Cursed be the treasure
wily man, and succeeded in tricking his enemies; and having trapped
them in the cave where the treasure lay he rolled a huge boulder to
the cave's mouth and imprisoned them alive. So far the story was only
a variant of the one I had heard so thrillingly told on that memorable
night; and the account of the frenzy which overwhelmed the Captain with
terror and remorse was much the same as in the account I knew so well
of the Mad Captain and which now, with my own hands stained with blood,
I could appreciate to the full. But after this the story changed. For
a stranger had somehow stolen the plans and learnt of the hidden gold,
though he didn't know the secret of the entrance to the cave. When
the Captain learnt there was some one on the track of the treasure
a terrible fear seized him lest his crime should be discovered.
Whipped on by a fearful fury of madness, he ruthlessly hunted down the
meddlesome interloper, and eventually capturing the wretch chained him
living in a dungeon and sealed the door up against him, having hung the
stolen plans about his neck for a warning to any who might find him and
be so bold as to follow in his steps.
The tale gripped me chiefly because of the intensity of the atmosphere
of terror and madness which prevaded it, till the reading of it seemed
like the very tones of my father's voice as he had used to speak in
the old times when the night hung black outside the pane, and only the
firelight leapt and sank in the shadowy chamber where we sat together,
he leaning back in his chair, and I huddled at his knees. I knew I was
reading a piece of great literature; and again that regretful reproach
sounded in my heart against my father: Why had he neglected such
talents to squander his life away in a stupid hunt for gold?
But another reason which made the story of interest to me was the
picture of the wretched victim chained into the dungeon with the plans
about his neck, for I thought I had come upon a further link in the
strange series of crimes which had made one tale of horror of the
searching for that evil gold. Here was the explanation of the skeleton
I had found at Sunset Towers. Worthing's uncle had said that the story
of its coming there was interesting enough in its own way. Doubtless
he was referring to this yarn of my father's. But when I began to put
things together I found that after all I had learnt little. The yarn
was probably no more than a yarn, springing from my father's fertile
imagination. And even if it were true it only told me of something so
distant as to be of no value. Yet the story clung to my memory. I kept
turning to it as though somehow it contained the clue to the mystery I
was seeking to unravel.
Reading my father's papers sent me frequently to his grave, which
now was nothing but a grass-grown mound in the woods, nameless and
dateless. I set to work to carve a rough cross with his name upon it. I
had thought to have added something to tell of my love for him, and the
blank which his death had made in my life. But words were so stupidly
inadequate that I merely carved his name and locked my wounded and
inarticulate love in my own heart.
Besides my father's papers there were the papers which Worthing's clerk
had given me. I studied these carefully, but they contained nothing
but a clear and precise account of the investments he had made with my
money. So clear indeed was the statement that even I could understand
it, and I knew I should have no difficulty in conducting my own affairs
when occasion called. I felt a gush of gratitude to my dead friend who
had taken such care of my concerns. I thought of how he had sacrificed
pride and principle to rescue me from Rancey Bridge, and how he had
sustained and guided me in the days that had followed that dreadful
first of May. And in return I had killed him!
Well, I knew it was useless brooding over things which couldn't be
amended, yet my heart was heavy with the weight of sorrows it had to
bear.
Meanwhile by day I was searching the countryside for traces of the
mysterious passage which should reveal to me the secret of the
treasure. Again I enquired of the obstinate Dragon's Mouth; but the
great tongue remained foolishly thrust out at me, and the wide jagged
lips were dumb. I sounded up and down through the Smugglers' Tunnel,
and knocked at the fallen doors of Ebb-Tide Gate; but nothing opened to
my knocking. So at last I set myself to explore Drift-Wood Cavern.
I think I delayed the exploration as long as possible because I still
remembered the strange fear which had possessed me when I first entered
those green and evil waters. There was a dread holding me away from
the place. But I knew I must face the ordeal, so at length I took my
courage in my hands and dived into the darkness. I was gratified to
find that the old fear didn't return, only a sense of faint disgust at
the furtive clinging weeds and the slow smooth drifts of refuse which
had gathered there through the years.
I provided myself with clothes and lantern, and such tools as I thought
might be necessary, also a tin of ship's biscuits, thrusting them into
the crevice from the Smugglers' Tunnel so that I merely had to reach
for them when in the cavern. And so I was sheltered from the cold of
wetness and nakedness, and had a light to search by and tools to probe
with. I was determined that if the place really held a secret I would
wrest it away before I had done.
My first entrance was at high tide, and I soon found I could do little.
The tunnel penetrated far into the land, but sank downwards, so I found
myself held back by the deepening water. Accordingly the next time I
went at low tide, and made an interesting discovery: the roof of the
tunnel sank and rose and sank again, forming pockets, as it were.
All the way beyond the first pocket the roof was slippery with weed,
telling me that at high tide the tunnel was full of water. It was an
unpleasant discovery, for I knew that if I weren't careful I might
be caught in one of the pockets and trapped by the rising tide. At
the first feel of the stealing water about my ankles I beat a hurried
retreat, in alarm at being snared and drowned like a rat in a trap. But
I found my fear was premature. I could have continued my search for a
long time yet without danger.
At my third attempt I started with the tide at half ebb, so as to give
myself the maximum time for exploring. I waded knee-deep up the long
and winding tunnel, thrusting my lantern into every nook and cranny,
and digging with my hands into the thick weeds which dripped from the
walls. And so I passed pocket after pocket, and knew that the tide must
soon be on the turn. I was afraid to stay much longer, but ducked under
one last arch. The tunnel rose up steeply before me. I gazed above; and
the swinging light of my lantern fell full upon the white bones of a
skeleton.
For a moment I stood motionless, gazing, while the crabs scuttled out
of the light. My thought was, "Poor wretch, he must have been caught
in the tide." At that moment there came a little slap of water at my
feet. It was like some evil serpent of the sea thrusting out a cold,
lean throat towards me, flickering about me with a cruel forked tongue,
gathering itself to strike. So unnerving was the swift impression that
with a cold panic at my heart I turned and fled, splashing down the
tunnel to safety; and for a couple of days or more I dared not venture
back, though again and again I dived into the cavern intending to
pursue my search, and unravel the meaning of that skeleton.
But for a while I couldn't bring my courage to the necessary pitch.
The thought of being trapped there like that drowned wretch, of having
my flesh eaten off me by those loathsome, hurrying creatures I had
startled with my lantern, was too dreadful a prospect. I told myself
that in a day or two I should regain my nerve. Meanwhile to erase
the impression I set myself to accomplish a feat I had long vowed
to attempt: the scaling of that great bulging rock that overbrowed
Ebb-Tide Pool.
My various efforts would be of little interest even if I could describe
them in detail. It is enough to record that at the third or fourth
attempt I found a way up. There on the top was the level space I had
often climbed down to from above, but had never before scaled from
below. Beneath me lay the pool of smooth water, so tempting with
the sun blazing upon it, that, although I had never dived from such
a height, without a thought I flung out my arms and shot downwards
through a thrilling rush of air, while the blue pool seemed to leap up
at me from below and engulf me with its closing waters.
I rose to the surface panting and glowing and wonderfully excited. For
the second time I climbed to the level platform to hurl myself once
more into the pool beneath.
* * * * *
I think my success in climbing the great jutting rock heartened me for
my real task. The next day I set forth in great spirit. I clambered
down to the platform, stripped off my clothes, but as always, belted my
knife about me, and plunged into the pool and under the arch. I was
soon at the surface, puffing and treading water, closed about by the
darkness of Drift-Wood Cavern. The tide was almost at full ebb; so not
wasting a moment I was out of the water and had lit my lantern; for I
kept a store of oil in the cavern with my food and other necessaries,
so that I could resume work whenever convenient. I had soon roughly
dried myself and pulled on some clothes, and stuffing some biscuits in
my pocket I set off with all speed down the tunnel, not wasting time by
feeling to left and right, but making straight ahead, intent on finding
the skeleton. It wasn't very long before I was once more standing at
the foot of the slope with the light of my lantern gleaming whitely on
the clean-picked bones above.
I had to climb to reach the thing, for the tunnel rose sharply.
Reaching it I stooped to examine it. There was an earthenware bottle
about its neck, and this immediately caught my eyes. It was tightly
corked, I found; so tightly that when I had pulled the bottle away
from the rotten string that held it, I had some difficulty in digging
out the cork with my knife. But at last I had cut it away. Inside
there was a folded slip of paper. Trembling with excitement I thrust
my finger in, and eventually succeeded in working out the paper. But
it was inconceivably old and yellow; and although the water had been
kept away from it, it was sadly the worse for age, not to mention the
damage caused by my excited fingering as I had worked it free. So it
was only after a careful and close perusal that I began to understand
something of the faded writing. But what I did understand set my blood
madly beating at my ears and temples. The man hadn't been trapped, as I
had thought, having penetrated over-boldly into the tunnel; he had been
working from the other direction, from somewhere deep under the earth,
and had never reached the sea.
Little by little as I studied the paper I began to piece out a story
of crime and horror which struck strangely familiar to my mind.
Here was one who had been searching for that gold; another victim
of the curse, I told myself, darkly wondering how many had been the
victims of the outraged gods if the whole tale of them were numbered.
He too had been one of a party who had found and handled the gold;
but as usual--and the recurrence of the thing seemed absurd in its
inevitability--there had been strife and disagreement. As in the old
story of the manuscript, and also in the fanciful yarn of my father's,
there had been treachery and betrayal. The stone that guarded the
cave-mouth had been rolled back upon a party of wretches imprisoning