CHAPTER X

MY FATHER TELLS A STORY

Christmas was soon upon us; and waking in the morning I felt eagerly in my stocking, and was delighted beyond measure to find a bright new pistol, a long-coveted treasure. I was up and dressed in no time, and out into the frozen air. I soon had a target set up, and regardless of numbed fingers put to proof the steadiness of my hand and eye; till my father came out and dragged me unwillingly to breakfast, extracting from me the promise to put away the deadly weapon till next day, for there were a few boys left at Rancey Bridge over the holidays, and they were to come and spend Christmas with me. My father didn't want any accidents.

It was a cold clear day, and the ground lay a few inches deep in snow. We had an uproarious time, and ate a magnificent dinner; and in the evening we gathered round the dining-room fire to hear my father tell a story before it was time for my friends to tramp back to the school.

Now I was considered something of a story-teller at Rancey Bridge, but I had always insisted that I was a mere stuttering dummy to my father; so the excitement was intense as we gathered before the leaping flames, the only light in the room, and waited for my father to begin. He was sitting back half in shadow, with the red glow of the fire lighting his cheeks in swarthy leaps of colour, till his face seemed alternately to spring at us out of the darkness and sink back into the dusk beyond.

I can't give all his story, for he kept us there two hours or more; and his words without his accent, always so hushed and tense, as though he were in the very presence of the things he was describing, would convey little of the impression he made upon us. For he took us right away from the life we knew, and we were afloat with a band of adventurers on the Spanish Main, with our schooner nosing out to El Dorado far across the sea.

We were all there on board that ship. The dark crafty little captain with eyes like hard black beads which glowed with an underflush of red when he was angry, terrified us when we felt his gaze upon us; for he seemed an evil man, and one without conscience or remorse, and in his company we couldn't know to what wickedness we might be driven; for there was no question of disobedience though he should bid us pawn our souls to the devil. Then there was the burly savage of a mate, a sort of furious club in the hands of the wicked little captain; a creature ready and willing for all abominations, but lacking a cunning mind to plan the atrocities he gloried in committing. His huge wide smile of evil delight as he listened to some tale of cruel villainy from the captain, rubbing his great hairy hand relishingly across his mouth, was a thing to frighten the boldest. And so one by one the crew came before our eyes, for the most part decent enough fellows, but snared by some malignant fate into the clutches of that abominable pair. And lastly there was the priest; a lukewarm superstitious round little fellow, on the one hand in terror of the captain and his mighty shadow, and on the other hand in dread of hell-fire; and between the two fears living a life of haunted terror, torn between cowardice and conscience.

I remember there was a mutiny on board that ship before the golden coasts were reached. At least, the captain and the mate discovered a mutiny, probably for their own amusement to relieve the monotony of the voyage; and then there followed floggings and hangings, while the captain twitched his cruel and wicked lips, and the mate stripped his huge arms in brutal anticipation, and Jack Priest knelt and mumbled prayers, and ventured a timid word of protest, and was sent packing to his job of saying a Mass for the murdered and seeing them safely tossed to the sharks.

But the bloodshed was to bear a terrible harvest; and I remember how my father played upon our expectations, till we were in a fever of excitement, wondering what was to come of it; for gradually through the story the note of coming doom was emphasized so subtly, yet so insistently, that the ship seemed to be moving forward into the closing shadow of some terrible fate. There were warnings in the wind and in the sea, and the priest was whimpering with superstitious terror; and beneath the fear and submission of the daunted crew there were mutterings and low-hissed threats which were ominous of evil things.

So at length land was sighted; but the wonderful palms that waved overhead, and the splendid sun setting serenely beyond the tall dark stems, were but as an ironic smile of the brooding destiny which lay in wait for that ill-starred crew.

After this there was the search for the treasure, which the rumour that had led them there said was hidden in some secret tomb of kings in a lonely valley far away across the hills. But first there were natives to reckon with; and so followed exciting battles, but with the one inevitable result: the natives were defeated and enslaved, and driven in chained gangs before the conquerors for beasts of burden when the treasure should be found and captured. And then there was a weary march, with wild beasts to do battle with, and tormenting insects, and heat by day and cold by night, and fever, till it was a shattered company which arrived at length at the lonely valley beyond the hills; and the earth was bare and desolate, and there was no shelter, and for water only a trickling stream that feebly threaded its way along a shrunken channel.

But the love of gold was triumphant above the wretched weariness of the land; and the captain at least was undaunted, giving his orders like the sting of a snake; and the mate rose enormously and thrashed the slaves into obedience. But for a long while the search was unsuccessful, the valley guarding well its secret; till one day sounding along the hillside a rock rang hollow, and the entrance was found.

Then there was feverish labour, and the slaves were driven till they fell; and through tunnel after tunnel a way was cleared, and every one knew that the treasure was at hand. Then breaking through a low sealed door there was the sound of chanting, and before them a grotesque company of priests were at their worship in a strange shrine beneath the earth; and the walls were glittering with precious stones and gold.

There was silence for a moment as the robbers shrank back surprised; but the captain cried "On!" and the mate bounded forward and the crew followed, and without mercy or quarter the priests were slaughtered as they kneeled; save for one old fellow, who, standing before the altar, shrieked a terrible curse at the invaders, and laid his magic on the treasure, bidding it be ruin and madness and death on all who touched it. But before the words of his enemies could reach him he had drawn a knife and sheathed it in his breast.

Then the pillage started. By now the meaning of the mutterings on shipboard began to be understood. For there was a conspiracy on foot. The crew were divided into two parties, one abiding by the captain, the other having elected a captain of their own intending to mutiny when the hour was ripe and follow their own leader. Moreover they allied themselves with the wretched slaves, promising them their freedom if they obeyed. And so when half the treasure was carried from the shrine, there was a sudden slashing of bonds and crying of orders and shouts and curses and the noise of stampeding men; for the mutineers had so contrived it that they should free the slaves who had sworn obedience to them, and at a given signal fly from the shrine, and rolling a tremendous boulder down the narrowing tunnel block up the entrance and so entomb their enemies alive. The plan was well arranged, and the signal was given. There was a rush for the door, for a party outside had loosened the great boulder till it needed but a push to send it crashing down the passage. So the last of the conspirators came flying for safety, and behind him, not quite understanding the business, but knowing something terrible was on foot, came the immense form of the mate, rolling out oaths and curses. But the boulder was already loosened, and lurching forward it gathered speed, and grinding the shrieking mate to the wall crashed into place, sealing up the door for ever and entombing the wretches beyond in a living death.

Then there began a terrible journey back to the coast; for it seemed to the rebels that the curse of the old priest clung about their spoil. Their leader, whom they now called captain, would wake at night to hear cryings out of the earth, and whenever he lay down to sleep the voices of his enemies seemed to echo through the ground, muffled but pitiful. And sometimes he awoke to think he was lying in a pool of blood, and sprang up shouting that the smell of murder was making him mad. And others too said they were being followed by an underground rumbling like the hollow presage of earthquake, and they declared the earth heaved beneath them as though something were struggling to break through. Even the natives felt the terror in their hearts, and by ones and twos they dropped their burdens and slunk away into the night, for they said they were touching accursed stuff and the gods were angry. So the watch became more strict; and as the number of bearers diminished the remnant were again chained and driven, and the new masters were little better than the old. But it wasn't now the lust of gold that was making them cruel, but the secret dread that gnawed at their souls maddening them and making them like frenzied beasts rather than like men.

Then the fever struck them; and first one and then another stumbled from the file, and dropped behind crying piteously to his comrades to stay for him. But fear was upon that company, and they pressed on the faster thinking to escape the claws of disease which snatched at them from behind. And one night a storm arose from nowhere and smote at them with jagged barbs of lightning, and in the morning three were found horribly twisted, and scorched out of recognition. So they called the roll to see who were missing; and Jack Priest mumbled a prayer and scattered a handful of dust upon them, and they were left by the wayside for the beasts and the birds. And then they lost their way, and suddenly were plunging through a morass; and there two were trapped in the oozy soil, and sinking slowly cried with frantic appeal for help; but no one would venture to go near them. And before they had well disappeared, while yet their hands waved feebly above the rank mud, and their faces still gazed living at the sky, reaching upward for the last breath of air, the priest had crossed himself and gabbled a prayer for the welfare of their souls; and again they pressed onward. And another a snake bit, and he died raving; and another gathered poisonous berries, and perished writhing in pain. And ever it seemed the curse was upon them, dogging them at heel, snatching a victim here and a victim there, till the shadow was over all, and none knew when his own turn would come. For it might be a prowling beast in the night, or a slip from a rock by day, or some hateful creature of the river when one went down to drink: fate pursued them in a thousand forms, and snares were laid for them everywhere.

And yet through the whole of that terrible journey not a native perished, of those at least who stayed with them.

So at last they sighted the sea, and a cry of thanksgiving arose; but it sounded like a wail of despair. Broken and tired and shaken to the soul they reached their ship, half fearing to find it burnt or sunk; and carrying the treasure aboard they set sail with all speed and steered away from the ill-fated land.

But their doom wasn't averted; only delayed. For storm and calm alike took toll of their number, hurling them into the sea, or bringing black plague from the heat-laden air to settle upon the vessel like a brooding bird. They were wasted with illness and labour, and their home seemed at the other end of the world.

Then the captain conceived of a plan: he called upon the priest to bless the treasure and remove the curse which had been laid upon it. At first the priest was terrified, and refused; but, as usual, present danger was more insistent with him than future peril, and when he saw the men were desperate and would murder him if he held back, he consented. But during the exorcism a wind arose and blew out the sacred candles. And when he would have poured holy water upon the treasure, the ship lurched and the water was spilt. So the captain wearily bade him desist, for it seemed like struggling against all the powers of heaven and hell.

Yet not even the priest said, "Let us throw the accursed thing into the sea."

So they clung to their gold and abided their doom. One by one the hand reached for them and they perished, and their comrades cast them into the hungry water, dry-eyed and unheeding as though they knew the thing must be, and only wishing that for them too the hour had struck. There were none left to man the ropes; but the sails remained spread or furled as might be, and the captain stood at the wheel like one in a daze, while the ship moved on to whatever wind might blow. Till at last before them rose the cliffs of England; but there were only the captain and the priest and one other left alive to see them. The captain and the priest didn't speak a word; they didn't even smile, but stood staring stupidly as though it mattered not at all whether this were England or the other side of the ocean. But the third man threw up his hands and let out a great cheer; but a vessel burst in his lungs, and he bent down in sudden pain choking blood, and fell to the deck dead. The captain looked at the priest, and the priest crossed himself, and going to the man muttered swiftly, and with his foot spurned him over the side....

So the story proceeded. I remember how the captain went mad, and wandering from place to place would tell his tale in penance, and so pass on and away. And none of us there but pitied him, for we knew he had been snared into his sin, and the judgment was over heavy. But the priest took the treasure and would have devoted it to the work of Holy Church. So at first he built a chapel; but the foundation was ill-laid, and in a storm the holy house lurched and fell. And he built a hospital, but a fire broke out, and the place was burnt to its foundations. And he chartered a ship to take a band of missionaries to the heathen; but the ship struck an unknown rock at the harbour mouth, and sank. And at last he knew that the thing was accursed beyond redemption; so he sought out a tunnel in the earth, and winding through many passages and caverns he laid the treasure in a secret place, and with the aid of a company of men set a mighty stone upon the entrance, and went his way.

But before he died he felt the need of confessing himself to Heaven; for he knew that the guilt of all those deaths was partly weighing on his soul; so he wrote the story out fair and truly for the eye of Heaven alone, as he intended it, telling of the burial place of all that evil gold, and laying upon it the curse of Holy Church to reinforce the curse it already bore. But as he wrote the last word, and leant back to rest after his labour, a spasm caught at his heart, and he sank down dead....

I was expecting the story to end here; but there was more of it. But before my father continued he lit the lamp and passed round the wine. We looked at each other, very quiet for a moment; then breathed deeply, and lifted our glasses.

But I needn't repeat all the second part of the story, though it would show the wonderful fertility of my father's imagination. For the manuscript was found and passed on from one to another. And first this man and then that would seek for that hidden treasure. But the old curse and the new bore terrible fruit, for all who succeeded in touching the gold were smitten with plague or madness, or were beguiled unwittingly into some frightful crime which poisoned all their life with clinging bitterness and remorse. None escaped. And there beneath the earth, a temptation and a terror, that treasure still waited for any bold or holy enough to dare its menace or exorcise its spell.