"'Tis _The Golden Galleon_!"

Gilbert started back in astonishment.

"How know you?" he cried.

"By the devices I have now seen carven upon her stern," said Timothy. "I knew them again. They are the same that we saw in the midst of that weird green light on the Sarga.s.so Sea, and 'tis the self-same ship, as I'm a living son of a barber. 'Tis Jacob Hartop's Golden Galleon--or else her ghost, as Jacob averred."

"Her ghost!" echoed Gilbert; and he put his hand upon the table as if to a.s.sure himself that it was a solid substance. "Nay, Tim, 'tis no ghost,"

said he, "although I will not deny that she may be Jacob's galleon." He paused for many moments reflecting. At last he went on: "Prithee, Tim, didst ever hear from Jacob how long it was since he deserted that same golden galleon of his?"

"Three years at the least," answered Timothy; "for 'tis not to be forgotten that when he had left her he voyaged yet again to the Spanish Main, where he fell in with your uncle Jasper and the good ship _Pearl_."

Now, in preparing the table as a bed on the night before, Timothy had left only one thing lying there, and that thing was a large book which he had placed as a pillow for Gilbert. The book lay still upon the table close to Gilbert's hand. Gilbert idly turned back its first page. His eyes rested upon a line of cramped and almost illegible writing. He looked at it closer and then started back.

"Tim!" he cried. "'Tis true--'tis true what you say, for here is his very name writ in this book!" He put his finger on the page while Timothy drew nearer. "There, where I point," he added. "'Tis his own hand, see--'JACOB HARTOP, BUCCANEER, HYS LOGG BOOKE'."

"Nay, I must e'en take thy word for't, my master," said Tim; "for thou knowest that although I can make shift to read a line of print, yet writing done with a quill is beyond me. So," he mused, "this is poor Jacob's treasure-ship--the same that he hath so oft spoken of. Ay, and I'll engage 'tis, as he hath reported, loaded full deep with gold. Such wealth might make us great and glorious did we but have it in England, Master Gilbert. But of what avail is it now? 'Tis of no use under the sun. For my own part, I'd exchange it all for a barrel of good Devon apples or a loaf of my mother's home-made bread."

"And I also," added Gilbert.

They were silent for some minutes. Timothy was the first to speak.

"'Tis pa.s.sing strange where thy cousin Philip hath got to," said he.

"Methinks 'twere well that we now made another search for him."

Gilbert agreed, and together they went and searched the ship. During their search they discovered that the galleon was indeed laden with gold. But they cared not for this while their vitals were being gnawed with hunger and their lips were blue and parched with thirst.

Philip Oglander, it would seem, was more familiar with the structure of a galleon than were either Timothy or Gilbert. For instead of going at once to the p.o.o.p-cabins he had found his way down to the rooms amidships, where it was customary to keep the stores. What little food he had found was either saturated with salt-water or rotten with decay, or else so hard and dried up that it would have required a pickaxe to break it, much less human teeth. In his quest, however, he had discovered what Gilbert and Timothy had not even dreamt of, namely, some huge bins of Spanish wine. Into one of these he had managed to bore a hole with the point of his dagger. Unlike Timothy, he had not for an instant thought of sharing his discovery. He had taken his fill of the wine, leaving a stream running from the bin, and finding some stale and mildewed bread, he had cleaned it and put it to soak and soften in a bath of the red liquid.

When Timothy and Gilbert at last came upon him he was lying on the floor in an intoxicated sleep, with a flood of wine about him. Timothy regarded him in horror and disgust.

"It seemeth to me that Master Philip might almost have acquainted us of such a discovery as this," said he, and picking up a little golden cup from the floor he held it to catch the drippings from the bin. He presently pa.s.sed the cup to Gilbert.

"Drink, my master," said he; "'twill do thee good. But take not much at the first, for there is naught so bad upon an empty stomach as strong liquor. Thy cousin hath seemingly been so unwise as to drink his fill."

"'Tis naught to marvel at," said Gilbert, having taken a mouthful, "for of a surety it doth put new life into one. Ay, even to wet one's lips with it doth send the blood racing through the body like the water in a mill-dam."

Timothy espied Philip's bread soaking in its silver dish of wine, and he took some out, sharing it with Gilbert, and they ate it and were refreshed.

Suddenly as they were leaving Philip to finish his sleep, they were startled by hearing from across the sea the report of a cannon-shot.

Timothy bounded forward, and was speedily upon the deck. Gilbert followed at his heels. Looking over to the eastward they saw a gallant little ship in full sail bearing down towards them. A faint mist of smoke was being wafted by the wind from one of her forward guns. From her sprit-topmast there waved the glorious flag of St. George.

"'Tis an English ship!" cried Timothy with joy.

"Ay," added Gilbert; "and what is more, 'tis one that is no stranger to me. Thou shouldst know her even better than I, Tim; for, if I mistake not, 'tis none other than Jacob Whiddon's _Pilgrim_. I know her by the token that her fore-topsail hath got a round patch of lighter canvas in it. And, mark you, 'tis Master Whiddon's ancient that flieth from her mainyard. Ay, 'tis the _Pilgrim_. And of that I have now no manner of doubt."

"Then are we saved!" murmured Timothy. "Prithee, Master Gilbert, hie thee below and bid thy cousin Philip come up, while that I climb to the top of the p.o.o.p-deck and make a signal."

And so saying Timothy sought about for some flag or rag which he might wave to the ship as a sign that there were people on board the galleon.

No flag could he find, but taking a strip of red silk that he had discovered in Hartop's cabin, he tied it by the corners to the end of a pike, and this he waved to and fro from the highest part of the galleon's hull. His signal was answered from the _Pilgrim_, and the ship bore down before the wind with a belt of white foam streaming off from her round bows, and her white sails glimmering in the bright sunlight.

Meanwhile Gilbert Oglander had gone below to arouse his cousin. Philip was very sound asleep; but after many efforts Gilbert awakened him, and he staggered to his feet. Glaring at Gilbert with bloodshot eyes he did not speak for many minutes. Gilbert told him of the approaching ship, and added that now they might hope to be taken home to England.

This mention of England seemed to have aroused strange thoughts in Philip's brain, and without warning he closed the cabin door and planted himself with his back against it.

"Thou, at least, shalt never see England again!" he cried. "By the Holy Mother thou shalt not! Dost think that I will brook the thought of thee being Baron Champernoun, while I, who am a better man than thee, am plain Philip Oglander? No! This ship hath wealth enough aboard her to serve me in plenty for the rest of my days. And thou shalt not share it; neither shalt thou ever live to hear thyself addressed by the great t.i.tle of Champernoun!"

He spoke the words in a thick drunken voice, his eyes fixing themselves upon his cousin in terrible menace.

Gilbert could not repress the smile that came to his lips.

"Hush, good my cousin!" said he. "Thou hast taken overmuch of this strong wine, methinks, and thy tongue doth say things which thy heart cannot mean."

"What?" cried Philip. And whipping his dagger from his belt he made a lunge at Gilbert, aiming a blow at his heart.

Gilbert drew aside and avoided the blow, and Philip's head struck with a resounding knock against the bulkhead. The pain enraged him, and swearing a great Spanish oath he renewed the attack, rushing at his cousin with wild fury. This time his foot slipped on the slimy, wine-flooded floor. He fell with a heavy thud; his weapon hand was under him, and the dagger, which he had held sword-wise, with the point upward, buried the full length of its blade in his chest.

Gilbert turned to the door and opened it. As he looked round at Philip he saw a stream of blood issuing from under him. Philip tried to rise, but rolled over on his back. Only the handle of his dagger could be seen. Gilbert bent down to withdraw it, but it was tightly wedged between the ribs.

"The Saints protect me!" groaned Philip. "I am done for!"

"Much do I fear that thou art indeed. G.o.d forgive thee," said Gilbert, and quitting the store-room he returned to the deck to summon Timothy.

It was at this moment that Timothy had seen the answering signal from the _Pilgrim_. He went below with Gilbert and when they entered the store-room they found that Philip Oglander was dead.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "HE MADE A LUNGE AT GILBERT, AIMING A BLOW AT HIS HEART."]

CHAPTER XXIV.

PETER TROLLOPE SHUTS UP SHOP.

On a certain gray, windy morning in late October, Peter Trollope's shop was more than usually busy. Every bench had its occupant, and the talk was loud and animated. In the big chair near the fire sat that great courtier Sir Walter Raleigh, smoking a stick of twisted tobacco, to which he gave the Spanish name of _cigarro_. He joined not much in the gossip, for he had already recounted all that was so far known concerning the last fight of the _Revenge_, news of which had come to England some few days earlier, and he was pa.s.sing doleful in spirit over the death of his n.o.ble kinsman, Sir Richard Grenville. Now and again he did indeed put in a word when it was question of deciding the number of Spanish galleons that had been vanquished in the fight, or the number of Spaniards that had been slain, but for the most part he was gloomily silent.

"My brother Tom was aboard of her, and I'll engage that he gave not up his life ere he had laid a good dozen of the Dons low," said a burly fisherman from one of the corners of the shop.

"Ay," added another man, "and my son Bill was among 'em; likewise my good wife's brother d.i.c.k."

Peter Trollope snipped his scissors over the head of the young gallant whose hair he was tr.i.m.m.i.n.g.

"My boy Timothy went also out with the fleet," said he; "though 'twas not on one of Her Majesty's ships that he sailed, but aboard Jacob Whiddon's _Pilgrim_, of which there hath been no word."

"She was seen taking some part in the battle," remarked Sir Walter Raleigh, puffing a cloud of blue smoke in a column above his head, "for since Whiddon was but an adventurer and owed no duty of obedience to my Lord Thomas, he was free to do what he listed. And he listed to have a shot at the galleons, and so, for aught I know, came to grief."

"Ah!" sighed the barber. "Then peradventure Timothy hath, after all, been slain?"

"As like as not," nodded Sir Walter; "as like as not. And you may take it that since naught hath been heard of the _Pilgrim_, she hath either gone to the bottom in the battle, or else been broken on the rocks of the Western Isles, as so many others were in the great storm that followed on the heels of the fight."