CHAPTER XV

CAPTAIN RAWSON RETURNS

After the excitement of the expedition to the cave of the stream had died down, our life ran on more or less uneventfully for a while. I say more or less, because it seemed to us that, compared with our old life in Braeburn, there was always something new and interesting to make each day different on Sunset Island.

There was our candied orange peel which turned out even better, if that were possible, than Madame’s first batch. It looked so perfectly _luscious_ we could hardly bear to pack it away in Syd’s and Dan’s tin containers for shipment to New York. And speaking of those containers, the boys certainly had made good their promise to turn out original and artistic looking boxes for the peel. They had woven palmetto strips into a cunning, twisted design, and thought up a way to braid the ends to form a handle for the cover. They were the prettiest things you can imagine, those boxes, and we felt sure we could sell the candied peel just on the outside of the package.

Uncle Joe was optimistic about securing orders from a big commission house he knew of in New York, for as much of the peel as we cared to make, and altogether the outlook in that direction was quite rosy and satisfactory.

Then, there were other pleasant happenings, such as picnics. We are a great family for picnics and exploring expeditions, and now all these affairs were planned near enough to the house for Uncle Joe to carry me on his shoulders, so I shouldn’t be left out of anything on account of my ankle.

On one occasion we had a whole day’s sea voyage on the _Myra_, just before she left us for her second trip north. Maybe it’s partly because of my sea-captain daddy, but I love the ocean and ships more than almost anything in the world, and I’m never quite so happy as when I can see a white sail straining in a heavy breeze over my head, and curling, white-edged water rolling back from the bow.

If I were a boy, I’d certainly want to go to sea, and carry on our family tradition of at least one sailor in every generation. None of Aunt Mollie’s boys seem to have any ambition in that direction.

Sydney asks for nothing better, he says, than to live on the Island all his life, and build up a big, flourishing plantation. He loves to grub in the earth, and watch things grow--and really, it’s wonderful, the results he can coax out of a few seeds, a spade, a small patch of ground, and endless patience. Lots of times it’s been only shame of falling behind, that has kept me working away beside him at that endless weeding.

Dan thinks he’ll be a doctor, and is already planning to go back to the States to college next year. I don’t know what we’ll do without him, but it’s a splendid profession as Aunt Mollie says, that he has chosen, and he must have his chance to make good.

Of course Reddy’s much too young yet to have any ideas on the subject that are permanent; and though Andy and I wonder about our own futures once in a while, she doesn’t seem to have many more definite notions about it than little Red. As for me, I don’t talk much of my plans, because it sounds silly,--or I’m afraid of its doing so--to talk of what you haven’t proved yet you can carry out. But ever since I was a tiny scrap of a girl, I’ve wanted some day to write stories, as I can’t follow Daddy and sail a ship. Not big, important stories--I’ll never be a genius, I know that. But stories that boys and girls, and maybe grown-ups too, will find worth reading. That’s one reason I’m practicing writing down here all the details of our first year on Sunset Island. Whether anyone else ever reads it or not, I’ve loved the doing it, and that’s something.

But I guess that’s enough about the future, because there are still quite a lot of exciting events to tell about that have already taken place.

The next of these to come along, was about a month after our discovery of Morgan’s hiding place in the cave. In the meantime, the _Myra_ had sailed for New York with our first cargo of fruit--and of course the precious candied peel all done up in the boys’ fancy containers.

Uncle Charles, who is clever at pen and ink sketches, had made adorable labels for them, showing a tropical island, with palms and orange trees just vaguely hinted at against the skyline, and underneath--copying Rosemary’s curly-cue lettering--the words: “Candied Orange Peel _à la Josephine_.”

He had done the sketches by hand for our samples, but Uncle Joe was to have a plate made in New York from the original drawing and several thousand labels struck off. Because of course when we got to selling on a big scale, it wouldn’t be possible for one person to draw each individually.

Aunt Mollie had been rather anxious for Uncle Joe to remain behind on this trip, and let the mate, Mr. Hopper, act for him in the matter of the cargo. But Uncle Charles and he finally decided that it was better to have the owner go, and so--in case of the return of Captain Rawson’s vessel--Uncle Joe left two of his most trusted men behind, and sailed short-handed.

“But I really don’t think you need worry, Mollie,” he had declared. “I don’t believe the old blackguard will come back. Treasure maps and things of that kind have sort of gone out of date. They’re fairy tales nobody believes in. Men like Rawson make their money in more modern pirating. You won’t see him again.”

But we did, all the same. And I was the one who saw his ship first. It happened this way.

Since I hurt my ankle, I hadn’t of course been able to go swimming in the lagoon with Madame and Andy in the early mornings. But I had got in the habit of waking at that hour, and I kept on doing it still no matter how hard I tried to sleep. So, because it was stupid to lie in bed and think of all I was missing, once I found myself really wide awake, I made it a rule to get up and practise using my crutches up and down my room.

The room’s a quite big one, and I’d go up and down it twice the long way, and then across to the window where I had a view of the ocean and the sunrise over the distant horizon.

On this special morning I’m writing of--it must have been about two weeks, or less, perhaps, after the _Myra’s_ sailing--my first glance out the window showed me a steamer, very low and slim, like a yacht, heading in toward the opening in the reef. Uncle Joe once told me I have a good eye for recognizing ships, but I guess, with that dread of Captain Rawson hanging over us, even Andrée or Red would have known that vessel. Our unwelcome visitor had returned.

It didn’t take me long to hobble out into the hall, and wake Uncle Charles and Aunt Mollie. I suppose I made more noise with my crutches than I realized, for doors began to pop open all down the hall, and the boys and Andy, and finally Monsieur and Madame Carreau, appeared, one by one, in various stages of undress.

The minute they understood who was on the way to the Island, there was a scramble of everybody back to their rooms to dress in a hurry, and be among the first to reach the lagoon beach.

This last plan, however, Uncle Charles promptly vetoed, as soon as he understood what we meant to do.

“I’d rather have you all wait at the house,” he said. “I’ll take Diggons and Harworth” (the two sailors from the _Myra_) “and go down to meet the fellow when he lands.”

The boys and Martin pleaded hard to be allowed to go along, but Uncle Charles was firm. For one thing, I think he preferred to take the men, (aside from their superior strength, of course) because they hadn’t been told anything about the treasure or the stolen map. I had an idea he was afraid the boys would be too excited to be discreet, and he believed the less said the better. He may have had some idea of being able to talk Captain Rawson out of coming ashore. Not that there was any danger of his finding the treasure, of course, if he did come. But we didn’t want that crew of his--or the captain himself--making themselves at home on the Island while they looked for it. Any attempt to persuade the captain that there really wasn’t any treasure after all, would naturally be worse than useless. He’d be surer than ever we only wanted him out of the way.

So in the end, we had to obey, since Uncle Charles was in command of Sunset Island and all its little colony in Uncle Joe’s absence. But none of us could stay in the house. That was asking too much. We prowled back and forth, up and down the terrace, or sat sort of tensely on the front steps, waiting for we didn’t know just what. It was awfully exciting and shivery--exactly like the most exciting desert-island-treasure-trove stories I’d ever read.

Uncle Charles and the sailors were gone so long we began to be frightened in good earnest at last, and it was only Aunt Mollie’s flatly forbidding it, that kept Dan and Syd from breaking away after an hour had passed, and going down to the beach to investigate.

“If he doesn’t come in fifteen minutes more, you may go,” she said, and they had to be satisfied with that.

Before the fifteen minutes were up however, we heard voices coming up the Planter’s Road, and all of us stiffened to a sort of agonized attention.

But the procession that appeared around the little bend in the road was something entirely different from what we had any of us pictured to ourselves. First came Uncle Charles, marching along like a general of troops, and behind him, walking like his body guard were Diggons and Harworth, while back of them two strange men--sailors from the rum-running ship, we guessed--carried a covered stretcher between them.

Madame Carreau put her hand on her heart in a frightened gesture, and I saw Monsieur step protectingly up beside her, and slip his arm about her. But the rest of us were too astonished to move or speak.

Seeing us, Uncle Charles hurried on ahead of his procession and drew Aunt Mollie aside.

“Can you and the girls get a room ready at once for a sick man?” he asked. “It’s Captain Rawson. His men either can’t or won’t take care of him on board, so it seems to be up to us unless we want to stand by and see him die. He’s unconscious now,” he added, nodding toward the stretcher behind him, “and doesn’t realize we’re moving him.”

Aunt Mollie turned quickly to Andy and me.

“Gay, your room’s the best for sickness--there are so many windows. You won’t mind giving it up, dear, and going in with Andrée?”

I shook my head eagerly. “Of course not, Aunt Mollie. Shall we run up and put clean sheets on the bed, and take my clothes out of the closets?”

“Yes, do, chicks,” she smiled. But as we moved off, I heard her ask Uncle Charles rather anxiously whether Captain Rawson had anything contagious, and hadn’t she better keep the children away. Both Andy and I hung back a little to hear his answer. “No, pneumonia, I think, dear. I’m sorry Joe’s away--he’s the real doctor of the family, though we’ll do what we can, of course.”

He lowered his voice then, but we were both near enough to catch his next words. “From what I can make out, Rawson hasn’t mentioned the map to anyone on board. Probably was figuring on keeping the treasure for himself if he located it. They say he gave his orders to put back to the Island, and the next day came down with this fever. Apparently he was unconscious almost from the first.”

We missed whatever else he said because Aunt Mollie walked back with him to the stretcher, so we scurried on to the house. Of course we were pretty excited, and I guess we never made a bed or cleared out a closet in such record time before. But our hands being busy didn’t keep our tongues from moving equally fast as we talked the situation over.

“I wish Uncle Joe was home,” Andy said with a little shiver, smoothing a clean pillow slip with fingers that I noticed were trembling.

“Don’t you worry,” I tried to reassure her--not feeling so very sure of anything myself, though. “Uncle Charles will manage it all. And besides, there are Diggons and Harworth, and Martin--and of course the boys.”

She cheered up at that.

“Come along and tell mums the room’s ready,” she said. “And maybe if that horrid Captain Rawson hasn’t told about the map, the fever’ll put it out of his head forever.”

“Maybe,” said I, not too convinced of the probability of this. “There’s nothing we can do about it anyhow.”

At the head of the stairs, we met the two stretcher-bearers with the sick man, and Aunt Mollie, Uncle Charles and Madame Carreau bringing up the rear. Andy led the way importantly into my room, and they carried the Captain in, and laid him down on my bed.

The two sailors came out at once, and went back downstairs and outdoors; and after a few minutes Aunt Mollie opened the bedroom door, motioning us to go away, too.

Andy slipped her fingers through my arm as we tip-toed downstairs after the sailors. Her face was rather white.

“Do you suppose he’ll--die?” she asked me in a shaky whisper.

“I don’t know,” I said impatiently. I couldn’t help feeling that it wouldn’t be such a loss to the world if a man like that did die. Still, the next moment I reminded myself he wasn’t fit to die, and that anyhow, I didn’t want him to do it here, in our dear, beautiful Planter’s House.

“I guess he’s too tough to die easily,” I declared. I hoped it was true. “Do you suppose he was really coming back for the treasure?”

Andy didn’t answer, and we sat down on the steps to wait for news from the sick room. Nobody else was in sight. Evidently the two sailors had kept on to the beach, and the boys and Monsieur Carreau had gone with them.

After what seemed like hours had passed, Syd came strolling up the Planter’s Road, whistling. He hurried a little when he saw us waiting.

“The men have gone back to the ship,” he called. “Kind of a heartless bunch,” he added, dropping down on the step beside us. “You’d think they’d feel it a bit if they really believed, as they claim, that their captain’s dying. Instead, they acted sort of relieved to get rid of the care of him.”

He stopped short because at that moment we heard Aunt Mollie coming downstairs, and we jumped to our feet, crowding round her to ask about the Captain.

“A pretty sick man, I’m afraid,” she said soberly. “But by the greatest good fortune, Madame has nursed pneumonia patients before, so she is taking charge of the case.”

“What can we do, mums?” Syd coaxed eagerly. “We want to help.”

“Nothing, darling. There’s nothing any of the rest of us can do. Just try to keep things quiet,” she said. “And go on about everything as usual. Here comes Monsieur Carreau now. Run and tell him Madame wants to speak to him!”

It was about an hour later, I think, that Reddy, who had been hanging about the Captain’s door upstairs, brought us an astonishing piece of news. Aunt Mollie, Uncle Charles, Andy and I were in the big hall, and we turned quickly at the sound of his clattering footsteps.

“The ship’s going away,” he gasped excitedly. “I saw her from the gallery. She’s almost out through the reef now.”

“But that isn’t possible, Sonny,” Uncle Charles exclaimed, catching Red’s hand and drawing him to him. “Her captain’s upstairs, you know, very sick. She’s probably only changing her anchorage, or something like that. Let’s walk down to the beach and see.”

“No, she’s going away,” Red insisted feverishly. “Will that horrid man that stole our map have to live with us _always_ now?”

He was on the verge of tears, so to comfort him, as well as to satisfy our own curiosity, we all set out along the Planter’s Road to the lagoon, to see what the ship was up to.

And there we saw that Reddy was right. She was past the reef now, standing directly out to sea. Someone on board, spying us, sprang up on the ship’s rail and waved both arms at us, and we heard several of the men laughing behind him.

Uncle Charles cupped his hands into a megaphone, and shouted with all his strength: “Where are you going? When will you be back?”

We heard the man’s reply easily, because the wind was blowing from him to us, but I can’t set down what he said, as Aunt Mollie doesn’t like us even to repeat swearing. But his meaning was clear enough. They were deserting the Captain. They hadn’t any intention of ever coming back. Maybe they really believed he was dying, or maybe the Mate had conspired with the rest of them to steal the ship. Uncle Charles thought the latter was the case.

Anyhow they were gone. That was all we knew. And there were we with a desperately ill man on our hands, and no doctor within reach of Sunset Island.

If it hadn’t been for the Carreaus, I don’t believe we’d ever have pulled him through. But it turned out that Monsieur Carreau had a pretty fair knowledge of medicine--he’d doctored their plantation hands in the old days--and Madame was a natural-born nurse.

We others could only do what we were told, run errands and cook the meager invalid fare Madame allowed her patient. Of course, I don’t pretend to say it was as anxious a time for us as if it had been one of the family who was lying up there in my room ill, but it’s never pleasant to know that someone is suffering, and we were all honestly glad and thankful when the day came that Monsieur pronounced the Captain out of the woods.