CHAPTER XVIII

GOLD AND JEWELS

For answer, Phil extended the small black bag toward them. Dick grabbed it with a cry and the others crowded around him. Bimbo pressed close, his mouth hanging ludicrously open.

With trembling fingers Dick fumbled with the strings of the bag then plunged his hand to the bottom of it. The hand returned, grasping three golden coins, the first fruits of the treasure.

For a moment pandemonium reigned. The boys acted like crazy men. They grasped each other about the waist and rollicked in a sort of wild war dance about the place, shouting at the top of their lungs. Bimbo’s mouth was stretched in a grin that must have hurt.

“Yassir,” he was saying over and over again, his rich darky voice raised above the din, “I don said ef anybody could find dat dere gol’en treasure, dat man was Marse Phil. Yassir, dis nigger done allus said Marse Phil de greatest treasure hunter what is. Yassir!”

After they had quieted down sufficiently to care to hear details, Phil recounted his adventures in the hull of the ship, not even omitting the part where he had stumbled over the dead man’s bones.

At this part in the narrative Bimbo was seen to gaze apprehensively over his shoulder. Trying to attract as little attention as possible, he crept nearer to the absorbed group about Phil.

However, Bimbo was not the only one who felt an uncanny chill in the atmosphere. For a moment each one had put himself in Phil’s place, had stumbled over some horrible object, the skeleton of a man who generations ago had lived and breathed.

“Gee, Phil,” Tom said, in an awed voice. “I bet a little company would have come in handy just then—something beside dead men’s bones.”

“You said something,” replied Phil fervently adding, with a gleam in his eyes that seemed to be reflected from the gold itself, “But when I found that chest burst wide open, spilling out its golden contents, believe me, I forgot all about skeletons and everything else. I even forgot that my oxygen was running low. Say, but that was a sight!”

“You lucky dog,” cried Steve, enviously. “What do you mean by hogging all the fun, anyway?”

“I haven’t,” replied Phil, with a grin. “Didn’t I bring a chunk of it up with me?”

“You sure did,” said Jack Benton, adding, with an attempt to control his own excitement. “Tell me something, Phil. How much wealth, in United States money do you figure there is down there in the hold of the ship?”

“I don’t know,” returned Phil, slowly. “You see there were some precious stones, too and it would be hard for me to give the value of them. Then too, for all we know, the other chests may not contain anything of value at all.”

“Say not so,” cried Steve reproachfully. “What are you trying to do, anyway? Throw gloom on this happy party.”

“Nothing like it,” grinned Phil, adding as he took up the little black bag and emptied the rest of its contents on the table. “Look at that diamond and that ruby. They must be worth a small fortune in themselves.”

The boys gasped. They had been so absorbed in Phil’s story that they had taken it for granted that the handful of coins which Dick had brought forth was all the bag contained. They had not even examined the coins closely. The mere fact that they were gold had been enough for them then.

Now they regarded the exquisite jewels which Phil had brought up from the bottom of the sea almost with a feeling of awe. It seemed impossible that they could be real.

But they were real. Even the boys, inexperienced in such matters as they were, could tell that. And as Phil had said, they were tremendously valuable.

“Were there many more like these?” asked Jack Benton softly.

Phil shook his head.

“There were mostly coins,” he said, “with a handful of gems sprinkled in for good luck. I believe the treasure, in that one chest, at least, was almost all gold.”

“Well, what do we want, the earth?” demanded Dick as he examined the coin he held. “Look here fellows,” he added, “This gold piece is a queer sort of duck. It has Spanish lettering on it——”

“A doubloon, probably,” said Jack Benton. “And this coin I have is a French louis——”

“And mine’s a guinea,” broke in Tom with a chuckle. “These guys seem to have gathered their plunder from all parts of the world.”

“I guess it didn’t make much difference to them what nation they stole from,” Jack Benton agreed. “They played no favorites. But say, just listen to that storm, fellows,” he interrupted himself as the wind wailed wildly about the cave. “It’s worse than the gale that greeted us and drove us on the rocks.”

“Sure is a beauty,” said Steve. “Lucky we have a cave to live in. Can’t be blown down, at any rate.”

Phil moved across to the door of the cave and stood looking out into the hurricane.

“It must have been just such a storm,” he remarked softly, as though he were more than half speaking to himself, “in which the pirate ship foundered centuries ago. Seems kind of queer, someway.”

“What seems queer?” said Dick who had come to stand beside him.

“Why,” said Phil, still with that strange air of speaking to himself, “that there should be such a storm on the very day when we have broken into the hull of the dead ship. It’s uncanny——”

A frightened wail from the corner where Bimbo had taken refuge brought him up short and he faced about with a sheepish laugh.

“Don’t mind me, fellows,” he said. “I guess I’m still a little shaken up from what I saw down there today in the cabin of that poor old hulk. The storm sort of brought it home to me. Well,” he added, striving to make his tone sound matter-of-fact, “suppose we talk over plans for rescuing the treasure. I’ll feel easier when we have it safe right here under our noses.”

What was that strange uneasiness that had taken possession of him? Even in the excitement of making plans and the jubilation of the boys he could not entirely shake it off.

Here they were alone on this island where in all probability no one else had set foot for many years. The adventure of this day had met with success beyond his wildest dreams. The treasure was there—was theirs. All they had to do was to take it. There was no earthly reason to feel uneasy and yet he was uneasy.

All during the long hours—and they sat up way into the night exulting—he was haunted by a sensation of impending evil. Thinking that he was overwrought by the day’s adventure, he tried to dismiss these thoughts but without very much success.

Long after his comrades were sleeping soundly he lay staring into the dark. Once he caught himself straining his ears to catch some fancied sound.

The storm had died down and the night, save for the low drumming of the waves on the beach, was so still that he could almost hear his heart beat.

What was he listening for, he asked himself. The night was breathless. He could have heard nothing. Then, calling himself all kinds of a fool he turned over and went to sleep.

He woke, struggling through a sea of unconsciousness, with the distinct feeling that an unseen presence was near him. Not fully awake, he sprang to his feet, revolver in hand.

Was it imagination that the figure of a man, vague and indistinct as the night itself, slipped from the cave? His vision was blurred with sleep. Impatiently he rubbed a hand across his eyes.

With a bound he was at the door of the cave—outside, straining his eyes in an effort to pierce the shadows.

There was nothing. No sign, no sound save the monotonous moaning of the waves upon the beach.

He walked a little way, searching, his revolver held ready for action. Still he saw nothing. Reluctantly he turned back toward the cave.

He lay down again but not to sleep. For a long time he lay there, watchful, alert. As the first faint grey of dawn tinged the sky he relaxed his vigil and fell asleep.