Richard Le Gallienne - Pieces of Eight

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[Illustration: Cover]

PIECES OF EIGHT

_Being the Authentic Narrative of a Treasure Discovered in the Bahama
Islands in the Year 1903--Now First Given to the Public_

BY RICHARD LE GALLIENNE

[Illustration]

_Frontispiece_

[Illustration: "'YOU YOUNG FOOL!' EXCLAIMED CHARLIE, 'THE WATER ROUND
HERE IS THICK WITH SHARKS!'"]

A.L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York

Published by arrangement with Doubleday, Page & Company

_Copyright, 1918, by_

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY

_All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian_

COPYRIGHT, 1917, 1918, BY THE BUTTERICK PUBLISHING COMPANY

LIFE BEING OF THE NATURE BOTH OF A TREASURE-HUNT AND A PIRATICAL
EXPEDITION, I DEDICATE THIS NARRATIVE TO THE FOLLOWING SAILING
COMPANIONS OF MINE ON THIS ENTERTAINING OLD PIRATE CRAFT WE CALL THE
EARTH, IN THE HOPE THAT EACH MAY FIND HIS TREASURE, AND, AT LEAST,
ESCAPE HANGING AT THE END OF THE TRIP--TO WIT: HARRY DASH JOHNSON, SAM
NICHOLSON, BERT WILLSIE AND CHARLEY BETHEL, ALL ENGAGED IN ONE OR
ANOTHER OF THE PIRATICAL PROFESSIONS.

PROLOGUE

_(The following MS., the authorship of which I am not at liberty to
divulge, came to me in a curious way. Being recently present at a
performance of_ "Treasure Island" _at The Punch and Judy Theatre in New
York City, and, seated at the extreme right-hand end of the front row of
the stalls--so near to the ground-floor box that its occupants were
within but a yard or two of me, and, therefore, very clearly to be
seen--I, in common with my immediate neighbours, could not fail to
remark the very striking and beautiful woman who was the companion of a
distinguished military-looking man on the youthful side of middle age._

_Still young, a little past thirty, maybe, she was unusually tall and
stately of figure, and from her curious golden skin and massive black
hair, one judged her to be a Creole, possibly a Jamaican. Her face,
which was rather heavily but finely moulded, wore an expression of
somewhat poetic melancholy, a little like that of a beautiful animal,
but readily lit up with a charming smile now and again at some sally of
her companion, with whom she seemed to be on affectionate terms, and
with whom, as the play proceeded, she exchanged glances and whispered
confidences such as two who have shared an experience together--which
the play seems to bring to mind--are seen sometimes to exchange in a
theatre._

_But there was one particular which especially accentuated the
singularity of her appearance and was responsible for drawing upon her
an interested observation--seemed, indeed, even in her eyes to condone
it, for she, as well as her companion, was obviously conscious of
it--the two strange-looking gold ornaments which hung from her
delicately shaped ears. These continually challenged the eye, and piqued
the curiosity. Obviously they were two old coins, of thick gold, stamped
with an antique design. They were Spanish doubloons!_

_As, in common with the rest of the audience, I looked at this
picturesque pair, my eyes forsook the lady of the doubloons, and
fastened themselves with a half-certainty of recognition upon her
companion. Why! surely it was ---- ----, an old dare-devil comrade of
mine, whose disappearance from New York some ten years before had been
the talk of the two or three clubs to which we both belonged. A curious
blending of soldier, poet, and mining engineer, he had been popular with
all of us, and when he had disappeared without warning we were sure that
he was off on some Knight-errant business--to Mexico or the Moon!_

_He was, indeed, wearing that disguise of Time, which we all come
involuntarily to wear--an unfamiliar greyness of his hair at the
temples, and a moustache that would soon be a distinguished white; yet
the disguise was not sufficient to conceal the youthful vigour of his
personality from one who had known him so well as I. The more I looked
at him, the more certain I grew that it was he, and I determined to go
round to his box at the conclusion of the second act._

_Then, becoming absorbed in the play, I forgot him and his companion of
the doubloons for a while, and when I looked for them again, they had
vanished. However, a letter in my mail next morning told me that the
observation had not been all on my side. My eyes had not deceived me. It
was my friend--and, at dinner with him and his lady, next evening, I
heard the story of some of those lost years. Moreover, he confided to me
that a certain portion of his adventures had seemed so romantic that he
had been tempted to set them down in a narrative, merely, of course, for
the amusement of his family and friends. On our parting, he entrusted me
with this manuscript, which I found so interesting that I was able to
persuade him to consent to its publication to that larger world which it
seemed to me unfair to rob of one of those few romances that have been
really lived, and not merely conjured up out of the imaginations of
professional romancers._

_His consent was given with some reluctance, for, apart from a certain
risk which the publication of the manuscript would entail, it contains
also matters which my friend naturally regards as sacred--though, in
this respect, I feel sure that he can rely upon the delicacy of his
readers. He made it a condition that every precaution should be taken to
keep secret the name and identity of his wife and himself._

_Therefore, in presenting to the world the manuscript thus entrusted to
me, I have made various changes of detail, with the purpose of the more
surely safeguarding the privacy of my two friends; but, in all
essentials, the manuscript is printed as it came originally into my
hands._

R. Le G.

CONTENTS

PAGE
Prologue vii

_Book I_

Out of the Constant East the Breeze 2

CHAPTER

I. Introduces the Secretary to the Treasury
of His Britannic Majesty's Government
at Nassau 3

II. The Narrative of Henry P. Tobias, Ex-Pirate,
as dictated on his deathbed,
in the year of our Lord, 1859 13

III. In which I charter the _Maggie Darling_ 21

IV. In which Tom catches an enchanted fish,
and discourses of the dangers of treasure
hunting 30

V. In which we begin to understand our unwelcome
passenger 40

VI. The incident of the Captain 48

VII. In which the sucking fish has a chance to
show its virtue 57

VIII. In which I once again sit up and behold
the sun 64

IX. In which Tom and I attend several funerals 69

X. In which Tom and I seriously start in
treasure hunting 75

XI. An unfinished game of cards 85

_Book II_

The dotted cays, with their little trees 92

I. Once more in John Saunders's snuggery 95

II. In which I learn something 100

III. In which I am afforded glimpses into
futurity--possibly useful 108

IV. In which we take ship once more 123

V. In which we enter the wilderness 141

VI. Duck 154

VII. More particulars concerning our young
companion 160

VIII. Better than duck 169

_Book III_

Across the scarce-awakened sea 178

I. In which we gather shells--and other
matters 179

II. In which I catch a glimpse of a different
kind of treasure 187

III. Under the Influence of the Moon 193

IV. In which I meet a very strange individual 200

V. Calypso 213

VI. Doubloons 223

VII. In which the "King" dreams a dream--and
tells us about it 232

VIII. News! 239

IX. Old Friends 246

X. The Hidden Creek 253

XI. An Old Enemy 258

XII. In which the "King" imprisons me
with some old books and pictures 266

XIII. We Begin to Dig 274

XIV. In which I lose my way 283

XV. In which I pursue my studies as a Troglodyte 292

XVI. In which I understand the feelings of a
Ghost! 306

XVII. Action 315

XVIII. Gathering up the threads 321

Postscript 328

Epilogue By the Editor 332

BOOK I

_Out of the constant East the breeze
Brings morning, like a wafted rose,
Across the glimmering lagoon,
And wakes the still palmetto trees,
And blows adrift the phantom moon,
That paler and still paler glows--
Up with the anchor! let's be going!
O hoist the sail! and let's be going!
Glory and glee
Of the morning sea--
Ah! let's be going!_

Under our keel a glass of dreams
Still fairer than the morning sky,
A jewel shot with blue and gold,
The swaying clearness streams and gleams,
A crystal mountain smoothly rolled
O'er magic gardens flowing by--
Over we go the sea-fans waving,
Over the rainbow corals paving
The deep-sea floor;
No more, no more
Would I seek the shore
To make my grave in--
_O sea-fans waving_!

PIECES OF EIGHT

CHAPTER I

_Introduces the Secretary to the Treasury of His Britannic Majesty's
Government at Nassau, New Providence, Bahama Islands._

Some few years ago--to be precise, it was during the summer of 1903--I
was paying what must have seemed like an interminable visit to my old
friend John Saunders, who at that time filled with becoming dignity the
high-sounding office of Secretary to the Treasury of His Majesty's
Government, in the quaint little town of Nassau, in the island of New
Providence, one of those Bahama Islands that lie half lost to the world
to the southeast of the Caribbean Sea and form a somewhat neglected
portion of the British West Indies.

Time was when they had a sounding name for themselves in the world;
during the American Civil War, for instance, when the blockade-runners
made their dare-devil trips with contraband cotton, between Nassau and
South Carolina; and before that again, when the now sleepy little
harbour gave shelter to rousing freebooters and tarry pirates, tearing
in there under full sail with their loot from the Spanish Main. How
often those quiet moonlit streets must have roared with brutal revelry,
and the fierce clamour of pistol-belted scoundrels round the wine-casks
have gone up into the still, tropic night.

But those heroic days are gone, and Nassau is given up to a sleepy trade
in sponges and tortoise-shell, and peace is no name for the drowsy tenor
of the days under the palm trees and the scarlet poincianas. A little
group of Government buildings surrounding a miniature statue of Queen
Victoria, flanked by some old Spanish cannon and murmured over by the
foliage of tropic trees, gives an air of old-world distinction to the
long Bay street, whose white houses, with their jalousied verandas, ran
the whole length of the water-front, and all the long sunny days the air
is lazy with the sound of the shuffling feet of the child-like "darky"
population and the chatter of the bean-pods of the poincianas overhead.

Here a handful of Englishmen, clothed in the white linen suits of the
tropics, carry on the Government after the traditional manner of British
colonies from time immemorial, each of them, like my friend, not
without an English smile at the humour of the thing, supporting the
dignity of offices with impressive names--Lord Chief Justice, Attorney
General, Speaker of the House, Lord High Admiral, Colonial Secretary and
so forth--and occasionally a figure in gown and barrister's wig flits
across the green from the little courthouse, where the Lord Chief
Justice in his scarlet robes, on a dais surmounted by a gilded lion and
unicorn, sustains the majesty of British justice, with all the pomp of
Westminster or Whitehall.

My friend the Secretary of the Treasury is a man possessing in an
uncommon degree that rare and most attractive of human qualities,
companionableness. He is a quiet man of middle age, an old white-headed
bachelor with a droll twinkling expression, speaking seldom, and then in
a curious silent fashion, as though the drowsy heat of the tropics had
soaked him through and through. With his white hair, his white clothes,
his white moustachios, his white eyelashes, over eyes that seem to hide
away among quiet mirthful wrinkles, he carries about him the sort of
silence that goes with a miller, surrounded by the white dusty quiet of
his mill.

As we sit together in the hush of his snuggery of an evening,
surrounded by guns, fishing-lines, and old prints, there are times when
we scarcely exchange a dozen words between dinner and bed-time, and yet
we have all the time a keen and satisfying sense of companionship. It is
John Saunders's gift. Companionship seems quietly to ooze out of him,
without the need of words. He and you are there in your comfortable
arm-chairs, with a good cigar, a whisky-and-soda, or a glass of that old
port on which he prides himself, and that is all that is necessary.
Where is the need of words?

And occasionally, we have, as third in those evening conclaves, a big
slow-smiling, broad-faced young merchant, of the same kidney. In he
drops with a nod and a smile, selects his cigar and his glass, and takes
his place in the smoke-cloud of our meditations, radiating, without the
effort of speech, that good thing--humanity; though one must not forget
the one subject on which now and again the good Charlie Webster achieves
eloquence in spite of himself--duck-shooting. That is the only subject
worth breaking the pleasant brotherhood of silence for.

John Saunders's subject is shark-fishing. Duck-shooting and
shark-fishing. It is enough. Here, for sensible men, is a sufficient
basis for life-long friendship, and unwearying, inexhaustible
companionship.

It was in this peace of John Saunders's snuggery, one July evening, in
1903, the three of us being duly met, and ensconced in our respective
arm-chairs, that we got on to the subject of buried treasure. We had
talked more than usual that evening--talked duck and shark till those
inexhaustible themes seemed momentarily exhausted. Then it was I who
started us off again by asking John what he knew about buried treasure.

At this, John laughed his funny little quiet laugh, his eyes twinkling
out of his wrinkles, for all the world like mischievous mice looking out
of a cupboard, took a sip of his port, a pull at his cigar, and then:

"Buried treasure!" he said, "well, I have little doubt that the islands
are full of it--if one only knew how to get at it."

"Seriously?" I asked.

"Certainly. Why not? When you come to think of it, it stands to reason.
Weren't these islands for nearly three centuries the stamping ground of
all the pirates of the Spanish Main? Morgan was here. Blackbeard was
here. The very governors themselves were little better than pirates.
This room we are sitting in was the den of one of the biggest rogues of
them all--John Tinker--the governor when Bruce was here building Fort
Montague, at the east end yonder; building it against pirates, and
little else but pirates at the Government House all the time. A great
old time Tinker gave the poor fellow. You can read all about it in his
'Memoirs.' You should read them. Great stuff. There they are," pointing
to an old quarto on some well lined shelves, for John is something of a
scholar too; "borrow them some time."

"Yes, but I want to hear more about the treasure," interrupted I,
bringing him back to the point.

"Well, as I was saying, Nassau was the rendezvous for all the
cut-throats of the Caribbean Sea. Here they came in with their loot,
their doubloons and pieces of eight"; and John's eyes twinkled with
enjoyment of the rich old romantic words, as though they were old port.

"Here they squandered much of it, no doubt, but they couldn't squander
it all. Some of them were thrifty knaves too, and these, looking around
for some place of safety, would naturally think of the bush. The niggers
keep their little hoards there to this day. Fawcett, over at Andros, was
saying the other night, that he estimates that they have something like
a quarter of a million dollars buried in tin cans among the brush over
there now--"

"It is their form of stocking," put in Charlie Webster.

"Precisely. Well, as I was saying, those old fellows would bury their
hoards in some cave or other, and then go off--and get hanged. Their
ghosts perhaps came back. The darkies have lots of ghost-tales about
them. But their money is still here, lots of it, you bet your life."

"Do they ever make any finds?" I asked.

"Nothing big that I know of. A jug full of old coins now and then. I
found one a year or two ago in my garden here--buried down among the
roots of that old fig tree."

"Then," put in Charlie, "there was that mysterious stranger over at
North Cay. He's supposed to have got away with quite a pile."

"Tell me about him," said I.

"Well, there used to be an old eccentric character in the town here--a
half-breed by the name of Andrews. John will remember him--"

John nodded.

"He used to go around all the time with a big umbrella, and muttering to
himself. We used to think him half crazy. Gone so brooding over this
very subject of buried treasure. Better look out, young man!"--smiling
at me. "He used to be always grubbing about in the bush, and they said
that he carried the umbrella, so that he could hide a machete in it--a
sort of heavy cutlass, you know, for cutting down the brush. Well,
several years ago, there came a visitor from New York, and he got thick
with the old fellow. They used to go about a lot together, and were
often off on so-called fishing trips for days on end. Actually, it is
believed, they were after something on North Cay. At all events, some
months afterward, the New Yorker disappeared as he had come, and has not
been heard from since. But since then, they have found a sort of brick
vault over there which has evidently been excavated. I have seen it
myself. A sort of walled chamber. There, it's supposed, the New Yorker
found something or other--"

"An old tomb, most likely," interrupted John, sceptically. "There are
some like that over at Spanish Wells."

"Maybe," said Charlie, "but that's the story for what it's worth."

As Charlie finished, John slapped his knee.

"The very thing for you!" he said, "why have I never thought of it
before?"

"What do you mean, John?" we both asked.

"Why, down at the office, I've got the very thing. A pity I haven't got
it here. You must come in and see it to-morrow."

And he took a tantalising sip of his port.

"What on earth is it? Why do you keep us guessing?"

"Why, it's an old manuscript."

"An old manuscript!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, an old document that came into my hands a short time ago. Charlie,
you remember old Wicks--old Billy Wicks--'Wrecker' Wicks, they called
him--"

"I should say I do. A wonderful old villain--"

"One of the greatest characters that ever lived. Oh, and shrewd as the
devil. Do you remember the story about his--"

"But the document, for heaven's sake," I said. "The document first; the
story will keep."

"Well, they were pulling down Wicks's own house just lately, and out of
the rafters there fell a roll of paper--now, I'm coming to it--a roll of
paper, purporting to be the account of the burying of a certain
treasure, telling the place where it is buried, and giving directions
for finding it--"

Charlie and I exclaimed together; and John continued, with tantalising
deliberation.

"It's in the safe, down at the office; you shall see it to-morrow. It's
a statement purporting to be made by some fellow on his deathbed--some
fellow dying out in Texas--a quondam pirate, anxious to make his peace
at the end, and to give his friends the benefit of his knowledge."

"O John!" said I, "I sha'n't sleep a wink to-night."

"I don't take much stock in it," said John. "I'm inclined to think it's
a hoax. Some one trying to fool the old fellow. If there'd been any
treasure, I guess one could have trusted old 'Wrecker' Wicks to get
after it.... But, boys, it's bed-time, anyhow. Come down to the office
in the morning and we'll look it over."

So our meeting broke up for the time being, and taking my candle, I went
upstairs, to dream of caves overflowing with gold pieces, and John
Tinker, fierce and moustachioed, standing over me, a cutlass between his
teeth, and a revolver in each hand.

CHAPTER II

_The Narrative of Henry P. Tobias, Ex-Pirate, as Dictated on His
Deathbed, in the Year of Our Lord, 1859._

The good John had scarcely made his leisurely, distinguished appearance
at his desk on the morrow, immaculately white, and breathing his
customary air of fathomless repose, when I too entered by one door, and
Charlie Webster by the other.

"Now for the document," we both exclaimed in a breath.

"Here it is," he said, taking up a rather grimy-looking roll of foolscap
from in front of him.

"A little like hurricane weather," said the broadly smiling Charlie
Webster, mopping his brow.

The room we were in, crowded with pigeon-holes and dusty documents from
ceiling to floor, looked out into an outer office, similarly dreary, and
painted a dirty blue and white, furnished with high desks and stools,
and railed off with ancient painted ironwork, forlornly decorative,
after the manner of an old-fashioned countinghouse, or shipping office.
It had something quaintly "colonial" about it, suggesting supercargoes,
and West India merchants of long ago.

John took a look into the outer office. There was nothing to claim his
attention, so he took up the uncouthly written manuscript, which, as he
pointed out, was evidently the work of a person of very little
education, and began to read as follows:

"_County of Travas_
"_State of Texas_
"_December 1859_

_"I being in very poor health and cannot last long, feeling my end is
near, I make the following statement of my own free will and without
solicitation. In full exercise of all my faculties, and feel that I am
doing my duty by so doing._

_"My friends have shown me much kindness and taken care of me when sick,
and for their kindness I leave this statement in their hands to make the
best of it, when I will now proceed to give my statement, which is as
follows:--_

_"I was born in the city of Liverpool, England (on the 5th day of
December 1784). My father was a seaman and when I was young I followed
the same occupation. And it happened, that when, on a passage from Spain
to the West Indies, our ship was attacked by free-traders, as they
called themselves, but they were pirates._

_"We all did our best, but were overpowered, and the whole crew, except
three, were killed. I was one of the three they did not kill. They
carried us on board their ship and kept us until next day when they
asked us to join them. They tried to entice us, by showing us great
piles of money and telling us how rich we could become, and many other
ways, and they tried to get us to join them willingly, but we would not,
when they became enraged and loaded three cannon and lashed each one of
us before the mouth of each cannon and told us to take our choice to
join them, as they would touch the guns and that dam quick. It is
useless to say we accepted everything before death, so we came one of
the pirates' crew. Both of my companions were killed in less time than
six months, but I was with them for more than two years, in which time
we collected a vast quantity of money from different ships we captured
and we buried a great amount in two different lots. I helped to bury it
with my own hands. The location of which it is my purpose to point out,
so that it can be found without trouble in the Bahama Islands. After I
had been with them for more than two years, we were attacked by a large
warship and our commander told us to fight for our lives, as it would be
death if we were taken. But the guns of our ship were too small for the
warship, so our ship soon began to sink, when the man-of-war ran
alongside of our vessel and tried to bore us, but we were sinking too
fast, so she had to haul off again, when our vessel sunk with everything
on board, and I escaped by swimming under the stern of the ship, as ours
sunk, without being seen, and holding on to the ship until dark, when I
swam to a portion of the wrecked vessel floating not far away. And on
that I floated. The next morning the ship was not seen. I was picked up
by a passing vessel the next day as a shipwrecked seaman._

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