by W E Johns
‘He may have gone to fetch some more stores,’ suggested Ginger.
‘They had ours at their disposal. There must have been ample for their present needs.’
‘He may have gone to fetch some tools – shovels and things – to dig for the treasure.’
‘Possibly, but knowing the sort of job on which they were engaged, one would have thought that they would have brought such things with them. We didn’t bring any because we happened to know that they were unnecessary – that is, assuming that the treasure is somewhere in the ship.’
‘Do you think Harvey might have lost his nerve and bolted, leaving the others to take care of themselves?’ ventured Dick.
‘There is just a chance of it, but, somehow, I find that difficult to accept,’ returned Biggles shaking his head. ‘Men of his stamp don’t run away while there is a chance of sharing a treasure. But there, it’s no use guessing. If he doesn’t come back, then, treasure or no treasure, we’re in for a pretty thin time. It’s bad enough being marooned on a place like this – for make no mistake, we shall soon get sick of the sight of coconuts when our stores are finished – but when, into the bargain, there’s a fellow like ‘Frisco Jack prowling about taking pot shots at us, the ordeal is likely to become even more trying. We have only enough food for two or three days at the most; after that we shall have to rely on coconuts.’
‘Deutch and Co. will have to do the same thing,’ Algy pointed out.
‘I know all about that,’ agreed Biggles, ‘but our position is a very different one from theirs. We should hesitate to shoot them in cold blood, even if we had an opportunity, whereas they’ll try to bump us off at the first chance they get.’
‘Well, thank goodness one of them is out of action,’ declared Dick fervently.
‘I thought I’d killed him, but apparently I didn’t,’ murmured Biggles. ‘Still, I fancy he must be pretty sick. Let’s go on deck and see what they’re up to. Incidentally, from now on we had better mount guards, or they may catch us napping one day.’
‘Well, I reckon it’s all good fun,’ observed Dick optimistically. ‘When I read Treasure Island at school I never thought the day would come when I’d be on one myself.’
Biggles smiled. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it?’ he murmured. ‘As a matter of fact, now one comes to think about it, the position here is not unlike the critical situation in the story. Deutch and his confederates are Long John Silver and the pirates, and we—’ Biggles grinned delightedly ‘—why, dash it, it works out exactly. Dick here is Jim Hawkins, Algy is Squire Trelawny, Ginger is Doctor Live-say, and I’m—’
‘Captain Smollett,’ put in Dick promptly.
Biggles sprang to his feet and bowed. ‘At your service, gentlemen. With your assistance we shall yet see Long John Silver – I mean Deutch – sun-drying at Execution Dock. Yes, sir, or my name’s not Captain Smollett, and you may lay to that. Avast there! All hands on deck, and step lively, please; let us see what the rascals are at.’
Algy struck a pose. ‘By my wig, Captain, you’re right, as usual. Stand by for the doubloons.’
They all laughed and then filed up to the roof, from where they could see Pedro still lying on the shore of the lagoon, with Deutch and ‘Frisco Jack sitting beside him.
‘Don’t show yourselves,’ warned Biggles.
‘Are we going ashore?’ inquired Dick excitedly.
Biggles nodded. ‘Yes, I think it’s safe for us to go and have a look round,’ he answered. ‘But we had better all be armed. For goodness’ sake be careful with these old weapons, though, or we shall have an accident. Dick, is that pistol of yours loaded?’
‘No.’
‘All right; I’11 show you how to load it. Algy – Ginger, you’d better take a musket apiece.’
They went below again where they selected their weapons and loaded them. This done, they returned to the roof and then descended the steps to where the canoe was moored. A few minutes later they were on the island, landing on the rocks of the point, where they lifted the boat into a fissure just above the high-water mark. Satisfied that the coast was clear, they made their way to the top of the headland, where Biggles stopped and surveyed the ground ahead. It was nothing but a matted jungle of bushes, huge cacti, and trailing lianas, and after regarding it for some minutes he shook his head.
‘I don’t see any galleons lying about, do you?’ he asked the others generally.
‘It doesn’t look the sort of place where you’d expect to find one – at least, not to me,’ answered Algy. ‘If the wreck is somewhere under this tangle of bushes, then we’re in for a long job. It would take an army of men weeks to clear them.’
‘Well, let’s go and have a look,’ replied Biggles. ‘I didn’t expect to find it with the masts still standing and flags flying; in fact, if you remember, I prophesied that finding the ship was likely to be more difficult than the map might lead one to suppose; but, I must say, now that we are here, it is even worse than I expected. Let’s go on for a bit.’
For nearly two hours they searched, thrusting their way into the tangle wherever an opening presented itself, staring about, stamping on the ground, and climbing such elevations as commanded a wider view of the lower ground. Slowly, for it was impossible to move quickly on account of the vegetation, they made their way across the depression that could just be distinguished, until at last they stood on the bare rocks at the far side, where Pedro had overtaken Dick.
Biggles sat down on a boulder and mopped his forehead with his sleeve. ‘Phew! This is warm work,’ he declared. ‘We shall soon have to be getting back; the daylight won’t last much longer. We’d better start collecting some nuts to eke out our bully beef, and postpone further operations until tomorrow. In fact, I think it would be a good thing to lay in a good store of nuts while we’ve got the chance; there are only two or three left in the fort. Dick, go and take a peep over the ridge to make sure the beach is clear. Deutch or ‘Frisco may come along, and I’d rather not have a clash if it can be avoided.’
Dick ran off to obey the order, while Ginger and Algy walked towards a little colony of coconut palms that fringed the edge of the jungle not far away; but before they had taken a dozen paces their progress was arrested by Dick, who came dashing back with alarm on his face. ‘Look out!’ he hissed. “Frisco and Deutch are coming this way!’
Biggles spun round. ‘How far away are they?’
‘They are just over the other side of the rock – not more than a stone’s throw,’ whispered Dick tersely. ‘They are creeping along in the shadow of the bushes.’
‘Confound them!’ Biggles looked annoyed. ‘They’ll see us as we go across if we try to get to the islet. What a nuisance. I think we’d better get down over the front of the headland and wait by the boat until they go back. Come on, I believe we can get through here.’
With the others following close behind, he led the way at a brisk trot towards a place where the network of briers and lianas appeared to be less dense than usual, in order to reach the far side of the depression previously mentioned, which seemed to stretch from the sea to some distance inland. It was, in fact, the same weak place in the undergrowth that Dick’s father had selected as a hiding-place when he had been pursued by Deutch a few months previously, so what followed was not really so much a coincidence as a direct example of cause and effect.
They had almost reached the centre of the depression when Biggles stumbled over a long, round, moss-covered object that lay across their path. ‘Hello! What’s this?’ he muttered, stooping down in order to look along the object for its full length, for it struck him suddenly that it was far too straight and symmetrical to be anything but artificial. It was, in fact, the fallen mainmast of the galleon, and a suspicion of this had just flashed into his mind when Algy, in endeavouring to remove a thorn from his foot, fell forward, and clutched at him for support. Unprepared, Biggles lost his balance, and grabbing wildly at a sapling to save himself, he fell, with Algy on top of him. Instantly there was
a loud crack and the ground under them began to sag.
‘Look out! The ground’s caving in!’ gasped Biggles in affright as he struggled to get to his feet. He opened his mouth again to speak, but the words never came. With a soft splintering crash, the rotting, moss-covered timbers of the galleon’s deck collapsed, and the next moment they were all precipitated through a gaping hole, landing on the floor, some eight or ten feet lower, with varying degrees of shock.
Biggles was first on his feet, breathing heavily. ‘Great Scott! What’s happened?’ he cried, looking quickly about him. His eyes told him the truth, but even so, he could only stare incredulously, while the others, with groans and mutterings, got up.
‘What the—’ began Algy, but his astonishment was such that he could get no further.
‘I think this is what we’ve been looking for,’ observed Biggles, recovering his self-control as he brushed moss and dirt from his clothes. ‘We fell into it, as you might say. I — hark!’ He broke off, listening intently.
From not far away came the sound of a human voice. It was Deutch’s, and the words reached them clearly. ‘I tell you I heard ’em somewhere about here, not a minute ago,’ he said.
Biggles laid his finger on his lips warningly. ‘Don’t speak,’ he breathed.
Silently Algy stooped and picked up his musket, which had, of course, fallen in with him. Ginger did the same. Then they all gazed upwards at the breach in the deck through which a shaft of greenish light filtered.
‘It must have been a pig, or an animal of some sort,’ came ‘Frisco’s voice doubtfully.
‘I tell you I heard ’em talking,’ declared Deutch emphatically.
‘Then they must have bolted when they heard us coming,’ asserted ‘Frisco Jack. ‘Anyway, there ain’t no sense in standing here; the big guy’s got a gun, and I don’t wanna get plugged through the back, like Pedro. There will be plenty of time to attend to them tomorrow. Let’s get back.’
Apparently Deutch acquiesced, for the sound of footsteps, slowly receding, reached the ears of the listeners. Biggles waited for some time to make sure that they had gone before he spoke, but at last he turned to the others. ‘Good!’ he whispered. ‘I think they’ve gone back. Let’s do a bit of exploring.’
Chapter 13
Revelations
Biggles and his companions had not fallen into the galleon in the same place as Dick’s father, who had crashed through into the saloon, which, in accordance with the usual practice of the period in which the ship was built, was situated in the poop. They were, as Biggles pointed out, in the fo’castle, which they saw at once was precisely as it had been abandoned, except that what had once been blankets were now mouldering heaps of mildew from which sprouted unhealthy-looking growths of green fungus. Indeed, from them and the few odd articles of clothing that lay about rose an unwholesome stench of corruption and decay. There was little else there of interest except a few weapons, corroded with rust, that had been discarded by the last of the pirates when they had abandoned the ship. Anything of value had been taken with them.
‘I don’t think we shall find any treasure here,’ said Biggles, speaking in an awed whisper, for even he found it impossible not to be affected by the mournful atmosphere of things long dead.
Slowly, almost reverently, they made their way through the waist of the ship, past long-silent cannon, their muzzles half buried in the silt of ages, cannon-balls, powder barrels – some still full – grappling irons – the same that had held the ill-fated Rose of Bristol – ropes, blocks, and tackle, all of which they could just see in the eerie light that crept through the cracks in the warping timbers.
‘Quite apart from any treasure, this ship ought to be put into a museum just as it is,’ said Biggles quietly. ‘I doubt very much if there is another in the same state of preservation in the world, and a lot of people would like to see just how a vessel of this period and class was equipped. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Unless I am mistaken, we have made a discovery that will cause a sensation at home when it becomes known, particularly among sailors and people interested in the sea.’
Slowly they walked on, staring about them like tourists in the cloisters of an old cathedral. Biggles pointed to a stone jar with a narrow neck, on the bulging sides of which were stamped, in large, black letters, BEST OLD JAMAICA. ‘Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum,’ he quoted, singing Stevenson’s famous lines with a morbid sort of humour.
Algy nodded thoughtfully as he regarded the old rum puncheon. ‘It certainly looks as if “Drink and the devil have done for the rest”,’ he observed.
They wandered on until at last they came to a companion-way leading upwards. They tested the timbers and, finding them sound, went up. From the top they could see a shaft of pale light falling obliquely across a large room a short distance in front of them. Wonderingly, they made their way towards it, and a moment later they were standing in the captain’s saloon, which took up most of the high stern.
Biggles pointed to a jagged hole in the upper deck. Immediately below it lay a quantity of debris, dead moss and the like. ‘That, Dick, is where your father must have fallen through,’ he said in a low voice.
Dick looked up, fighting to keep back the tears that dimmed his eyes. The fact that his father had stood on the very spot on which he was now standing brought his memory back very clearly. But his grief was short-lived, for there were other things to think of.
‘Great heavens above! Look at this!’ whispered Biggles, in an awe-stricken voice, shaking his head slowly like a man who finds it hard to believe what he sees. The others, looking about them, were too deeply moved for words.
The room was sumptuously furnished. Around the walls, in panels between the gilded lights, were painted pictures of saints and other holy scenes. The whole floor was covered by a magnificent eastern carpet, woven in rich shades of blue and crimson; on it, placed end to end around the outskirts, were several iron-bound chests, with huge, elaborate locks. Most of them were open. Set against the forward bulkhead was a magnificent walnut desk, exquisitely carved, but it was towards a gruesome figure that leaned over it from a high-backed, brass-studded chair, padded with scarlet velvet, that all eyes were irresistibly drawn. It was a skeleton, to which the clothes still clung with dreadful realism.
Biggles, war-hardened, went up to it. A trifle pale, he glanced at the grinning mouth and empty sockets, and then ran his eyes over the details of the clothes. ‘This was a Spanish ship,’ he said, his voice sounding strangely loud in the eerie silence. ‘But this man was no Spaniard; his clothes are more suggestive of a pirate. He must have been the last survivor of some ill-fated crew. What evil fate overtook him, I wonder? What tale of tragedy could he tell if he could speak? It was on this desk that Dick’s father found the gold doubloon.’ He picked up the silver-mounted pistol, still lying where it had fallen so long ago, and examined it – the first hand to touch it since the pirate’s fatal day. ‘It has been discharged,’ he went on quietly, as if to himself. ‘I wonder … I wonder …’ He moved the figure slightly. ‘Look!’ he said, in a hard, strained voice.
The others came closer to see what had attracted his attention, and this is what they saw. The bony fingers of the skeleton’s right hand were pressed to the faded material that still covered the place where the stomach had once been. Under them was a round hole with scorched edges, and a tell-tale stain. Biggles looked down at the floor and caught his breath. His face turned a shade paler. ‘Holy smoke!’ he breathed, moistening his lips. ‘He died by his own pistol. Look!’ The others looked down. On the carpet, around the booted feet of the long-dead pirate, was the black, sinister mark that had been made by his drying blood.
‘Pretty grim, isn’t it?’ went on Biggles, recovering some of his self-possession, and moving the skeleton back to its original position. As he did so, something fell heavily to the floor. Almost with repugnance he stooped and picked it up, and holding it between finger and thumb, looked at the others with a curious expres
sion on his face. ‘The bullet,’ he said. ‘The ball that destroyed him. It must have lodged somewhere inside him, and the first movement has shaken it out. Want a souvenir, Dick?’
Dick backed away, an expression of disgust on his face. ‘No, thank you,’ he said emphatically.
The others laughed, and the spell that had held them in its grip since first they entered the ship was broken.
Biggles stuck the pistol through his belt and pointed to the silver candlestick. ‘I should say that’s worth a hundred pounds at least,’ he observed. ‘I wonder if there is anything in these drawers.’ He opened the top drawer of the desk. ‘Hello! What’s this,’ he cried, as he took out a leather-bound book. Gently he lifted the cover, and with his eyes turned down inquiringly he studied the first page.
The others saw him start, staring incredulously, lean forward, and stare again. His eyes went round with wonder, and the fingers that held the open page began to tremble slightly. Then, looking up at the faces that were watching him, ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, in a queer, husky voice, ‘allow me to introduce you to the most blood-thirsty member of a bloodthirsty race; the man I spoke about only a short while ago; the self-appointed head of the Brethren of the Coast; cut-throat and murderer – Louis Dakeyne, Louis le Grande, The Exterminator – himself exterminated.’
‘Dead silence fell, such a silence as had haunted the death-chamber for two hundred and fifty years.
Biggles drew a deep breath. He was finding the experience rather unnerving. ‘This is his log,’ he said. ‘It should make interesting reading. What tales of death, and worse, will it reveal, I wonder? What stories of heroism, until now untold, of lonely mariners fighting their last fight against overwhelming odds led by this fiend in human form? Let us see if we can solve the mystery of his death.’ He turned quickly to the last entry in the log, and began to read aloud:
‘Rum all out, mutiny aboard, and everything in confusion. Bawn’s cursed doubloon the cause, blister him. Put the doubloons overboard, they say. Not me. May the devil seize them first.
