Part 29

My equipment had been almost ready when Keedy arrived, but now another consideration held me back. I did not propose to let the other crowd in on my methods if I could help it. No matter what Captain Holstrom and his associates thought of the feasibility of the scheme, I had a lot of confidence in it, and was not willing that a rival should know enough about it to copy any plans.

Therefore I set my crew at work building a wall of boards about the lighter, leaving only a door for my exit over the side. I wanted to conceal the pumping operations. As to the divers whom I should meet at the scene of the wreck, I trusted to other measures to conceal my system.

I was out on the lighter to superintend the building of the wall, and more especially to oversee the setting of the force-pump and its attachments. I did not like the looks of the sea on that last day of our work. It looked murky and slaty as the big rollers surged under us, and I remembered that it showed that same color on the day when my friendly undertow had helped me. I was tempted to go down and investigate, but I had seen the men from Keedy’s schooner go overboard, and I concluded to keep away from contact with them until I was ready for serious operations.

Inclosed in my wall on the lighter, I was busy about my own affairs, and did not peep to see what was happening in the neighborhood.

Captain Holstrom remained on the _Zizania_, in close companionship of his only intimate of those days--his long telescope. But Kama Holstrom was at my side while I worked, cheering me by her wise little comments, her bright eyes taking all in, her quick mind grasping all the possibilities of my scheme.

It was a rather cheerful little group there in our pen. Even Number-two Jones was whistling in jig time, for all the apparatus was fitting together as slick as a school-marm’s hand in a fur mitten. And then in through the door burst a human thunderbolt in the form of Capt. Rask Holstrom.

He was bareheaded and his gray hair was scruffed up like the bristling mane of a mad bulldog. He was not able to manage words for about a minute, but he wasn’t voiceless by any manner of means. He roared and leaped about and smote his fists together. He picked up our hose and flung it about himself like an insane snake charmer. He kicked at the wooden pump with his stubtoed shoes until I was obliged to push him away. Then he grabbed the hose once more, and reeled it about himself in senseless fury, for all the world like a caterpillar weaving its cocoon. His square face was a war map of rage, and in the center of that face his red nose gleamed like a danger signal.

We stood and gaped at him. There wasn’t much else we could do as long as he remained in that awful state. He paid no attention to his daughter’s questions and appeals.

I took a peep through the cracks of the boarding to see whether the old _Zizania_ were still afloat; I had a horrified suspicion that she had sunk or burned. She floated serenely, sweeping up and down on the crested waves.

After letting off his surplus of steam in howls, Captain Holstrom was able to manage speech at last.

“They’ve got it!” he yelled. “They’re getting it! I’ve seen ’em pull two boxes of it over their rail, and they’re dancing jubilee around the deck.” He flung down the coils of hose, and stamped on it, and spat the most vicious oaths I ever listened to.

“They’re getting it--they’ve got it--and all you’re doing here is fooling with a damnation squirt-gun that ain’t no sense and no good--and I told you so in the first place. Keedy was right. I ought to have stuck to Keedy. I’ve known Keedy. He was a friend of mine till you came along and broke us up. I had promised my girl to him. He ain’t setting around darning second-hand canvas”--he kicked the hose--“when he ought to be up and about, doing real business.” He rushed at me and clacked his fists under my nose. “I’m all done with you! I’m going to Keedy and crawfish and offer him the steamer and my equipment for a lay with him and his men. I’ll offer him my girl. You’ll marry him if I have to hold you up in front of the minister by the ears!” he informed her, whirling and shaking his fists under her nose, too. “I’ve had all the silly notions and lallygagging I propose to have, and what I say goes after this. It’s business from now on.”

He started to plunge back through the door like a down through a hoop. A couple of his men were holding a yawl beside the lighter.

I had used my submarine grip on Captain Holstrom once before when he was drunk. I used it now when he was sober--and the grip held. I grabbed him and yanked him back, slammed the door, and set myself against it.

“You can’t dissolve partnership with me in any such way,” I informed him. “Especially not right now, just as I’ve got the world by the tail.”

“I’ll show you whether I can dissolve partnership or not,” he barked; and he began running about the inclosure, roaring threats and peering here and there. He was plainly hunting for a weapon of some sort in order to beat me away from the door.

“Kama!” I called to her--the first time I had ever addressed her so familiarly, but that was no time for niceties. “Kama, it’s no use to plead with your father. He’s no better than a lunatic. He’s going to throw everything into the hands of that thief of a Keedy. It mustn’t be done!”

The captain had found a dub and was coming at me.

She put herself between us. He knew better than to raise his club against her, and he kept dodging back and forth to get past her. He paid no attention to her protests and appeals.

“Mr. Shank--Mr. Jones,” she cried, “take that club away from my father. He is not in his right mind.”

“It would be mutiny--mutiny and State prison,” stammered the mate.

“I’m his daughter--I’ll go into court if it ever comes to that! I order you to do it!”

“Keep the others off, and I’ll do it,” I said in her ear, and I rushed past her.

Holstrom struck at me viciously, but my rush had taken him by surprise. I caught his arm and the stick, and tore the weapon away from him. But to down him and subdue him was a different proposition--and a very husky job he made of it for me.

He was broad and sturdy; he was sober, and he was beside himself with rage. The spectacle of that gold going into the hands of Keedy and his gang had made a lunatic of him for the time being. I got no help from the others. Men of the sea and ships, they had a wholesome tear of what would happen to mutineers when that matter came into court. I struggled with that old rascal until every muscle in me throbbed with the pain of tension, and I thought the blood would burst through my face. No matter about the details of that long fight. But at last I got him down; I rolled him on his face. I pulled his hands together, kneeling on him, and the girl lashed his wrists together when I appealed to her. She lashed his legs as well, for I decided to take no chances with him while he was in that mood.

When I got my breath I leaned over him and spoke my little piece:

“This is tough business for all of us, Captain Holstrom. I don’t know what may come out of it. I’m prepared to take my medicine if I’ve done wrong. But you have started in to run amuck. You ought to know what Keedy is by this time. He has done you once. He would do you worse the next time. If you weren’t crazy at this minute you’d realize it. I don’t propose to stand by and see you heave your best chance over the rail in any such fashion. I demand twenty-four hours to make good on my scheme. Twenty-four hours--that’s all. I know how those men got that gold. I got mine in the same way. But they won’t get any more; I know conditions down there; I’ve been all through it. You listen to me, I say! I’m going to take twenty-four hours--and if I’ve got to keep you tied up while I operate, then it’s tied up you stay. I’ll take all the responsibility of this mutiny, men,” I told the crowd on the lighter. “I’m a partner in this expedition with a signed contract. Twenty-four hours from now I’ll hold out my hands and let you tie me up if I haven’t made good.”

That was pretty bold talk, and I’ll confess that I did not know just where I was going to get off. But to let Captain Holstrom run away to that rogue of a Keedy just when I was on the eve of my experiment--to allow Holstrom to hand over everything to that he-devil--was too intolerable.

“We’ll take the captain back to the steamer,” I told the men. “I’m assuming all responsibility.”

“I’ll share it with you,” said the girl, stoutly.

Captain Holstrom seemed to have lost his voice. He stared at us and gasped like a fish newly heaved on deck. He was silent while we carried him to his state-room on the steamer. We left him tied up well and his daughter was his caretaker and jailer by her own choice. She was showing the grit of a young catamount in that emergency.

All of it was about as bad as it could be. But it was going to be worse.

XXXIII--THE HEART OF THE MILLIONS

I WAS about at daybreak next morning. The man who predicted the first eclipse of the sun and was waiting for it had nothing on me in the way of a case of nerves. I kept away from the captain’s state-room. I had plenty on my mind without loading up with any more trouble.

The first thing I saw when I came on deck was a little schooner which was lying-to a few cable-lengths from us. She looked familiar. A boat was slid over her rail. Through the telescope I saw two men in uniform take seats in the stem-sheets. They were those customs chaps who had visited us before and they rowed past us toward Keedy’s schooner. I turned the telescope and saw that somebody in Keedy’s crowd was wigwagging a flag furiously.

I saw something else through the glass. Keedy’s divers were going down and I could imagine with what kind of tongue-lashing he had been urging them to “follow their hand.”

For an instant I had a wild notion of calling for my boat crew and beating them to it. Then I looked out over that quieter sea, and felt sure that the freakish undertow had gone off to play elsewhere.

“Let ’em go down and learn a thing or two,” I said to Romeo Shank, “and then come up and tell Keedy that the Pacific Ocean is something, of a gambler itself when it comes to ‘following your hand.’”

I knew well enough that I’d better stick around pretty close aboard the old _Zizania_, for I was sure we would be receiving a call from the customs men. They would find our treasury bare, and they would find the captain of the expedition trussed up in his state-room. They would probably come with another “hot rock” which had been dropped in their hat by the prospering Keedy.

Yes, there was only one station for me that morning!

The visitors arrived in less than an hour. They tried to smile when they came over the rail, but it was a mighty sick smile.

I led them into my state-room, and did not pay any attention to their questions about the captain. They talked broken English, and little of it, and so there were no words wasted. In a few minutes I knew what was wanted. We must up killick and get out. We were there without authority; we were breaking laws; we were stealing other men’s property.

I tried to talk about Keedy and his gang. How about them? The officers shrugged their shoulders and scowled at me. Ah, that was the Government’s business, not mine, they told me. They were attending to that case. Had I not seen them going over there also? Yes, all should be used alike--but we must go or else they would report, and a gunboat would be sent to drive us away--yes, to confiscate our ship. So!

Captain Holstrom had been right in regard to them--I found that they were blood-suckers, looking for the juiciest proposition, and Keedy had got next by some plan--perhaps by being a better liar.

I stared at those knaves for a few moments, and did some tall thinking quickly. I was really getting used to quick thinking by that time.

When I jumped up and asked to be excused for a moment they smiled and settled back on the transom. Perhaps they thought that I proposed to raise Keedy out of the game.

I found Mate Number-two Jones on the main deck forward.

“They have called the turn on us--say that we must get off the coast,” I told him. “Keedy has bribed them over our heads. I tell you, Jones, I’m going to get that treasure! I’ve got to get it. This isn’t mere brag talk. You are posted on my plans, and you believe in them.”

“The scheme does look good to me,” admitted the mate.

“If those men leave here tied up to Keedy they’ll send a gunboat and shoo us off--and they’ve told Keedy, of course, how to dodge her. Jones, those men have got to stay aboard the _Zizania_ until I make my try to-day. And, by the gods! I’ll bring up enough to show ’em that we are the people. You come with me!”

“What for?”

“We’ve got to lasso those chaps and hitch ’em to the stanchion in my state-room. They’ve got to stay here till I test out that hose.”

“Look here,” objected Mr. Jones, fumbling at his nose, “seems to me there’s altogether too much tripping and tying aboard here. It beats a round-up of steers. We’re going to get into a lot of trouble--we’re in it now. You wait till the captain gets loose, and see if we ain’t!”

“Tying two more won’t make it any worse than it is. I can’t make you do what you don’t want to do, Jones, but I believe you’re too much of a man to let me play this thing single-handed. We’re fighting Keedy now. If I fail in getting at that gold to-day, all we’ve got to do is to up mud-hook and steam north--we’ll have to do the same thing if we let those grafters go over the rail now.” Jones was a cautious man, but he was a loyal one. I kept on urging, and at last the battle-light flickered in his pale-blue eyes.

“Blast their thievish souls!” he said. “They’ve taken all the money I had in my pockets--and now they’re thumbing their noses at decent men. I’m with you!” We grabbed ropes, rushed up to my state-room, and fell on the men before they could scramble to their feet.

They were wizened little chaps and we tied them without any trouble.

Then I went below and leaned over the rail where their boat was tossing.

“The gentlemen are staying here for some business,” I told the two rowers. “They tell you to go back to the schooner and wait till they signal for you with our ensign.” They didn’t look entirely satisfied, but they rowed away after I had ordered them to fend off.

I stationed two men at my state-room door and I hunted up weapons and armed some of the crew. I ordered them to keep off everybody until I returned from the lighter.

I spoke to Captain Holstrom through his state-room window. I told him that I would bring him a present before sundown. He did not reply--and when Captain Holstrom was mad enough to keep his tongue between his teeth I felt that only murder could express his feelings.

The door was on the hook, and a little brown hand was thrust out to meet mine.

“Good luck, brave boy!” she whispered. “I know you’ll do it.”

“I can’t fail after that word from you,” I told her.

Then I ran down the ladder and jumped into the boat where my men were waiting for me.

I found a heavy surge running under our lighter, but the swirl of sand was no longer darkening the water. I had reckoned right in regard to that undertow. Keedy’s men were still down and I could imagine them wasting their strength on the sand which had been packed back overnight.

Our water-hose had already been coupled in makeshift fashion, and the last work that morning was to wrap the joints as best we could. Then I set the men at the brakes and told them to “give her tar,” as the old-fashioned hand-tub foreman would say. The hose was strung about the deck of the lighter.

After they pumped for five minutes I found that the hose was not so tight as I had hoped. Wheezing little streams punctured it here and there, and the joints leaked. From the end of our home-made nozzle of sheet iron the stream barely trickled. I was disgusted--but I was not wholly discouraged. When I state this you may see how desperate I had become. I was resolved to fight that thing through to the last ditch. I was determined to take that hose down and try it out. I had the misty and hopeful notion that the pressure of the sea on it might make some difference, that the wet hose might retain the water better, that after the plunger had swelled a bit we might get more force.

All those straws and others did I grab at by way of bracing my courage.

The captain of the expedition trussed up in his cabin like a steer calf--only waiting his opportunity to deal with me!

Two customs men also trussed up--also waiting to deal with me!

It can be readily understood that there were some decidedly red-hot goads at my back that day to drive me down under the sea.

I had not been able to convince Captain Holstrom that all my work and struggles and investigation and failures up to then were a good investment. But as a submarine diver I knew that they had been. I had been spending my nights on a sleepless pillow, docketing those experiences and drawing lessons from them--plotting, pondering, and planning.

When I went down I was ready for my job in so far as a man, by pounding his brain, can be ready for all emergencies.

I had piled the lead on to myself. Around my body from hips to armpits I had a canvas belt with five pockets, each pocket holding twenty-five pounds of shot, part of the junk of the old _Zizania_. Around each leg above the ankle I fastened another bag of shot holding fifteen pounds.

My helmet had weights weighing thirty pounds. In addition I wore my regular breast and back weights. That is to say, when I was rolled over the side of that lighter I, a one-hundred-and-eighty-pound man, was weighted with about two hundred and fifty pounds of metal.

I went with bare feet and bare hands. I knew that if I ever did succeed in boring that sand, holding that hose in my hands, my feet would have to serve as hands for the purpose of feeling out objects.

Keedy’s men had come up before I gave the word to lower me. Number-two Jones had peered through the cracks of the boarding, and had reported that they had come over the rail without bringing treasure, and that Keedy was stamping up and down the deck, wagging his fists over his head. I could imagine from my own experience what kind of language the cowardly slave-driver was spewing out.

I found myself on the bottom under the lighter, and started to make my way toward the wreck. I was loaded like a pack-donkey, outside of the tremendous extra weight of lead I carried. But I was taking everything which my judgment counseled as needful for success.

I was obliged to drag with me my life-line, my air-hose, and the heavy canvas hose for the water. In addition to those, I towed a double line which was hitched to a pair of ice-tongs, and the points of those tongs were filed to a sharp point. I carried the tongs at my belt. If I found treasure I had this method of sending it to the lighter and of dragging back the tongs to myself. I had had one experience in serving as a carrier and I did not want to repeat the job.

I tell you, I felt like a mighty poor and puny little ant when I started away on the bottom of the sea, climbing those sand ridges. The sea clutched and tore at those wriggling lines, at my air-hose, and was especially ferocious in tackling that heavy water-hose. It seemed as if the Pacific resented that scheme of fighting it.

It was a mighty struggle I had. I was tossed and tumbled. I was banged and buffeted.

But in the end I arrived at the wreck. Under ordinary circumstances that stunt alone would have finished a diver’s work for a day--but I had left matters above the surface in such condition that I could not face them just then.

I dropped my water-hose, and went back fifty feet along the line. Past experience with the weight of the surges had suggested another trick with which to fight the giant Pacific. I had brought a small anchor, and, with this set into the sand as best I cou’d do it, I anchored my air-hose and water-hose about fifty feet from the wreck. I proposed to let the ocean wreak the most of its spite on the two hundred and fifty feet between that anchor and the lighter. I figured that I might be able to handle the other fifty feet, no matter how ugly the surges were.

I crawled back to the wreck and found my bearings. There were the “cat scratchings” on the sand where the other divers had spent their energy that morning. I grinned--I couldn’t help it. They had just had their own experience with the tricks of a Pacific undertow.

Well, the great and awful moment had come for me!

In the years that have passed since then the vivid memory of that moment has never left me. I wake up in the night even now, and the thrill of it shakes me.

If my scheme did not work, what would become of me when I went back to the surface of the sea?

If my scheme did work, what was I facing down there? I was proposing to bore into that sand--to sink into it. No such plan had ever been tried by a human being up to that time. Was I not digging my own grave?

* Although sticking a statement of fact into writing which is professedly fiction may be considered supererogation by the cynical critic, some honest reader may be grateful for a certain bit of information. Here it is: My old and valued friend, the diver who recovered the _Golden Gate_ treasure, still lives at a ripe age and he has detailed to me how he devised the hydraulic apparatus out of makeshift material, how he bored into the sand, and how he, with his own hands, recovered the bullion. Also, the incident of his narrow escape when the water-hose shifted was a part of his bitter experience on the bed of the Pacific. I hasten to state that, so far as the rest of the yam goes, my good friend, Diver Cook, is not culpable.--H. D.

I sat down on the sand, Turk fashion, like a tailor on his table, pointed the nozzle down, holding it against the sand, and gave the agreed-upon signal for water. It took a long time in coming, and it was an agony of waiting. Then at last I felt the hose swell under my arm. I pressed the nozzle harder against the sand. I cannot describe my delight. I felt that my dreams were coming true, for when I jammed the nozzle down I found that the sand was moving. That stream had merely trickled above the surface, but now a pressure was created when I held the nozzle hard against the bottom of the sea. Yes, the sand moved under me. It began to boil up around me. It swept and swirled in yellow clouds. I realized that I was boring a hole about as big as a barrel, and into that hole I was gradually sinking. I was on my way! I did not know where I was going--but, bless the good Lord, I was on my way! The sand in that boiling water made all dark. Down and down I went slowly, my bare feet searching eagerly.

But though I descended more rapidly as the swirling motion increased, I felt no boxes. Had I, then, happened upon a straggler among the boxes of gold on my earlier trip? Had my rivals also found two more stragglers from the main treasure--loosened boxes which had been forced out of the chamber by the impact of the wreck on the bar or had worked near the surface of the sand by the action of a sucking undertow? If that were true, it meant that Keedy’s men were dumped if they stuck to shovels. Provided I could reach the treasure, and could keep my own system a secret, I was headed toward a glorious victory, and could depend upon the ocean to keep off others--but was I headed toward victory? My feet touched nothing that had square corners. And yet, to the best of my judgment, I had already gone down at least ten feet in that hole in the sand.