THE "HAPPY RETURN" INSPECTED—MORE OF MY FATHER'S GHOST—UNPACKING THE TREASURE—SEEK AN INTERVIEW WITH WALTER JOHNSON—TWO LETTERS.

At eight I arose refreshed and looked out of the window, and saw Alec and my father walking down to the "Happy Return," so I slipped on my clothes and ran down to them.

Father was amazed to think we had made the voyage in such a craft, and said, "All's well that ends well, my lad; but if you had been caught in a squall in the Channel, with a deeply laden boat like this, what do you think would have become of her crew?"

Then I explained how we had hugged first the French coast and then the English, going into port when we wanted; and how we had been favoured with fair winds and fine weather, which just pleased the old fellow. If anyone wanted an attentive listener let him broach the subject of ships and the sea, and he would at once have my dad as a most appreciative hearer. Shipwrecks and disasters at sea on the East Coast are, unfortunately, of only too frequent occurrence, and a large volume might be written of the daring deeds that have been performed in connection with them, which have come under my own observation.

By the way, I promised my readers to say more of the vision of my father, which appeared to me in Jethou. Now that I was home I had the opportunity of telling him of this extraordinary occurrence. He was naturally surprised at what I told him, and could only account for it in one way. But let me briefly tell the reader what really occurred to him.

He had been to Yarmouth as usual to business, and in the evening was driving home when, in rounding a sharp turn, his trap was carelessly run into by another vehicle driven by a lad. My father was thrown out, falling upon the shaft of his own trap on his left side. As he was lying in an insensible condition in the roadway, the horse, in trying to rise, fell upon or kicked him in the thigh, breaking his leg. He was conveyed home, and a doctor sent for, who, in a short time, brought him to his senses. Upon examination it was found that his thigh-bone and a rib on his left side were broken. While preparations were being made to set these bones my father conversed eagerly about the nature of his hurts, asking the doctor if they were likely to prove fatal, etc. The doctor told him "No, not necessarily, but he must keep his mind quiet and not worry." Then he told the doctor about me, as it was for my sake he cared most, and it was at this time, viz., half-past eight p.m., that I saw the vision of my father sitting in my room at Jethou. The mysterious appearance was in some way connected with his will, but how it was all brought about I must leave to the Psychical Society to fathom.[8]

About ten in the morning Miss Grant came, and then I proposed that with father's assistance we should get out the whole of the cargo and store it in the spare room. I would not hear of his offer of a couple of men to help, as I wanted nobody but ourselves to know of what our cargo consisted.

Slowly the various cases, bales, and packages were transported across the greensward and safely housed, the heavy iron chest bringing up the rear. This took the united strength of four of us to carry, and when we had put it in the room, I locked the door and proceeded to show my spoil.

First I exhibited the curiosities which we had dredged up, a few stuffed fish and birds, my sketches, curious stones, shells, and seaweed, etc. These were duly admired. Then I brought out the old weapons, and undid the bundles of garments, but being rather musty the effect upon my onlookers was not great; in fact, my mother gave it as her opinion that they (the costumes) might breed a fever or some foreign disease, and should be buried or burnt. To this I could not consent however till I had had a little more time to look them over and make drawings of them; not that I ever intended setting up as a theatrical costumier, but I have a great love for anything old, which my friends tell me will ultimately become chronic, so that I shall have to be watched when visiting museums and kindred places, for fear of the development of kleptomania.

Expectation ran high as I produced the key of the padlock to unchain the big chest, for we had purchased an old lock at Alderney, from mine host of the inn. The lid was raised, and I produced the three books, but as no one could read them they were put down as evil-smelling things, musty and mysterious.

Next the small golden casket was produced and handed round, amid great exclamations of delight, for I had polished it till it glittered again in the sunlight. The polished gems on the lid and sides found great favour in the sight of mother and Priscilla, who were quite lost in wonder as to where I had obtained it. Presently I opened it, and poured the uncut gems out upon the table, as a sample of Jethou pebbles; but they were not much appreciated, although when held to the light they certainly shewed rich colouring.

"Only fancy walking about on a beach covered with these coloured stones. I should think they look rather pretty when they are wet with sea water and the sun shines on them. But then I suppose when you see them by the ton, day after day, you take no notice of them?"

This was Priscilla's idea, and when I told her that they were not so common as to be walked upon or shovelled up by the ton, but that they were really and truly diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, in their natural uncut state, she would scarcely believe it. Even my mother expressed her incredulity with the remark, "Go along, boy! I suppose we shall not know a turnip from an apple next?"

As my veracity appeared to be at stake I now produced a little pouch of cut, lustrous gems, which at once brought forth quite a different flight of exclamations and queries.

"The ducks! How lovely! How they glitter! See how the sun makes them look as if they were alight! Are they really real? Where did you get them from? Are they yours?" and a dozen other questions were put to me in as many seconds, but I only laughed and said:

"Now do you believe me?"

The gold dishes, chalices, etc., were also produced, and made a great impression—gold always does.

My good old dad stood by, looking very grave, and gave a very emphatic shake of his head, so I said:

"What do you think of it all?"

Another shake of the head, and then:

"I don't know what to make of it at all, Harry; but if these things are yours, I hope you came by them honestly. Such things are not indigenous to Jethou, you know!"

"Not indigenous to Jethou! Why, Alec will bear me out that they have been indigenous to the island for scores of years, won't you, Alec?"

"It is quite true, Mr. Nilford. These things have belonged to Jethou for a century at least, but I cannot affirm that they are actually the native produce of the island, any more than the contents of these bags."

He thereupon pulled out one of the great leathern bags and placed in my father's hand, who nearly dropped it, as it weighed over a stone.

When the old gentleman saw the huge silver coins, each more than double the size of a five-shilling piece, he seemed spell-bound.

"What are they? Are all the bags full?" he queried.

"Yes, dad; and now if you will all sit down I will tell you the history of my curious cargo."

Then I told them from beginning to end the entire history of Barbe Rouge's hoard, just as it is already known to the reader. I wound up my wonderful recital by calling for pen, ink, and paper, and there and then writing off to M. Oudin, in Paris, giving him a full account of the find, and asking what should be done with the property.

By Priscilla's desire I did not visit the Priory that day, but on the morrow, after lunch, I took my heavy stick and strode up the gravel path and gave a very important rat-a-tat-tat at the great oak door. The servant who answered my summons informed me, much to my disappointment, that both Mr. Johnson and his son had gone to Liverpool the previous day, the former to see the latter off. Something of importance, the servant thought, had caused him to depart two days before the date upon which it was at first intended he should leave Barton. With a glance at my big stick I thought perhaps I had somehow influenced his hegira, and such I afterwards found to be the case.

As I was bidding the servant (who did not know me) "good morning" she asked my name, and upon my mentioning that I was Mr. Nilford's son, asked me to wait while she fetched a letter which had been left in case I should call. Mr. Johnson had also left a letter for Miss Grant. This I said I should have much pleasure in delivering, and took them both.

Arrived home I found Priscilla waiting for me in great anxiety, fearing that if Walter Johnson was at home something serious between us might occur. Probably something would have occurred. She seemed greatly upset, and taking me aside, said she had something to impart to me, which I must promise to forgive her for. I consented.

"Then, Harry, I must confess to having written to Walter Johnson yesterday. No, do not look in that terrible manner, for I did it both for your good and his. I simply informed him that you were home and would call upon him to-day, so that if he wished to avoid a violent scene he had better hasten his departure."

I could say nothing to this, as I felt that what she had done had saved a deal of bother. Then I handed her the letter inscribed with her name. To my surprise she would not open it herself, and no amount of persuasion would cause her to. She wished me to open it and read its contents, that I might see all was fair and straightforward. It merely asked forgiveness for the writer for having behaved in such an ungentlemanly manner, and hoping that as all was fair in love and war, she would think of him as one who, having striven for a great prize, had failed. Although defeated, he hoped she would remember him as one not disgraced, etc., etc.

My letter contained a cheque for a hundred pounds, as payment for a wager lost to me, and wishing me every happiness. I ardently wished I could have been near the writer at that instant, and I fancy he would not only have felt most unhappy, but that he would have spent a mauvais quart d'heure, as our Gallic neighbours say. So much for Johnson, who never troubled us again.

[8] I find, on enquiry, that this Society has some hundreds of well-authenticated accounts of these occult occurrences, and it really seems that we are often sceptical of these phenomena, without taking the trouble to investigate the cases that come under our immediate notice to discover their truthfulness.