CALLING Duke I took my lasso and the axe, and started out for a long tramp to the woods, where I might think undisturbed.

That the walk might not be wholly aimless, I decided to go up the beach to the north a little way, and then strike over to that part of the creek which ran down parallel with the beach and follow it up to its head-waters. Poor Duke thought this was a hunting expedition pure and simple. His delight was extravagant to witness. For each foot I travelled he went at least six. Forward and back, ranging to and fro into every nook and corner, with his sensitive nose investigating everything, he made the most of his holiday. The gulls were out as usual, but Duke ignored them completely. Ne had already learned that this fowl was not game, and as he measured all things by that single standard, these birds had sunk to a point in his estimation that was beneath the contempt of a well-bred dog. We routed up an armadillo just after we crossed the creek, and captured it. Being so near home, I carried it back and instructed Miss Alice how to bake it in the oven, in the afternoon, for supper, and filled the oven with wood for her to light at the proper time. Then telling her I might not return much before nightfall, I started anew.

After we had crossed the creek again and had walked about a mile, we came on about a half-dozen pigs on the beach, most probably varying their diet with a few clams. When they saw us the little herd dashed across the sands and into the tangled jungle. Following them I found they had here a beaten path, which showed that this was one of their regular run-ways. I conjectured that this path would lead to the stream at some point, and so took advantage of it. In and out it went, well defined, through the thicket and the jungle; here through dense brakes of fern, there under great trees, until finally the stream was reached at a point higher up than I had ever before ascended. All about were great numbers of calabash trees full of gourds, literally thousands of them in all stages of growth, some fallen to the ground from over-ripeness. The inhabitants of this island need never want for such utensils as could be made of this vegetable product. What greatly surprised me was the size of the stream at this point. It had not seemingly diminished either in depth or width, though I had naturally expected it would be considerably less; for we were over three miles by its winding course from the mouth.

The path, without the aid of which I could not have penetrated the dense growth, led along the bank of the stream close to the water. About a quarter of a mile further on the course of the stream changed, coming around a bend from the west, straight from the cliffs. I pressed on and soon found myself in a deep, narrow gorge, the path still running alongside the stream on a narrow margin of rocky shore, the cliff towering straight up on either hand. On the top of the rocks, at the level of the central plateau, was a dense forest, the trees of which, growing close to the gorge at each side, interlaced in a mass of foliage above, at times shutting out the sky. I followed the stream along the path entirely through the central plateau, and came out on the other side in what I have before spoken of as the north valley.

I was now in a bowl-shaped depression, walled in on the east by the cliffs of the central plateau, through which I had just come by way of the stream-cut gorge; on the west by the western rise or ridge which formed the shore cliffs, and which circled around to the north; and on the south by the connecting ridge between the plateau and the cliffs. The stream wound away in lazy curves through the flat bottom, and its head-waters seemed as far away as ever. To the right hand the sunlit gleam of water caught my eye at a distance, and I passed through the bushes until I discovered a narrow cleft in the rocks to the northwest, through which came a glimpse of the distant sea. There was a park-like appearance to some portion of this enclosure that was delightful. Across the middle, east and west, ran a little knoll, which formed the water-shed. All the water which fed the stream evidently came from the drainage of the valley south of this knoll. What water drained from the north slope probably had to find its way to the sea through the distant cleft.

I followed the stream until the path at its edge faded away to nothing, and then turned off toward the centre of the valley through the open grassy glades which were interspersed among the beautiful groves and clumps of trees. Very soon I came upon decided evidence of the hand of man. An old orange grove was here, planted regularly in rows; the trees broad and spreading, and at least fifty years old, were loaded with the golden, russet-tinted globes. The fruit was sweet and delicious. One variety, a tree with gnarled branches and mossy trunk, bore literally thousands of the small, yellow mandarin oranges, with a skin loose and thin as paper. Here too were rows of red-berried coffee-trees, thorny limes, and low-growing lemons, with here and there a dark-leafed grape-fruit. The whole plantation was more or less choked with weeds and undergrowth, clearly indicating abandonment, perhaps for years.

Near by were the great banner-like leaves of the banana and plantain, in abundance. This was a most valuable find, and it removed from my mind all fear of lack of food. Man can live almost upon the plantain alone. And it has been said that this valuable fruit furnishes food to more millions than any other vegetable product, not even excepting rice. Pushing on through the luxuriant growth that cumbered the earth, I came out finally into a little clearing on the top of the rise and found before me several low buildings. The weeds that grew all about, choking the paths and overflowing in all directions, too plainly told the tale of long desertion and abandonment. There was a principal dwelling-house of a single story, built of adobes, with a wide veranda; also three smaller houses at a little distance,—servants’ quarters probably; a large, low shed about which were scattered great heaps of old bagasse, or crushed sugar-cane, which indicated a sugar plantation; a tobacco-curing shed, in which still hung some shreds and fragments of withered tobacco; and other outhouses. There was an air of desolation about the place that was most depressing, as I stood waist-deep among the thrifty growth of weeds in the clear, hot sunshine, looking in astonishment at the scene.

I opened the front door and went into the house. All was vacancy and desolation,—dust, cobwebs, stains of water that had leaked in and pooled in spots upon the floor, dead flies, bugs, and spiders. There was a broken window-pane in one room, and through the small opening thus made had entered a great litter of dead leaves, which lay strewn about, indicating by their number the considerable time that must have elapsed while one by one they chanced to blow through the narrow opening. I was glad to get out again into the open air.

Here had been at one time a considerable plantation. Hundreds of acres had doubtless been under cultivation, and the busy sounds of life had been heard where now, save for the mournful complaint of a dove cooing from the orange grove for its mate, all was still.

That this plantation should have been unknown to me all this time seemed surprising to me at the moment. But in truth, had I not followed up the course of the creek, it is quite probable I never should have discovered it; for all about on every hand were rocky walls and dense foliage, both hiding it from view and rendering it difficult of access. There were really but two roads to this place from the outer world, one by the way I had just come, and the other by way of the sea through the distant cleft above spoken of.

Traces of a broad road led from the buildings toward this cleft, and I followed it down past the remains of sugar, corn, and tobacco fields, until I stood on the margin of a deep, rock-walled cove, open on one side to the valley, where was a rude landing-pier, and on the other by a narrow gate or passage to the sea. This was the harbor and port of the old plantation. The cove, though so small, would have floated a man-of-war, and was almost land-locked, the narrow entrance not being above thirty feet in width at the water level.

I remembered that when I made the circuit of the island on foot I waded across the mouth of this cove at low water. There must therefore be a bar, with barely water enough at low tide to get a boat over; but at high tide there would probably be twelve or fifteen feet. That I did not see the wooden pier at that time was due to the fact that the cove took a bend to the left after entering from the sea. Had the rocks been less abrupt, I should doubtless have turned in at that time and endeavored to cross the island here instead of going a mile farther north, beyond the limits of the valley.

I wandered over the abandoned plantation in all directions for several hours, but found nothing of special interest except a flock of half-wild domestic chickens, descendants doubtless of some left by the former residents here. I gathered a dozen leaves of tobacco, thinking that Mr. Millward might like to have a cigar. After eating the frugal lunch I had brought, supplemented with some fruit, I sat down under an orange-tree and rolled me a cigar of some of the dried leaf, which I lighted with the burning-glass, and proceeded to enjoy a quiet smoke of the fragrant tobacco. While I sat thus slowly and placidly cogitating over the means of reaching the treasure, and varying that line of thought from time to time with speculations as to the former inhabitants of the island, suddenly the whole plan which had been floating unformed in my mind took concrete shape, apparently of its own accord and without effort. The riddle was read and the problem was solved.

The day had worn away, and the afternoon was half over when I concluded it was high time to be gone. So I got me a great banana-leaf, gathered a goodly lot of fruit, taking samples of all, including some of the coffee-berries, and tying the whole securely in a bundle with the banana-leaf and some bark strips, started for home, which I safely reached an hour before sunset.

As I came in sight of the house I saw standing poised on a rock near the creek the graceful figure of Alice Millward, evidently on the lookout up the beach to see if the wanderers were coming. I waved my hand, and she at once jumped down and began to put the supper in readiness. And when I reached the house I found the table all spread beneath the porch, and the hot baked armadillo smoking on the board. I untied my great bundle and spread out before them the supply of oranges, lemons, plantains, bananas, etc., in a tempting heap.

As soon as Mr. Millward caught sight of the red berries, he cried, “Ah, delightful! you have found coffee! That was the chief thing your island lacked, friend Morgan. Now we can have our morning cup of coffee. But where did you find all this?”

“Come, father, let us have our supper, while it is hot,” interrupted Alice Millward, “and the fruit will be a dessert for us. And I am sure while we are at table Mr. Morgan will tell us his adventures, and where he has been to-day.”

This was too plainly desirable on all hands to be gainsaid, at least so far as the first part of the proposal was concerned.

Of course I had to go over the whole ground and describe the old, abandoned plantation as minutely and completely as I could, and to answer a hundred inquiries about it. The question was raised whether we had better not go there to live while we remained on the island, but it was decided that for the present we had better remain where we were, for several reasons; one reason was the trouble of removal, another the fact that we would there lose the refreshing sea breeze, and there were others quite sufficient to determine the matter in favor of staying. But at any rate we would as soon as possible sail around in the boat to the plantation cove and make a visit to the plantation. Speculation was indulged in as to who had lived there, and when and why the place had been abandoned. The explanation offered by Mr. Millward was quite satisfactory. He had frequently known of plantations being made on the outlying islands, and stated that they were always subsequently abandoned because of the difficulty of reaching a market for the products, the necessity for frequent voyages in the sloops and small vessels, and also the difficulty of keeping workmen and assistants long in such places, except as slaves.

After the supper was over I rolled a dry tobacco-leaf into a couple of ungainly cigars and handed one to the old man. The pleasure he expressed at this simple offering was quite extravagant.

“Indeed, young man, you have made here a wonderful find,—quite equal in every respect to the coffee. This is the true solace and comfort of the contemplative man. I thank you most sincerely.”

But he would not light the cigar; he had other views of the proper use to make of it. Drawing from his coat pocket a venerable brown pipe, he proceeded to break up my cigar and fill the bowl with the fragments.

“Now,” said he when he had finished, “if you will give me a light I will warm the heart of this old companion, and my own at the same time.”

“Mr. Millward,” said I, after we had the smoking fairly started, “I have found the way to the treasure in the sunken galleon.”

“Ah, then you have hit upon a plan of making the air-pump. Well, I am in a mood just now to believe you can do it. Pray let us know about it.”

“No, sir, I have not found any way to build an air-pump. But I have found, I think, that we shall not need one.”

“But how can you get air to breathe under water unless it is pumped to you?” said Miss Alice.

“I do not expect to go under water,” said I in reply. And continuing, “I am inclined to enjoy your perplexity a little, for perplexity is what I have been enduring myself until a very simple idea occurred to me this very afternoon. But it is not fair to expect you will understand without explanation in a moment what another could not understand for months. The simple fact is this: if I cannot go under water to the ship, why should I not bring the ship out of water to me? It is the old case, you see, of the mountain and Mahomet.”

“Yes, I see it is,” said the old man,—“with this difference, that you propose to have the mountain come to Mahomet.”

Thereupon I laid my whole plan before them, which was briefly this: to attach to the hulk, one at a time, sinking them under water, enough empty calabashes to raise it and float it gradually in to shore, where at low tide it would be above water. The mechanical principle was the common one belonging to every device which converts speed into power; as, for example, the lever, the screw, or the inclined plane. Little by little with slight exertion of power each calabash or gourd could be pulled down under water to the wreck, and would continue thereafter to lift as many pounds as were required to pull it down. When this lifting power was multiplied by enough of the calabashes, the wreck would surely be raised. It was, after all, only a modification of the method of raising hulks by sinking and attaching barges partly full of water and then pumping the water out and causing them to rise and lift the wreck. In that case the slow application of the power was accomplished by pumping. In the proposed method it consisted in pulling down the calabashes one at a time.

Mr. Millward likened the operation to the lifting of an entire building by the hod carrier who carried a few bricks at a load up the ladder.

“But how will you attach your numerous calabashes to the hull?” said the old man after a little thought. “It will take a great number.”

“That I will explain to you in detail,” said I, and thereupon set forth minutely the entire plan of operation. The explanation was satisfactory to his mind. He at once said to me that he thought the thing feasible, and was satisfied that it would probably succeed.

What those minute details were and how successfully they were carried out will appear when we come to the account of the attempt which was subsequently made.

“Now,” said I, “we have a great quantity of rope to make, some hawsers, and a huge supply of small rope and cord. To do this will take a long time, and I have a notion that some sort of a spinning or twisting machine will be necessary. We must establish a regular rope-walk here in a small way.”

This immediately led to a long discussion and a consideration of rope-making machinery in general, at the conclusion of which I thought I could see a way of making a sort of spinning-machine for twisting rope-yarn out of the cocoa husks, and also a reel for laying such strands up into rope. Having worked out the plan in my own mind I resolved to set about it at once. Mr. Millward had given his hearty assent to remain on the island long enough to make a full effort to recover the treasure, and I began now to look forward to a successful completion of my task.

The full moon that evening was shining over the calm sea out of a clear sky with a pure silvery radiance, and a cool, gentle breath of air, scarcely enough to ripple the surface of the sea, fanned our faces as we three sat looking out upon the water from under the little porch. It was a lovely night, almost too beautiful to put to such commonplace use as sleep. In a little while Mr. Millward asked me to push his couch into the house, as he thought he would retire. After that Alice Millward and I sat for an hour longer, enjoying the moonlight and talking low so as not to disturb him.

She told me much about the wandering life she and her father had led; of the many kind and thoughtful acts of the poor benighted laborers who formed his audiences; of her own efforts to learn Hindostanee that she might help him in his work; of the hardships and sorrows of these people, and of the strange characteristics of the various races, Hindoo, Chinese, and negro that made up the heterogeneous mass to which her dear father had undertaken to teach the word of God.

“How do you like the idea, Miss Millward,” said I, “of staying several months longer on the island?”

“I am delighted,” answered she. “It is pleasant to see my father improving so rapidly; and the days pass quickly with the work we have to do. You know I like such housework, and have never had much chance to do it. Now here I am in sole charge of all the housekeeping arrangements, nobody to say I must not do this, or must do that. I feel quite as though I were empress, with none to dispute my sway. Ought I not to be contented?”

“I am very glad you are contented,” said I, “and hope you may continue so. For I want to see you happy. Indeed, Miss Millward,” I continued, with a slight tremor in my voice in spite of myself, “having done myself the honor to save you from the sea, I feel somehow responsible for your comfort and welfare, at least, I mean, while you remain on this island, and until you and your father reach civilization and your friends again. And even then I shall—I shall not like entirely to lose sight of you. It gives me pain to think that our ways may then perhaps lie far apart from each other.”

Now there was a twang of maudlin sentimentality in this, which I recognized as I spoke the words, and this was magnified and intensified by the moonlight, and the trembling voice, so that I felt somehow as though I wanted to knock my head against something hard. I somehow felt too that she ought in all consistency to laugh at me. But she did not laugh. And though I could see her clear-cut beautiful profile in the moonlight, there was no sign of even a smile upon it. God bless me! how wonderfully pure and sweet she did look that night.

After a short silence I added, “I hope after we leave the island we shall not become wholly strangers, you and I and your father.”

“Why, Mr. Morgan,” said she, smiling now, and turning her candid eyes to me, “I thought we had just decided not to leave the island for some months. I am very sure that we,—my father and I and you can never become strangers. We must always be the best of friends whatever happens. It is not so easy to forget a good friend as you seem to imagine. And you have surely been one to us,—and especially to my poor father in his helplessness. But the dew is falling fast, and I must now go in. Good night, my friend, my good friend.”

I sat long after that, alone in the moonlight, with the dew sparkling on each leaf in silvery lustre, thinking of my new found love, and hoping and despairing by turns, until the regular and peaceful breathing of the old man reminded me that I was uselessly dissipating precious hours that should be devoted to sleep.