CHAPTER XIII.

I COMMIT THE ERROR OF MY LIFE.

We pulled ashore like anything but a wedding party. Cynthia seemed depressed, and to see her so made me feel like a villain. The Bo's'n still was stroke, and I laid to with a will in the bows. I reflected that I had probably touched Cynthia's hand for the last time for some months to come.

When we disembarked, Lacelle waited for Cynthia. She took her hand in hers and pressed it to her heart. She raised her eyes to Cynthia's as a dog or other animal of lower intelligence might look at a master, as if to say: "Is it as you wish? Are they treating you as you should like to be treated?" At this, Cynthia smiled and nodded her head, and patted Lacelle's hand when the girl returned the smile in a satisfied way. We left the boat and walked up toward the cave, where we found the Minion standing on the shore. He, however, was across the stream on the opposite side from us. I jumped into the boat again and went to fetch him. The Minion now, instead of looking red and swollen, was pale and weary. He tumbled into the bows in a weak and dizzy sort of way, and got out as feebly when we reached the bank of our own side of the stream.

"Secret," whispered the Minion in my ear.

"Very well," said I. "I will listen when I have the time. I am busy now."

We all sat upon the beach enjoying the beauty of the late evening. The Bo's'n made us some coffee, and with ship's biscuit, oysters, a small bit of pork, water from the arch beneath the rock, and some guavas and mangoes to top off with, we made an excellent meal.

"You have given us a very nice supper, Bo's'n," volunteered Cynthia. "I find that a row like that gives one an appetite."

"Perhaps it was gettin' married, miss," remarked the Bo's'n, "though it usually takes away the appetite, ma'm. This you know"--waving his hands comprehensively over the remains of the feast--"is the wedding breakfast, Mrs. and Mr. Jones, sir."

Cynthia gave a start and glanced hurriedly at me. I must confess that it had never occurred to me that Cynthia would take my name--that is, not since she said on board the Yankee that "Jones was impossible." She got very red, and turned away and walked with Lacelle up the hill. The Skipper was taking his usual glass. He poured out a double amount. He held the cup out to the Minion, who, pale and headachy, was lying with his back to the dish of pork.

"Take some," said the Skipper, with his favourite addition, "It won't do you any good."

The Minion for reply edged away and closed his eyes. We sat silent a while as the Bo's'n washed his utensils and gathered up the remains of my wedding breakfast.

The Skipper was saying something about the horrors of the married state, when we heard the voice of Cynthia calling to him.

"What is it?" shouted back the Skipper.

Then we heard a sentence which ended with "gone."

"No, he's here."

"Who? Young Trevelyan?"

"No, Jones!--Thought she'd like to come down and enjoy the moonlight, Jones, if she knew you were gone." Pleasant for the bridegroom of an hour!

"Listen, Uncle."

"Well, I am listening; talk louder."

And then came the words, "Young Trevelyan's gone."

"Oh, well, perhaps he's just taking a little stroll."

The Minion turned over and allowed two words to escape him:

"Run'd away."

"How do you know?" asked the Skipper; and then added, "But no one would believe you if you swore it on the Westminster Catechism."

"In a boat."

"Now I know you're lyin'."

The Minion nodded his head, still weakly persistent, and then laid down again upon the grassy slope of the beach.

"There ain't any boat hereabouts," said the Bo's'n, "begging your par----"

He stopped short and surveyed the Minion contemptuously, "Forgot it was you."

"Dinghy," said the Minion.

The Captain arose lazily. "Don't talk with that fool, Bo's'n. I'm tired as three men. I'll go to bed." Bed! Poor Skipper! The soft side of a rock was his bed. I followed the Skipper shortly, and found him in close conversation with Cynthia.

"How can you be sure he's gone?" asked the Skipper.

"Why, one proof is that my blanket and pillow are gone, too."

"The ungrateful wretch!" said the Skipper.

"I don't believe he's ungrateful," said Cynthia. "He never seemed ungrateful. Perhaps the pirates came back and took him off. I wonder"--with a look in my direction--"if that handsome pirate was with them?"

"No," said I. "You may quiet your mind on that point; he's gone where all good pirates go."

"Where?" asked Cynthia.

"To the nethermost hell," answered the Skipper. "And I helped put him there."

"Of course, I don't believe you, Uncle," said Cynthia, "but----"

"The Minion seemed to know something," said the Bo's'n. "Suppose we ask him again."

"Torture wouldn't get more than two words out of him at a time," said I.

"I can," said Cynthia, with a triumphant glance at me. Accordingly, Cynthia proceeded again to the shore with her Uncle to interrogate the Minion. She gathered, after an hour's hard prodding and digging, interspersed with sudden roars mixed with a few judicious oaths from the Skipper to give her inquiries point, that the Minion awoke and found that he was quite alone. He raised up on his elbow and discovered our boat far out at sea. He supposed that it was our boat, as he saw several persons get out and on to the wreck. He laid down again, too dizzy to keep his eyes open any longer. He was aroused by a rustling in the grass, and turned over to see a man carrying the young Englishman in his arms. The Minion, afraid of nothing in heaven or hell, said "Hi!" when the man turned his head, and the Minion discovered that the intruder was no other than the Smith, who had riveted the cages upon the lad and myself. The Minion, with his limited vocabulary, managed to call the Smith a thief, and asked him why he was stealing the boy; whereupon the Smith asked him if his grandmother knew that he was in Haiti. This enraged the Minion to such an extent that he raised up on his elbow and threw stones at the Smith. He was especially angry when he saw Cynthia's pillow and blanket carried down and placed in the boat. The young man seemed to protest, but the Smith told him that it was the rule in the British navy to obey first and protest afterward, and the lad seemed too weak to make much opposition. The Smith helped himself to our biscuit and some of our water, taking one of our few utensils to carry it in. He also took a cup and got in and rowed away.

"Which way did he go?" asked Cynthia.

The Minion pointed eastward. He furthermore informed Cynthia that he saw a name upon the bow of the boat, and again when she started toward the east he saw the same name, and that he spelled it over to himself, and that he was sure that it was "Yankee Blade, No. 3."

"That's mighty curious," said the Skipper, scratching his head.

"And he tells me, Uncle, that the man he calls the Smith left a letter for you. He says it's in a place where you will find it first thing."

"Must be the rum bottle," said the Skipper, with peculiar insight. And so it was, for he found the scrawl sticking in the cleft made in the cork.

"Paddon the libutty I takes," wrote the Smith. "I opened a sawtchell and got this paper and penzill wen I found the lad wassent yere in the bigg cavern i sarched i had a fite with a big brown feller but but wen i tell im ime goan fer young trevelin he lets me in i see the brown feller goan in or i nevver shuld have find the place we had a fite outside meanin a shipes fite it was dawk i see the dingee floatin i slips overbord and swimms fer her i tears up one of the planks and paddels i lies by all day wen you go i come the is a british vessel down the coast ime a rowin fer her if i git her ill come fer you i take my recompens before hand in shipes biskits and RUM the lady must excuse my takin her pillar my boys bad and needs em so wishin you luck and ill come if i git a chance no more at presens from yours till deth james taler penock."

Cynthia and Lacelle disappeared during the reading of this finished epistle, and the Skipper, Bo's'n, and I were alone. I forgot to mention the Minion. He counted somewhat now, as he had told us something of real consequence.

Before I lay down to sleep the Bo's'n drew me confidentially aside. "The Minion has been after me," said he in a low tone, "and he says he has found a cave full of jewels, and they're his property, and no one shan't touch 'em. He's goin' to declare it before us all, and call the Skipper and God to witness his statement, and he says he'll blow on us to the Government as soon as we get home if any of us touches a ring or a pin of it."

"What did you tell him?" said I, rather alarmed, I must confess.

"I told him he had been overcome with liquor in the cave, and that he imagined all those things. He swears it's so, and I swears it ain't, and that's where it is now. I thought of tyin' him up and not lettin' him go in the cave at all."

"I wouldn't watch him," said I. "Just let him go in if he wants to. I suppose you have removed all the traces, Bo's'n?"

"Yes, sir," said the simple Bo's'n. "I suppose you kept your promise to me, and sat with your back against the outer side of the cave?"

"Yes, Bo's'n, I did," said I. "Of course, I couldn't help finding your neckerchief, you know."

"But I can trust you not to mention that, Mr. Jones, sir, to any one?"

"Oh, certainly, Bo's'n, you need have no fear of my telling your--our secret."

The night of my marriage was a very dark and gloomy one. I had been asleep but a short time when I was awakened by the Skipper. The Bo's'n was lying as far from us as he could get. His antipathy to the Skipper had not abated, and at night especially he seemed afraid to come anywhere near him. He was sleeping heavily, poor man! Most of the work came upon the Bo's'n, and I'm afraid we did not appreciate his willingness as much as we should have done.

"I have a favour to ask," whispered the Skipper.

"Ask ahead," said I. "You've done me a service to-day, Captain, which shall be a real one in time, or I'll know the reason why."

"What's that?" asked the Skipper in amazement.

"Well, no matter, if your memory's so short. Now what can I do for you?"

"I've been lyin' awake thinkin'," said the Skipper.

"So have I," I answered.

"Not what I was thinkin' of, I'll be bound," said the Skipper. "Man, as a usual thing, is so regardless of his fellow-man." The Skipper nodded his head several times, as if he were the one considerate creature that God ever made. "Man is selfish, man is occupied only with his own small affairs."

"Yes, sir," said I. "That is so."

"I was thinkin' as I lay down to-night," continued the old man in a real Wednesday-evening-meeting voice, "that those poor critters need a rest, too."

"You mean the Bo's'n and the Minion?" said I. "Yes, they do, we all do! You as much as the rest, Captain."

"If noses can speak," returned the Skipper, "the Bo's'n and the Minion are getting all they need just at present. I'm speakin' of those poor soldiers of fortune who have been standin' up for years, perhaps."

"Soldiers of fortune?" I said inquiringly.

"Well, I call 'em so. And of a pretty bad fortune, too. Now what I want of you is to come help me bury 'em."

"Oh, you mean the skeletons?" said I.

"I do," said the Skipper. I saw that the religious mania had got the weather side of him again.

"What! now?" said I. "It's so late, and I want a little sleep, too."

"I can not sleep until they are buried," said he. "Poor things, with no rest for the soles of their feet. I shall sleep easier when they are under the sod."

"We haven't any shovels, you know, Captain," I remonstrated.

"Under the sod figgeratively speakin'," said the Skipper. "We'll give 'em, as we did those two poor shipmates of ours, a burial at sea."

"But I don't see any sense in it, Captain. What is the hurry? Why won't to-morrow do? I'm so tired of funerals and weddings and bones and other horrors of all sorts."

I heard a faint exclamation, and looked up to see Cynthia standing at the back of the cave. She had come to ask for some water.

"Tired of weddings and other horrors," murmured Cynthia under her breath.

I rose to my feet, ignoring her, and addressed myself to the Skipper.

"You'll be getting ordained next, Captain," said I. "Probably as soon as we get back to Belleville."

I saw the flutter of Cynthia's dress as she vanished between the pillars, and then I turned to the Captain.

"Come on!" said I. "I wonder how many more of these ghastly, ghostly things I'll have to do before I can get any rest."

Clearly the wedding upon the wreck had awakened the Skipper's enthusiasm in regard to religious services as performed by him.

I saw that Cynthia had disappeared so soon as she made her observation upon my remark. Well, why should I be silent and willing to ever play the part of a brow-beaten lover? I let her go without a word of protest or remonstrance. I felt that I had protested too much, like some lady of whom I had read in a book picked up in some of my various voyages, and I decided to protest no more--at least to her about my love for her.

The night was overcast and dark. A slight rain was pattering on the leaves overhead. I discovered this as I emerged from the cave. I stumbled against the Skipper, who had stopped and was holding his hand out to learn whether we had falling weather or not.

"It's a horrid night to go, Captain," said I, hoping that his religious fervour would weaken.

"Yes, it is," said the Skipper, "but that makes my conscience all the more satisfied. It's a disagreeable thing to do, and we have a disagreeable night to do it in, but I shall feel so much better when it is well over. The more unpleasant our task, the more rewarded I shall feel."

I saw that my remonstrances were of no avail, and I plucked up my resolve, opened wide my sleep-benumbed eyes, and prepared to play the game of follow my leader, as a soldier his general, an acolyte his priest, a sailor his captain. As I have hinted before, it was a real dissipation for him, and, oh, how he enjoyed it!

We stumbled up the hill in the dark, bumping against trees and catching our feet in roots, even falling on our knees at times, and once we fell over each other and rolled down the hill. I was rather angry at this fad of the Skipper's, but I kept my temper and struggled on up the slope, over the top, and down the other side to the entrance of the great hall. I struck fire and examined the lamp. The oil was gone. We could do nothing in that direction, as we had no more fluid that would burn. I made a little fire on the floor of the cave, though dry sticks were hard to find. While I was so engaged, the Skipper was going through with his self-imposed task of taking the skeletons down from the niches where they hung. I remember that he had rather a difficult piece of work, for the dreadful things fell upon him with many a chink and rattle after he had unriveted the chain at the top of each arch. The Skipper was a strong man for his height, and unaided, except by their own gravity, he took the grewsome bones down and laid them upon the floor.

And now came the unpleasant part of the business to me. I had made a small torch of a pitchy sort of wood, that burns faintly for a while, and this I bound to my head with my handkerchief. The Skipper lighted the torch at my head, then he stooped and raised one of the bodies from the floor of the cave. I took the feet of the grewsome burden, the Skipper carrying the head. I preceded the old man. First we must ascend to the top of the hill, go over the crest, and then down on the western side, where our boat lay securely fastened. I was surprised at the weight of the bodies, but I recalled as a reason for this the presence of the cages, which we thought it best not to remove. They held the bones together, and kept them in position. I had found upon examination that in some of their visits the pirates must have had the bodies articulated, for in pirate crews were jacks of all trades, and thus at last I understood how the skeletons could stand there as they had for so long a time, the flesh and breath of life only wanting to make them again men in the image of God. The humour of the pirates evidently had been that the bodies should remain there forever, or until the cages dropped to pieces, and that might have occurred several generations hence. Four trips we had to make to the beach, not to speak of returning to the great hall for our dead burdens. As we carried them down, down, over hummocks, through knee-deep leaves, across bare rock and shingle, the nature of our cargo oppressed me, and it seemed as if I must drop my share suddenly and flee to the cave and to the companionship of even the sleeping Bo's'n and the more than useless Minion.

Several times the Skipper called to me that some one was walking between us. It is true that oftentimes it seemed as if the weight was very much lightened, but I was hampered and found it difficult to even turn my head. In fact, neither I nor the Skipper could well let go after once we had started.

"There's a brown fellow holding on to the middle of this lord," whispered the Skipper loudly to me.

"Nonsense, Captain!" spoke I. "It's eerie enough without your making it seem more so."

"It's a fact! Now I'm going to drop my end, and you'll see." Accordingly, the Skipper did release his hold, when, to my horror, the poor cage of bones came rattling to the earth.

"Lord! what a noise they make!" said the Skipper. "Well, I may be wrong. Something's playing the devil with my eyesight lately."

I felt like suggesting as a remedy the use of plain water at bedtime, but, though I had almost told the Skipper that I was no longer under his orders, my feeling of discipline was so strong that I could not make up my mind to say anything more of a rude or personal nature. So I held my peace and struggled on with the weights on the downward trip, and barked my shins and stubbed my toes on the return to the cavern.

At last they were all carried down to the shore--all those horrid, pitiful travesties on Nature. I struck my flint that we might lift them into the boat. It lasted but a moment; so finally I made a little fire with what few dry sticks we could find, and by its light we placed the four bodies on the thwarts. When we arrived at the beach for the last time, I found a pile of bones huddled together, and by the remnant of clothing which was still attached to the form I discovered it to be the remains of the Chief Justice. I laid these bones by the others and got into the boat. The tiny fire that I had made upon the beach was our guide and beacon. Strange to say, it began to glow brighter as we drew away from the shore, and I fancied that I saw a figure feeding the gentle flame and keeping it alight for us. We rowed for half an hour straight out to sea. The breeze was blowing fresh, but, beyond an occasional star, we had no sort of light. When, however, one has accustomed himself to going without a light at night, it is strange how well he can find his way. It has been my experience that it is never quite dark. I have heard of nights as black as Erebus, and even darker places have been used as comparisons, but I have never found a night so black that a little glow was not visible. The phosphorus of the waves as they foam and curl is a slight aid, and a true mariner always feels that he can see enough in the blackest night that good God ever made.

I rowed while the Skipper busied himself in preparing the cages with their inclosures for final service. He must have been thinking of this for some time, for he had well-twisted and braided ropes made of some of the brocade ready to fasten to the cages, and he had placed rocks in the boat which had been selected with great care. In fact, he told me that he had aided Nature in hollowing the depression round the middle of the stones, so that the rope could not slip. As we dropped the great parcels over the side there was a splash, a sudden tightening of the rope and a quick rush downward, followed by the meeting of the waters above. For my