that his grandchild, Jenny, would have to run down in haste to fetch a bit of cobweb from the cellar to stay the bleeding when that tremulous old hand did make a slip, for the nap upon Dick's Sunday hat was too scarce to be used up in so wanton a way.

But at last Dick would strop and put away his razor and shaving-brush, hang up the little glass, and then tie on a clean white apron, take his round carpet-cap down from a nail and carefully put it on so as not to disarrange his grey locks, and then sit patiently nursing his porter's knot and waiting, as he used to tell Jenny, for a job.

"Strong, my little lass? Strong as ever," he'd say. "If I could only get this leg right;" and then Jenny would drop her work, take his old face between her plump little hands, kiss him tenderly, and tell him to wait a little.