Chapter XVIII Gathering Up the Threads
But, though it was hard to astonish and almost impossible to alarm the “King,” his sense of wonder was quite another matter, and the boyish delight with which he listened to our several stories would have made it worth while to undergo tenfold the perils we had faced. And the best of it was that we each had a new audience in the others—for none of us knew what had happened to the rest, and how it chanced that we should all come to meet at that moment of crisis on the sea. Our stories, said the “King,” were quite in the manner of “The Arabian Nights,” dovetailing one into the other.
“And now,” he added, “we will begin with the Story of the Murdered Slave and the Stolen Lady.”
Calypso told her story simply and in a few words. The first part of it, of which the poor murdered Samson had been the eloquent witness, needed no further telling. He had done his brave best—poor fellow—but Tobias had had six men with him, and it was soon over. Her they had gagged and bound and carried in a sort of improvised sedan-chair; Tobias had done the thing with a certain style and—she had to admit—with absolute courtesy.
When they had gone a mile or two from the house, he had had the gag taken from her mouth, and, on her promise not to attempt to escape (which was, of course, quite impossible) he had also had her unbound, so that her hurried journey through the woods was made as comfortable as possible. Certainly it had not been without its spice of romance, for four of the men had carried lanterns, and their progress must have had a very picturesque effect lighting up the blackness of the strange trees.
Tobias had walked at her side the whole way, without speaking a word.
They were making, she had gathered—and as we had surmised—for the northern shore, and, after about a three hours’ march, she heard the sound of the sea. On the schooner she had found a cabin all nicely prepared for her—even dainty toilet necessaries—and an excellent dinner was served, on some quite pretty china, to her alone. Poor Tobias had seemed bent on showing—as he had said to Tom—that he was not the “carrion” we had thought him.
After dinner, Tobias had respectfully asked leave for a few words with her. He had apologised for his action, but explained that it was necessary—the only way he had left, he said, of protecting his own interests, and safeguarding a treasure which belonged to him and no one else, if it belonged to any living man. It had seemed to her that it was a monomania with him. His eyes had gleamed so, as he spoke of it, that she had felt a little frightened for the first time—for he seemed like a madman on the subject.
While he had been talking, she had made up her mind what she would do. She would tell him the plain truth about her doubloons, and offer him what remained of them as a ransom. This she did, and was able at last half to persuade him that, so far as any one knew, that was all the treasure there was, and that the digging among the ruins of the old house was a mere fancy of her father’s. There might be something there or not—and she went so far as to give her word of honour that, if anything was found, he should have his share of it.
It was rather a woman’s way, she admitted, but she thought that, so long as she kept Tobias near the island, some favouring incident might happen at any moment—that the proffered ransom, in fact, might prove the bait to a trap.
Tobias had seemed impressed, and promised his answer in the morning, leaving her to sleep—with a sentry at her cabin door. She had slept soundly, and wakened only at dawn. As soon as she was up, Tobias had come to her, saying that he had accepted her offer, and asking her to direct him to her treasure.
This she had done, and, to avoid passing the settlement, they had taken the course round the eastern end of the island. As they had approached the cave (and here Calypso turned a quizzical smile on me, which no one, of course, understood but ourselves), a sloop was seen approaching them from the westward... and here she stopped and turned to Charlie Webster.
“Now,” said the “King,” “we shall hear the Story of Apollo—or, let us say, rather Ajax—the Far-Darter—He of the Arrow that never missed its mark.”
And Charlie Webster, more at home with deeds than words, blushed and blushed through his part of the story, telling how—having called at the settlement—he had got our message from Sweeney, and was making up the coast for the hidden creek. He had spied what he felt sure was Tobias’s schooner—had called on him “In the King’s Name” to surrender—(“I had in my pocket the warrant for his arrest,” said Charlie, with innocent pride—“the d——d scoundrel”) but had been answered with bullets. He had been terribly frightened, he owned, when Calypso had been brought on deck, but she had given him courage—he paused to beam on her, a broad-faced admiration, for which he could find no words—and, as he had never yet missed a flying duck at—I forget how many yards Charlie mentioned—well... perhaps he oughtn’t to have risked it—And so his story came to an end, amid reassuring applause.
“Now,” said the “King,” “for the Story of the Disappearing Gentleman and the Lighted Lantern.”
And then I told my story as it is already known to the reader, and I have to confess that, when I came to the chestful of doubloons and pieces of eight, I had a very attentive audience. But, at first, the “King” shook his head with an amused smile.
“Ulysses is romancing for the benefit of my romantic second childhood,” he said, and then, after his favourite manner he added—
“I might not this believe
Without the sensible and true avouch of mine own eyes...”
Then, he was for starting off that very night. But, reminded of the difficult seclusion in which the treasure still lay, he was persuaded to wait till the morrow.
“At dawn then,” he said, “to-morrow—‘what time, the rosy-footed dawn’... so be it. And now I am going to talk to Ajax the Far-Darter of duck-shooting.”
“But wait!” I cried. “Why did ‘Jack Harkaway’ go to Nassau?”
Calypso blushed. The “King” chuckled.
“I prefer not to be known in Nassau, yet some of my business has to be done there. Nor is it safe for beauty like Calypso’s to go unprotected. So from time to time, ‘Jack Harkaway’ goes for us both! And now enough of explanations!”; and he launched into talk of game and sport in various parts of the world, to the huge delight of the great simple-hearted Charlie.
But, after a time, other matters claimed the attention of his other auditors. During the flow of his discourse night had fallen. Calypso and I perceived that we were forgotten—so, by an impulse that seemed to be one, we rose and left them there, and stole out into the garden where the little fountain was dancing like a spirit under the moon, and the orange trees gave out their perfume on the night breeze. I took her hand, and we walked softly out into the moonlight, and looked down at the closed lotuses in the little pool. And then we took courage to look into each other’s eyes.
“Calypso,” I said, “when are you going to show me where you keep your doubloons?”—and I added, in a whisper, “Jack—when am I going to see you in boy’s clothes again?”
And, with that, she was in my arms, and I felt her heart beating against my side.
“O! my treasure,” I said—ever so softly—“Calypso, my treasure.”