CHAPTER III.

THE ISLES OF THE BEAUTIFUL WEST.

“Strange--that where Nature loved to trace, As if for gods, a dwelling-place, And every charm and grace hath mixed Within the paradise she fixed, There man, enamoured of distress, Should mar it into wilderness, And trample, brute-like, o’er each flower, That tasks not one laborious hour.”--BYRON.

It was one bright, beautiful afternoon, when we were alone together, far away on a lonesome, heather-clad hill-top. It was a hill that, south of the silvery Tweed, would have been called a mountain, yet as regards height was nowhere amid the chaos of giants with which it was everywhere surrounded.

This hill, however, was beautifully encrimsoned with heath and heather. The former floated over the rocks in vast red sheets: the latter, more sturdy and strong, looked boldly upwards to face the sunlit sky.

Far down beneath us we could see many a loch, and around each were the everlasting banks of silvery-stemmed, drooping birch-trees.

The sun himself was already declining in the west, and a gentle breeze was stirring the heather. It had been a hot day, and somewhat uneventful as regards sport, and as we lay here on a patch of moss, we conversed somewhat languidly; albeit Reeves had lit that wondrous meerschaum of his, and--just for once in a way--I had “bent” a cigar.

“Gordon,” said the captain at last, taking the pipe from his lips for a moment and glancing towards me--“Gordon, in you I think I have found a friend.”

“I am certain,” I answered, “that if I can be of service to you, you have only to ask me.”

“And a man,” he added, “that can be trusted with a secret.”

I laughed lightly.

“Am I not like yourself, a sailor?” I said. “I have never, however, gone secret-hunting; yet when such a thing came my way, I have always cherished and respected it. A secret belongs to the other fellow, not to you, and if you happen to have it in your possession, you have no more right to give it away than you would have to sell his watch, if he had lent you that.”

“My own sentiments to a ‘t.’ Well, that which I am about to tell you no one at present knows anything about, except Miguel. He is in the swim, and will join me, and I trust that you too will when you have heard all.”

“It is,” he added, “a story of buried treasure.” He glanced half uneasily around him as he spoke, as if afraid that even the curlews had ears, and could understand his story.

“Buried treasure?” I said, somewhat astonished, but probably doubtingly; “why, that sounds interesting. But--”

“If we can only find it,” he went on, as he gazed dreamily away over the landscape of hill and dell, of crimson and green. “If we could but find it, we--I and Mina and my sister--should be no longer poor, while brave young Miguel should be able to continue and finish his studies without further toil, or the terrible hardship of the herring fishery and harvesting.”

He seemed speaking just then more to himself or to Dash, on whose beautiful head his hand was placed, than to me. Then after a few moments’ silence and a sigh or two, he turned once more round.

“Pardon me,” he said, “but for the moment I believe, so absorbed was I in my own thoughts, that I forgot your presence. But now I shall speak.

“You are doubtless sceptical concerning this buried treasure,” he continued.

“I fear so,” I replied, smiling.

“Well, but you will not be so when you hear my yarn. Moreover, you will agree with me that it is not any one else’s gold we--and the ‘we’ must include you, my valued friend--are going in search of. No, it is my own and that of Miguel--in other words, that of our dead-and-gone forbears, or ancestors.”

“And you don’t think it will be a wild-goose chase?”

“On the contrary,” Captain Reeves replied, with a considerable amount of energy, “it will be a dead certainty.”

“But listen, if you will; it is quite a long time before sunset yet, and I am tired of wandering after these half-scared ptarmigan and grouse.”

He took from his pocket some papers as he spoke, and began turning them over.

“These sheets,” said Reeves, “which are but clean copies of the time-worn ones I have in my possession at home, date back, as far as I can find out, for about two hundred years. These papers are, in reality, excerpts from the log of my ancestor, a Spaniard of the name of Miguel Bassanto.

“They are without consecutive dates, and it is my own impression that they were written after and not during the terrible adventures and wild, stormy voyages in which he took part.

“I may tell you at once that his life at sea was intimately connected with that of several pirates, but notably that of Morgan.

“Let him speak for himself. I have changed the style of English, however.

“‘When I landed from a small trading sloop at the English port of Bristol,’ he says, ‘all my worldly goods were contained in a bundle slung over my shoulder on a stick. I was but fifteen years of age, though strong and wiry. I was very innocent too.

“‘Not very many weeks before this I had bidden farewell to a loving mother and a dear little sister, whom, alas! as things turned out, I was doomed never, never to see again. We had been very well-to-do when I was younger, but misfortunes had overwhelmed us after my dear father ventured on speculations. Then grief brought about his end.

“‘Work of a remunerative kind I failed to find in Cadiz. But I met one evening some young English officers, and naturally they praised their own country. “No one could starve in Britain,” they said. Here were food and work for all. And they were kind enough even to arrange for my passage.

“‘Well, I had enough money to last me in a humble way for many months. I obtained lodgings down near the docks, and every day I set out to look for work.

“‘Ah! all in vain.

“‘I wandered far away one afternoon, up and on to a beautiful though somewhat dreary table-land.

“‘The time was spring. There were May trees growing here and there, snowed over with blossom, and in these sang the blackbirds and the thrushes, oh, so soothingly. High up against a little fleece of a cloud was a dark little dot--a lark that poured its notes earthwards; notes of melody that made me think the little bird was almost bursting with the wild joy it could not suppress. But sweeter far to me was the song of the rose-linnets, low and beautiful, that perched upon the banks of golden gorse which here and there hugged the ground, perfuming the air all around with their delicious breath.

“‘I was really feeling happy, though somewhat lonesome, and I believe I had almost fallen asleep, when slowly across the upland I saw a young fellow coming towards me.

“‘He quite unceremoniously threw himself down within a couple of yards of the spot where I lay.

“‘“Well, comrade,” he said, “you look as if you were in the same fix as myself.”

“‘He was very gentlemanly, and evidently of good family.

“‘“I don’t know,” I answered, in as perfect English as I could command, “what manner of fix yours may be, but I came to your England to look for work, and I can’t find any.”

“‘He lowered his brow half angrily for a moment or two before replying.

“‘“It isn’t my England. Henry Morgan is my name, and I am a Welshman. The English never did us any good, and I just hate them. Only I quarrelled with my people, and have come here to begin the world on my own account.”

“‘“And will you succeed?” I asked eagerly.

“‘“Oh, I am sure to,” he answered, laughing; “but, mark me, never in England. Listen. Far, far beyond the seas, an old sailor captain who used to visit our house has told me, there lies an island belonging to the Windward group in the West Indies. It is far more beautiful than even a dream of fairyland. It is covered with mountains and forests, with silver lakes and glittering streams. But the hills are not like our wild, barren hills in Wales, for they are green-wooded to their very summits; while on the lower grounds there are splendid savannahs, and whole forests of fruit-trees, and spices rich and rare; the cocoa-nut palms wave their fringy summits in the blue sky, as if offering a banquet to the gods; guavas grow here, and around the shores groves of delicious bananas, while hardly can you walk through some parts of the island for the pine-apples that impede your progress with their thrice-fragrant fruit.

“‘“Although frequent wild storms rage across this land of delight, they serve but to make one enjoy nature all the more, when they pass away and all is again serene and quiet.

“‘“It is an island of flowers, too, whose perfume and beauty no language of mine can do justice to. But they grow and climb and trail everywhere, those sweet and lovely flowers. Then all around the island are snow-white or silvery sands, and still a little distance further off beds of beauteous coral and marine gardens, so gorgeous in colouring that the sailors believe the sea-fairies wander here when the moon’s pale light pierces the water and gladsome stars are shining high in heaven’s blue. And this is Barbadoes.”

“‘My newly-found friend paused, and I sighed.

“‘“Why sighest thou?” he said.

“‘“Your description,” I replied, “has quite entranced me; but, ah me! fain though I should be to go to so lovely an isle as this, I have no money to take me.”

“‘Young Morgan laughed right merrily.

“‘“Neither have I,” he said. “My pockets are almost empty; for though my people are well-to-do, when I quarrelled I was too proud to ask them for a coin. No, I am going out to Barbadoes to make my own fortune. It is all arranged, and we sail in five days. To pay for my passage I work on board ship, and for a few months for nothing on a farm out there. Why don’t you come along too? I like you, and we should be good friends.”

“‘I jumped at the idea.

“‘We shook hands on the spot.

“‘Then together we walked towards the docks, and boarded the great ship. She had three enormous masts, a very high poop and forecastle, and was also high out of the water.

“‘Yes, I was speedily engaged; for labour in Barbadoes was in great demand.

“‘Just a fortnight after this we were speeding away over the broad Atlantic, westwards and south, before the breath of a favouring breeze.

“‘I thought now that there was nothing like the ocean. How clear and bright the sky was! how healthful the breeze! And the great blue waves themselves seemed to rear their sparkling heads and toss their white manes in veritable pride and gladness. The waves sang to the sunlight; the sunlight kissed the waves.

“‘We saw many strange, mysterious beasts and fishes. Some were mighty in their strength beyond credence; others, that on moonlight nights reared horrid heads and necks high above the ship, looked like fiery-eyed fiends; and the men, affrighted, rushed below, or lashed themselves with rope-ends to capstan or winch, lest the awful apparition might seize and bear them away.

“‘But notwithstanding all this, and notwithstanding the length of the voyage--which, as we were often driven back by storms, and often becalmed for many days at a time, extended to months and months--both Morgan and myself were very happy.

“‘He was a good boy then; alas that he should have turned out so terrible a man years and years after this! But now morning and evening found Morgan on his knees; and he used to tell me that God was his greatest friend, and prayer his greatest comfort.

“‘We reached Barbadoes at last, and found this sunny isle of the sea everything that Morgan’s friend had described it to be.

“‘We worked out our time quietly enough, and although we got no pay, we were well fed, and everything went pleasantly.

“‘Then we were free, and soon obtained work from the planters. We were well paid now, and led a comfortable, happy life; and so here we dwelt for years.

“‘Morgan and I considered ourselves men by this time, But I could note that he was restless.

“‘“My dear Bassanto,” he said to me one day, “this is an enjoyable enough life, but it isn’t making wealth. I shall run over to Jamaica, and see if I can better my condition. If I can, don’t be afraid that I won’t come back for you.

“‘“But,” he added, “I think a roving sea-life will suit me better than anything else.”

“‘“So be it,” I said.

“‘Then we parted.

“‘I never expected to see Morgan again: far better for my peace of mind that I never had seen him more.

“‘Now at this time there was peace between Britain and Spain--peace, but no good-will. The British hated the Dons, and many cruisers were fitted out by private individuals to prey upon their commerce, and rob their ships of their golden doubloons--for the Spaniards were rich. These adventurers the British smiled upon, and really encouraged. They were pirates in reality, but so long as they confined their attention to Spanish vessels they were not molested.

“‘Well, a whole year and a half passed away. One evening, as I was returning from the plantation, I heard a shout, and next moment Morgan himself and two armed men--who looked to me like man-o’-war sailors--stood before me.

“‘“Hurrah, Bassanio! hurrah, my merry, merry friend! behold, I have not forgotten you.”

“‘Morgan was dressed almost like an admiral, with sword by his side and pistols in his belt.

“‘We shook hands, and down we sat “to swap yarns;” and though I had little or nothing to tell, Morgan’s adventures had been of the very wildest.

“‘But, alas! I could not help noticing that there was a something wanting in the Morgan who now sat beside me. Reverence for things good and eternal seemed banished; the young man was reckless, and appeared proud of it, while his conversation was such as almost made my blood run cold to listen to.