THE COAST OF PATAGONIA

For about ten days after the brig _Miranda_ left Valparaiso she had good winds and fair weather, and her progress was satisfactory to all on board, but at the end of that time she entered upon a season of head winds and bad weather. The vessel behaved very well in the stormy days that followed, but she made very little headway. Her course was now laid toward the Gulf of Penas, after reaching which she would sail along the protected waterways between the chain of islands which lie along the coast and the mainland, and which lead into the Straits of Magellan.

When the weather at last changed and the sea became smoother, it was found that the working and straining of the masts during the violent weather had opened some of the seams of the brig, and that she was taking in water. She was a good vessel, but she was an old one, and she had had a rough time of it. The captain thanked his stars that she had not begun to leak before the storm.

The short-handed crew went to work at the pumps, but, after two days'

hard labor, it was found that the water in the hold steadily gained upon the pumps, and there was no doubt that the _Miranda_ was badly strained.

According to a report from Burke, the water came in forward, aft, and midships. Matters were now getting very serious, and the captain and his two mates consulted together, while the three negroes pumped. It was plain to all of them that if the water kept on gaining, it would not be long before the brig must go to the bottom. To keep her afloat until they reached a port would be impossible. To reach the sh.o.r.e in the boats was quite possible, for they were not a hundred miles from land. But to carry their treasure to land in two small boats was a thing which need not even be considered.

All agreed that there was but one thing to be done. The brig must be headed to land, and if she could be kept afloat until she neared one of the great islands which lie along the Patagonian coast, she might be run into some bay or protected cove, where she could be beached, or where, if she should sink, it might be in water so shallow that all hope of getting at her treasure would not have to be abandoned. In any case, the sooner they got to the sh.o.r.e, the better for them. So the brig's bow was turned eastward, and the pumps were worked harder than ever. There was a good wind, and, considering that the _Miranda_ was steadily settling deeper and deeper, she made very fair progress, and in less than two days after she had changed her course, land was sighted. Not long after, Captain Horn began to hope that if the wind held, and the brig could keep above water for an hour or so, he could double a small headland which now showed itself plainly a couple of miles away, and might be able to beach his vessel.

What a dreary, depressing hope it was that now possessed the souls of Captain Horn, of Burke and Shirley, and of even the three negroes! After all the hardships, the labor, and the anxieties, after all the joy of success and escape from danger, after all happy chances which had come in various ways and from various directions, after the sweet delights of rest, after the super-exultation of antic.i.p.ation which no one on board had been able to banish from his mind, there was nothing left to them now but the eager desire that their vessel might keep afloat until she could find some friendly sands on which she might be run, or some shallow water in which she might sink and rest there on the wild Patagonian coast, leaving them far from human beings of any kind, far from help, far, perhaps, from rescue and even safety.

To this one object each man gave his entire energy, his mind, and his body. Steadily went the pumps, steadily the captain kept his eyes fixed upon the approaching headland, and upon the waters beyond, and steadily, little by little, the _Miranda_ sunk lower and lower into the sea.

At last the headland was reached, and on its ocean side the surf beat high. Keeping well away to avoid shoals or a bar, the _Miranda_ pa.s.sed the southern point of the headland, and slowly sailed into a little bay.

To the left lay the rocky ridge which formed the headland, and less than half a mile away could be seen the shining sands of the smooth beach.

Toward this beach the _Miranda_ was now headed, every sail upon her set, and every nerve upon her strung to its tightest. They went in upon a flood-tide. If he had believed that the brig would float so long, Captain Horn would have waited an hour until the tide was high, so that he might run his vessel farther up upon the beach, but he could not wait, and with a strong west wind he steered straight for the sands.

There was a hissing under the bows, and a shock which ran through the vessel from stem to stern, and then grinding and grinding and grinding until all motion ceased, and a gentle surf began to curl itself against the stern of the brig.

Every halliard was let go, and down came every sail by the run, and then the brig _Miranda_ ended this voyage, and all others, upon the sh.o.r.e of a desolate Patagonian island.

Between the vessel and dry land there was about a hundred feet of water, but this would be much less when the tide went out. Beyond the beach was a stretch of sandy hillocks, or dunes, and back of these was a ma.s.s of scrubby thicket, with here and there a low tree, and still farther back was seen the beginning of what might be a forest. It was a different coast from the desolate sh.o.r.es of Peru.

Burke came aft to the captain.

"Here we are, sir," said he, "and what's to happen next?"

"Happen!" exclaimed the captain. "We must not wait for things to happen!

What we've got to do is to step around lively, and get the gold out of this brig before the wind changes and drives her out into deep water."

Burke put his hands into his pockets. "Is there any good of it, captain?"

said he. "Will we be any better off with the bags on that sh.o.r.e than we would be if they were sunk in this bay?"

"Good of it!" exclaimed the captain. "Don't talk that way, Burke. If we can get it on sh.o.r.e, there is a chance for us. But if it goes to the bottom, out in deep water, there is none. There is no time to talk now.

What we must do is to go to work."

"Yes," said Burke, "whatever happens, it is always work. But I'm in for it, as long as I hold together. But we've got to look out that some of those black fellows don't drop over the bow, and give us the slip."

"They'll starve if they do," said the captain, "for not a biscuit, or a drop of water, goes ash.o.r.e until the gold is out of the hold."

Burke shook his head. "We'll do what we can, captain," said he, "but that hold's a regular fishpond, and we'll have to dive for the bags."

"All right," said the captain, "dive let it be."

The work of removing the gold began immediately. Tackle was rigged. The negroes went below to get out the bags, which were hauled up to the deck in a tub. When a moderate boat-load had been taken out, a boat was lowered and manned, and the bags pa.s.sed down to it.

In the first boat the captain went ash.o.r.e. He considered it wise to land the treasure as fast as it could be taken out of the hold, for no one could know at what time, whether on account of wind from sh.o.r.e or waves from the sea, the vessel might slip out into deep water. This was a slower method than if everybody had worked at getting the gold on deck, and then everybody had worked at getting it ash.o.r.e, but it was a safer plan than the other, for if an accident should occur, if the brig should be driven off the sand, they would have whatever they had already landed. As this thought pa.s.sed through the mind of the captain, he could not help a dismal smile.

"Have!" said he to himself. "It may be that we shall have it as that poor fellow had his bag of gold, when he lay down on his back to die there in the wild desert."

But no one would have imagined that such an idea had come into the captain's mind. He worked as earnestly, and as steadily, as if he had been landing an ordinary cargo at an ordinary dock.

The captain and the men in the boat carried the bags high up on the beach, out of any danger from tide or surf, and laid them in a line along the sand. The captain ordered this because it would be easier to handle them afterwards--if it should ever be necessary to handle them--than if they had been thrown into piles. If they should conclude to bury them, it would be easier and quicker to dig a trench along the line, and tumble them in, than to make the deep holes that would otherwise be necessary.

Until dark that day, and even after dark, they worked, stopping only for necessary eating and drinking. The line of bags upon the sh.o.r.e had grown into a double one, and it became necessary for the men, sometimes the white and sometimes the black, to stoop deeper and deeper into the water of the hold to reach the bags. But they worked on bravely. In the early dawn of the next morning they went to work again. Not a negro had given the ship the slip, nor were there any signs that one of them had thought of such a thing.

Backward and forward through the low surf went the boat, and longer and wider and higher grew the ma.s.s of bags upon the beach.

It was the third day after they had reached sh.o.r.e that the work was finished. Every dripping bag had been taken out of the hold, and the captain had counted them all as they had been put ash.o.r.e, and verified the number by the record in his pocket-book.

When the lower tiers of bags had been reached, they had tried pumping out the water, but this was of little use. The brig had keeled over on her starboard side, and early in the morning of the third day, when the tide was running out, a hole had been cut in that side of the vessel, out of which a great portion of the water she contained had run. It would all come in again, and more of it, when the tide rose, but they were sure they could get through their work before that, and they were right. The bags now lay upon the beach in the shape of a long mound, not more than three feet high, and about four rows wide at the bottom and two at the top. The captain had superintended the arrangement of the bags, and had so shaped the ma.s.s that it somewhat resembled in form the dunes of sand which lay behind it. No matter what might be their next step, it would probably be advisable to conceal the bags, and the captain had thought that the best way to do this would be to throw sand over the long mound, in which work the prevailing western winds would be likely to a.s.sist, and thus make it look like a natural sand-hill. Burke and Shirley were in favor of burial, but the consideration of this matter was deferred, for there was more work to be done, which must be attended to immediately.

Now provisions, water, and everything else that might be of value was taken out of the brig and carried to sh.o.r.e. Two tents were constructed out of sails and spars, and the little party established themselves upon the beach. What would be their next work they knew not, but they must first rest from their long season of heavy labor. The last days had been harder even than the days of storm and the days of pumping.

They had eaten hurriedly and slept but little. Regular watches and irregular watches had been kept--watches against storm, which might sweep the brig with all on board out to sea, watches against desertion, watches against they knew not what. As chief watcher, the captain had scarcely slept at all.

It had been dreary work, unrelieved by hope, uncheered by prospect of success; for not one of them, from the captain down, had any definite idea as to what was to be done after they had rested enough to act.

But they rested, and they went so far as to fill their pipes and stretch themselves upon the sand. When night came on, chilly and dark, they gathered driftwood and dead branches from the thicket and built a camp-fire. They sat around it, and smoked their pipes, but they did not tell stories, nor did they talk very much. They were glad to rest, they were glad to keep warm, but that was all. The only really cheerful thing upon the beach was the fire, which leaped high and blazed merrily as the dried wood was heaped upon it.

CHAPTER x.x.xIX

SHIRLEY SPIES A SAIL

When the _Arato_ changed her mind about going to Callao, and sailed southward some five days after the _Miranda_ had started on the same course, she had very good weather for the greater part of a week, and sailed finely. Cardatas, who owned a share in her, had sailed upon her as first mate, but he had never before commanded her. He was a good navigator, however, and well fitted for the task he had undertaken. He was a sharp fellow, and kept his eyes on everybody, particularly upon Nunez, who, although a landsman, and in no wise capable of sailing a ship, was perfectly capable of making plans regarding any vessel in which he was interested, especially when such a vessel happened to be sailing in pursuit of treasure, the value of which was merely a matter of conjecture. It was not impossible that the horse-dealer, who had embarked money in this venture, might think that one of the mariners on board might be able to sail the schooner as well as Cardatas, and would not expect so large a share of the profits should the voyage be successful.

But when the storms came on, Nunez grew sick and unhappy, and retired below, and he troubled the mind of Cardatas no more for the present.

The _Arato_ sailed well with a fair wind, but in many respects she was not as good a sea-boat in a storm as the _Miranda_ had proved to be, and she had been obliged to lie to a great deal through the days and nights of high winds and heavy seas. Having never had, until now, the responsibility of a vessel upon him, Cardatas was a good deal more cautious and prudent, perhaps, than Captain Horn would have been had he been in command of the _Arato_. Among other methods of precaution which Cardatas thought it wise to take, he steered well out from the coast, and thus greatly lengthened his course, and at last, when a clearing sky enabled him to take an observation, he found himself so far to the westward that he changed his course entirely and steered for the southeast.

Notwithstanding all these r.e.t.a.r.ding circ.u.mstances, Cardatas did not despair of overhauling the _Miranda_. He was sure she would make for the Straits, and he did not in the least doubt that, with good winds, he could overtake her before she reached them, and even if she did get out of them, he could still follow her. His belief that the _Arato_ could sail two miles to the _Miranda's_ one was still unshaken. The only real fear he had was that the _Miranda_ might have foundered in the storm. If that should happen to be the case, their voyage would be a losing one, indeed, but he said nothing of his fears to Nunez.

The horse-dealer was now on deck again, in pretty fair condition, but he was beginning to be despondent. After such an awful storm, and in all that chaos of waves, what chance was there of finding a little brig such as they were after?

"But vessels sail in regular courses," Cardatas said to him. "They don't go meandering all over the ocean. If they are bound for any particular place, they go there on the shortest safe line they can lay down on the map. We can go on that line, too, although we may be thrown out of it by storms. But we can strike it again, and then all we have to do is to keep on it as straight as we can, and we are bound to overtake another vessel on the same course, provided we sail faster than she does. It is all plain enough, don't you see?"

Nunez could not help seeing, but he was a little cross, nevertheless. The map and the ocean were wonderfully different.

The wind had changed, and the _Arato_ did not make very good sailing on her southeastern course. High as was her captain's opinion of her, she never had sailed, nor ever could sail, two miles to the _Miranda's_ one, although she was a good deal faster than the brig. But she was fairly well handled, and in due course of time she approached so near the coast that her lookout sighted land, which land Cardatas, consulting his chart, concluded must be one of the Patagonian islands to the north of the Gulf of Penas.

As night came on, Cardatas determined to change his course somewhat to the south, as he did not care to trust himself too near the coast, when suddenly the lookout reported a light on the port bow. Cardatas had sailed down this coast before, but he had never heard of a lighthouse in the region, and with his gla.s.s he watched the light. But he could not make it out. It was a strange light, for sometimes it was bright and sometimes dull, then it would increase greatly and almost fade away again.

"It looks like a fire on sh.o.r.e," said he, and some of the other men who took the gla.s.s agreed with him.