The Island Treasure Part 10

The s.h.i.+p was then brought round on the starboard tack, and put on her proper course again, for us to make another attempt to weather Cape Horn.

By the time all this was done it was quite dark, and getting on close to 'six bells' in the second dog-watch, the sun sinking to rest early in those lat.i.tudes; so, as none of the men had got their tea yet, or thought of it, for that matter, although they'd had nothing since their dinner at midday, Hiram Bangs, calling me to follow him, started for the galley, to see about the coppers.

We found, however, that the seas we had taken aboard had washed the fire out and made a regular wreck of the place, everything being turned topsy-turvy and mixed up into a sort of "hurrah's nest."

Indeed, the only wonder was, that the galley itself had not been carried incontinently over the side, when the s.h.i.+p had canted over on her beam-ends; and, it would have been, no doubt, but for its being so securely lashed down to the ringbolts in the deck--a precaution which had saved it when everything else had been swept to leeward.

At all events, there it was still, but in a pretty pickle; and Hiram and I had a hard job to light up the fire again under the coppers, all the wood and coal that had not been fetched away by the sea being, of course, wet and soddened by the water.

"I guess," said Hiram, after one or two failures to get the fuel to ignite, in spite of his pouring a lot of oil on it, so as to neutralise the effect of the damp, "I'll burn thet durned old kiver of my chest ez got busted t'other day in the fo'c's'le; fur it ain't no airthly good, ez I sees, fur to kip pryin' folk from priggin' airy o' my duds they fancies!"

With this, Hiram started off for the fo'c's'le, taking one of the s.h.i.+p's lanterns with him, to see what he was about.

He returned a minute or two after, looking quite scared.

"Say, Cholly," he exclaimed--addressing me as all the rest in the fo'c's'le always styled me, following the mode, in which poor Sam Jedfoot had p.r.o.nounced my name, instead of calling me "Charley,"

properly, all darkeys having a happy facility for abbreviation, as I quite forgot to mention before--"Say, Cholly, guess I'll kinder make yer haar riz! What d'yer reckon hez happened, b'y, hey?"

"What, Hiram?" replied I, negligently, not paying any particular attention to his words, having started to work at once, chopping up the box cover, which he had thrown down on the deck at my feet. "What has happened, Hiram--whatever is the matter now?"

"Thar's matter enuff, I reckon, younker," said he solemnly, in his deep, impressive tones. "Guess this air shep's sperrit-haunted, thet's all, my b'y, an' the whole bilin' of us c.o.o.ns aboard air all doomed men!"

CHAPTER EIGHT.

MAD DRUNK!

"Good gracious, Hiram!" I exclaimed, dropping the wood and rising to my feet, greatly alarmed at his mysterious manner of speaking, as well as by the change in his voice and demeanour. "What d'you mean by talking like that?"

Instead of answering my question directly, however, he asked another.

"D'yer rec'leck, Cholly, thet air banjo belongin' to Sam Jedfoot ez I bought when the poor darkey's traps wer' sold at auction in the fo'c's'le the day arter he wer lost overboard?"

"Ye-es," I stammered breathlessly, as the remembrance came back to me all at once of the strange chaunt we had heard in the air around, just before the storm had burst over us in all its fury; our subsequent bustling about having banished its recollection for the moment, "Wha-- wha--what about Sam's banjo, Hiram?"

"It's clean gone, skedaddled right away, b'y, that's all!" he replied, in the same impressive way in which he had first spoken. "When I bought the durned thin', I stowed it atop o' my chest thaar, in the fo'c's'le; an' thaar it wer ez right ez a five-cent piece up to this very mornin', ez I wer overhaulin' my duds, to see if I could rig up another pair o'

pants, an' seed it. But, b'y, it ain't thaar now, I reckon!"

"Perhaps some one took it out, and forgot to put it back when the gale burst over us," I suggested, more to rea.s.sure myself than because I believed it, for I felt horribly frightened at the thoughts that rapidly surged up in me. "You--you remember, Hiram, we heard the sound of some one playing it just before?"

"D'yer think, b'y, airy of the hands w'u'd hev ben foolin' round with thet blessid banjo, an' the s.h.i.+p a'most took aback an' on her beam-ends?" he retorted indignantly. "No, Cholly, thet wer no mortal fingers ez we heerd a-playin' thet thaar banjo!"

"And you--you--think--?"

"It wer Sam Jedfoot's ghost; nary a doubt on it," he said solemnly, finis.h.i.+ng my uncompleted sentence; "thet air, if sperrits walk agen on the airth an' sea, arter the folk's ownin' them is dead an' drownded!"

I s.h.i.+vered at his words; while, as if to further endorse Hiram's opinion, the steward, Morris Jones, just then came forward from the cabin to look after the captain's dinner, although he did not seem in a hurry about it, as usual--a fortunate circ.u.mstance, as the fire in the galley under Hiram's expert manipulation was only now at last beginning to burn up.

"There's summut wrong 'bout this barquey," observed the Welshman, opening the conversation in a wonderfully civil way for him, and addressing Hiram, who did not like the man, hardly ever exchanging a word with him if he could help it. "I larfed at that b'y Cholly for saying he seed that n.i.g.g.e.r cook agen in the cabin arter he went overboard, time the skipper had that row with the fool and shot him; but sperrit or wot it was, I believe the b'y's right, for I've seed it, too!"

"Jehosophat!" exclaimed Hiram; "this air gettin' darned streenge an'

cur'ous. Whar did ye see the sperrit, mister?"

"Not a minute or so agone," replied the steward, whose face I could see, by the light of the s.h.i.+p's lantern in the galley, as well as from the gleams of the now brightly burning fire, looked awe-stricken, as if he had actually seen what he attested. "It was a'most dark, and I was coming out of my pantry when I seed it. Aye, I did, all black, and s.h.i.+ny, and wet, as if he were jist come out o' the water. I swear it were the n.i.g.g.e.r cook, or I'm a Dutchman!"

The two men looked fixedly at each other, without uttering another word for a minute or more, I staring at them both in dread expectancy of what they would next say, fancying each instant something more wonderful still would happen. At last, Hiram broke the silence, which had become well-nigh unbearable from a sort of nervous tension, that made me feel creepy and s.h.i.+very all over.

"I tolled yer jest now, Cholly," said the Yankee sailor in his 'Down-East' drawl, which became all the more emphasised from his slow and solemn mode o' speaking below his breath--"thet this air shep wer doomed, an' I sez it now agen, since the stooard hyar hez seed the same ez we all hev seed afore. Thaar's no denying b'ys, ez how poor Sam's ghostess walks abroad this hyar s.h.i.+p, an' thet means sunthin', or it don't! I specs thet air darkey's sperrit ain't comf'able like, an' ye ken bet y'r bottom dollar he won't rest quiet till he feels slick; fur ye sees ez how the poor cuss didn't come by his death rightful like, in lawful fas.h.i.+on."

"Aye, and I've heard tell that folks as been murdered 'll haunt the place where they've been put away onlawfully," chimed in Morris Jones.

"Not as I've ever believed in sperrits and ghostesses till now; but, seein' is believin', an' I can't go agen my own eyesight. I'd take my davy 'twere Sam Jedfoot I seed jest now; and though I'm no coward, mates, I don't mind saying I'm mortal feared o' going nigh the cuddy agen!"

"Never ye fear, old hoss," replied Hiram encouragingly; albeit, at any other time he would have laughed at the steward's declaration that he was 'no coward,' when he was well known to be the most arrant one in the s.h.i.+p. "It ain't ye thet the ghost air arter, ye bet. It's the skipper.

Ye remember ez how he promised us all he'd call in at the nearest port an' hev all the circ.u.mferences overhauled, ez he sed?"

"Aye," responded the Welshman, "that he did. He took his solemn davy, afore the second-mate, an' Tom Bullover, an' the lot o' you, on the maindeck, that time he shot the cook. I heard him from under the break o' the p.o.o.p, where I were standin'."

"Yes, I seed ye keepin' well to looard!" said Hiram drily. "But, ez I wer a sayin', the skipper agrees to call in at the fust port we fetches, an' we've b'en close in to Bahia, when we near ran ash.o.r.e, an' Rio an'

Buenos Ayres; an' he's never put into no port yet!"

"No, nor doesn't mean to, neither," chorussed the steward. "I hear him, t'other day, a jokin' with that brute of a fust-mate about it; an' both was a sn.i.g.g.e.rin': an' he says as he'll see you all to old Nick afore he stops anywhere afore he gets to 'Frisco!"

"I reckon, then, sunthin' bad 'll come of it," said Hiram, shaking his head gravely, "Thet n.i.g.g.e.r's sperrit don't haunt this s.h.i.+p fur nothin', an' we ain't see the wuss yet, ye bet! Soon arter Cholly hyar seed Sam's ghost, ye remembers, we hed thet fire aboard in the forepeak?"

"Aye," agreed Morris Jones; "an' the next time--"

"Wer the banjo we heered a-playin', afore we were caught in thet buster of a gale, an' the s.h.i.+p wer a'most capsized on her beam-ends," continued the American, full of his theme. "An' now, I guess--"

"What?" cried I eagerly, anxiously drinking in every word, deeply impressed with the conversation. "What do you think will happen?"

"'Ructions, thet's all, b'y," replied Hiram, hitching up the waistband of his overalls coolly, in the most matter-of-fact way, as if he were only mentioning an ordinary circ.u.mstances. "Thet is, if the skipper don't touch at Callao or Valparaiso. Fur my part, sonny, I guess this hyar s.h.i.+p air doomed, ez I sed afore, an' I don't spec, for one, as ever she'll reach 'Frisco this v'yage; an' so thinks old Chips, Tom Bullover, thet is, too."

"Hullo!" exclaimed the carpenter at that moment, poking his head within the galley door, and making me and the Welshman jump with fright, thinking he was Sam's ghost again. "Who's hailing me? What's the row?--anything up?"

"No, bo," said Hiram. "I wer only tellin' the stooard hyar an' Cholly ez how yo agreed with me ez this wer a durned onlocky craft, an' bound to meet with misfortun' arter all thet's come an' gone aboord."

"That's so," acquiesced Tom; though he did not look much alarmed at the prospect. "The 'old man,' though, seems turnin' round into a better sort--treating us all to grog and sich like."

"He'd kinder ought to," growled the other, as he stirred the tea in the coppers, which were just boiling by now; and he then proceeded to tell Tom about the mysterious disappearance of the banjo, and the fact of Morris Jones having seen the apparition again in the cabin aft, winding up with the query--"An' what d'ye think o' thet now, Chips?"

"Think?" echoed Tom Bullover, laughing; "why, that you're kicking up a dust about nothing, my hearty! Missed the banjo out of y'r chest, eh-- where are y'r eyes, bo? There it are, hanging right over y'r heads in the galley, on the same cleat where poor Sam Jedfoot left it afore he met his fate! Why, where are y'r peepers--old stick in the mud, hey?"

As he said this, Tom Bullover reached up his hand overhead by the door of the galley, above the spot where he was standing, and as our eyes followed his motions we all could see now Sam's banjo hanging on the cleat where it always used to be when the negro cook occupied the caboose, the instrument swinging to and fro as Tom touched it.

"Wa-all, I'm jiggered!" cried Hiram, taking up the lantern that he had placed on the deck when he returned from the fo'c's'le and flas.h.i.+ng it on the suspended object, to make a.s.surance doubly sure. "Thaar it air, sure enuff; an' all I ken say is, I'm jiggered! It jest licks creation, thet it dew!"

"Lor' bless you, mate! you could ha' seed it afore if you'd only used your eyes," replied Tom to this exordium, laughing again; "but, let's stow all such flummery now about ghostesses an' sich like, for it's all moons.h.i.+ne when you looks into the matter; an' you, an' Charley, an' the stooard here, have been all busy rigging up 'duppies,' as poor Sam used to call 'em, out o' your heads, when we poor beggars forrud are dyin'

for our tea. Ain't it ready yet?"