Chapter XXVI How we prospected for Coal
I happened to have some distant relatives in Hull, and, partly because I could not as yet make up my mind upon the particular cock-and-bull story that would best serve me with the Russian Consul, and partly because, I suppose, if one possesses very few relatives of any kind the heart warms towards even very distant ones when there is a chance of making or renewing acquaintance with them, I determined to pay them a call.
I was glad afterwards that I did so; for my father’s cousin and his people were pleasant folk, and I have since learned to know and value them well. But over and above these good and sufficient domestic reasons there was another. My relative was well acquainted with the Russian Consul, I found, and not only did he offer to introduce me to that official, but even volunteered to go with me and use his good offices in persuading Mr. Oboohofsky to grant my request.
My cousin, moreover, knew something of mining matters, and was somewhat enthusiastic about my idea of coal and iron to be found in paying quantities in Hogland. There were coalfields in Esthonia, he said; why not in the islands off the coast? Why not, indeed? I began to look upon Hogland as a kind of “land of promise,” and grew quite in love with my own ridiculous fable of exploiting the place for mineral wealth, though at the same time I was somewhat ashamed of myself for, as it were, taking in my relative in this matter. There might be coal and iron, however, in the place, and if I happened to find any, why, so much the better; my cousin should have the entire profit and exploitation of it for himself.
Still, I would not promise to dig very deep for it; that would depend upon the depth at which old Clutterbuck had buried his money-boxes; I should go no deeper than that!
The Russian Consul was a practical person, and did not feel so enthusiastic about my mining schemes as I had hoped he would. He wanted to know why on earth I had thought of going to the Gulf of Finland for coal; whereupon I trotted out my Esthonian coalfields—knowledge culled from some physical geography book, and, by some inscrutably mysterious process of mind, remembered where most other items of knowledge were clean gone out.
Then he asked, why particularly Hogland? And it was at this point of the conversation that I showed a readiness of resource and a nice appreciation of difficult situations, otherwise “corners,” and of how to get out of them, which, if I could only act at all times up to the “form” of that morning in September, would undoubtedly lead me into very high places in the diplomatic and political world.
I pointed out to the Russian Consul that for purposes of coaling the Baltic fleet a fuel-producing island like Hogland, in mid-channel on the direct line from Cronstadt to everywhere else, would be an unspeakable boon to the nation. At present most of the coal used by Russian warships came from Hull and other English and Welsh ports But what if the Baltic were blocked in time of war?
The Russian Consul did not burst into tears, and, while thanking Heaven for this revelation of the terrible possibilities of the future, entreat me, with streaming eyes, to go to Hogland and find a little coal for his imperial master’s warships; but he laughed, and said that the English were wonderful people, and seemed to be for ever prepared to take a great deal of trouble all over the world on the chance of very small results, and added that he hoped, if I found my coal, that I would make him a director of the company started to work it and would present him with a few shares.
I promised that if I found coal I would let him know, but we have never corresponded.
However, thanks to the good offices of my cousin, who was quite intimate with the Consul, and my own obvious enthusiasm, which he did not for a moment suspect to be founded on any more substantial basis than coal—and extremely problematical coal at that—Mr. Consul Oboohofsky granted my request for permission to land at Hogland, and countersigned my passport to that effect with the words—“Bon pour l’île de Hochland;” and Jack Henderson’s also.
This matter being satisfactorily arranged, and there being still four days to pass before a start could be made, I ran down to Gloucestershire and spent that time with Jack and his sister, who is one of the sweetest girls that ever—but no, I think I will not enter into that matter in this place; if I have anything more to say about the Hendersons and their family circle I shall say it later on.
Enough that on the Saturday following Jack and I returned to Hull and took ship on board the Thomas Wilcox, whose captain had special permission from his owners to land us on the island of Hogland. I confess that I left the shores of England feeling depressed and miserable, and disinclined to go and dig for treasure or anything else, and that I looked long and sadly back at the dull shores of the Humber and wondered whereabouts exactly lay Gloucestershire, and what the good folks at Henderson Court were doing just at this moment, and especially Gladys—there I go again!
The North Sea is a cruel, ruthless body of water, and a stumbling-block to passengers. I had travelled to the Cape and back, and scarcely felt inconvenience; but here, one day out from England, I was treated to such a pitching and a rolling and a tumbling that my very soul refused comfort, and I lay and wished I was dead like any novice upon shipboard; and so did Jack, which was a great consolation to me, and did me more good than all the ministrations of the benevolent chief steward and the encouragement of kind Captain Edwards.
But all was forgotten and forgiven when Copenhagen was reached and the historical castle of Elsinore, one of the ugliest fastnesses, I should say, that ever mason put together for the joint accommodation of long-dead, disreputable kings, exemplary living monarchs, and respectable ghosts.
We passed Elsinore at midnight, and I did think that—as we had paid a good sum of money for our passages, and had stayed up and yawned for an hour beyond our usual sea-time for retiring—there might have been some little spiritual manifestation for our benefit. But Hamlet’s father is, I suppose, laid by this time; or the rebuilt castle, upon whose battlements he used to walk, is not to his taste (in which case he is the ghost of a wise and discriminating spirit!), for he never appeared to us; and we were obliged to retire to bed baffled and disappointed, resolved to pen a complaint to the Psychical Research authorities, who ought to see that passengers viâ Elsinore are not disappointed in this way.
And so on into the Baltic, and past many islands belonging to Denmark and Sweden, and with distant glimpses of a most uninteresting-looking mainland; and presently the Gulf of Finland was reached, and our pulses began to beat once more with the old ardour of treasure hunting—a sensation we had almost forgotten since the agitating days of the Ngami search, and the many exciting adventures and crises through which we had passed in the last three months.
As we drew hourly nearer to our island, my excitement grew positively painful. I was oppressed with a kind of horror that we should find Strong waiting to be taken off, with a smile of triumph upon his face and a cheque for one hundred thousand pounds securely buttoned up in his breast pocket!
Captain Edwards, who proved a good and kind friend to us throughout, strongly recommended us to take with us to Hogland a sailor—one whom he could easily spare us, since he was now within a twelve hours’ run of his destination—of Russian nationality, who could speak English. He had more than one such “hand” on board, and we arranged with a certain Michail Andreyef to land with us and act as our interpreter—a post which that gentleman, having ascertained that no work of any kind would be involved in the situation, accepted with alacrity at a moderate wage; and remarkably useful he proved to us in our sojourn in that lonely island.
I do not think that Michail, good man, would have landed with us if he had known that there was no drinking shop on the island; but he found out our flasks after a day or two, and these no doubt afforded him some little consolation, though, of course, the contents did not last him long, and he was only drunk three days on the entire proceeds. And now here, at last, was Hogland itself—our Eldorado, as we hoped, if only James Strong had not already landed and ruined our prospects!
How I stared at it, and wondered and wondered whether the fateful tin box that contained old Clutterbuck’s cheque lay somewhere within its soil, peacefully slumbering until the right man came along to unearth the treasure! And oh! how I wished it might prove that Strong had neither arrived nor forestalled me!