II.

TWO RUINED TOWERS.

When about three-and-twenty years of age I had the misfortune to lose my father, an event which altered the whole course of my life, and nearly unhinged my mind. My father was an artist of some repute, and as I also loved the work, I had an ardent wish to follow in his footsteps.

At seventeen I left school, and immediately commenced my artistic studies under my father. I also became a student at the ---- Art School, at which, when I was about twenty years of age, I had the good fortune to gain a travelling scholarship of £100 a year for two years. The first summer I spent in the British Isles, eking out my scholarship money with the help of a small allowance from my good parent.

The winter I spent in my father’s studio, and in the following spring packed up my few belongings, and bidding my father farewell, travelled to various parts of the continent, making my way gradually south as the cold weather approached. Thus, roving about, I picked up a fair knowledge of two or three languages, and when my time of travel expired, found myself in Sicily, from whence, crossing over to Naples, I spent my last few pounds in procuring a passage home on a P. & O. steamer bound for dear old England.

On my arrival I lost no time in sending a telegram to my father, advising him that he might expect me on the following day. I kept my word, and arrived at the time I had mentioned, but, alas! I found my dear old father on a sick-bed, and was only just in time to bid him a long farewell, for he died two days after my return home.

The shock was so great to my nervous system that I too became ill, and for a long time was in grave danger, hovering between life and death, but, by careful nursing and skilful medical treatment, I eventually pulled through. My nerves were greatly shaken at the awful home-coming I had experienced, and the knowledge that I had not written to my father for three weeks previous to coming to England, so that he might know where to address me, preyed greatly upon my mind. I could not help thinking that, had my father been able to communicate with me, I might have returned sooner, and by so doing have possibly saved his life. I felt somehow guilty of a kind of moral parricide, and blamed myself for all that had happened.

It was more than I could bear to enter the studio; everything about the place served to call up memories of the past; even the trees around the old house seemed to whisper as I walked beneath them, “ingrate.”

I could not bear it.

I felt hysterical and delirious, talking and groaning in my sleep; and during the day roaming about the house like one distraught.

The doctor diagnosed the case at once, and told me plainly that I must choose one of two things--a lunatic asylum or foreign travel.

Feeling his opinion to be a sound one, I naturally chose the latter alternative.

Once more I packed up my impedimenta and crossed to Dieppe, from whence I wandered, without any decided route, across France into Switzerland, from thence making my way gradually southward into Italy.

I sketched and painted, selling several of my drawings to tourists who happened to see me at work, and, I suppose, admired my productions. Painting and wandering were my day amusements, but at night I had another source of relaxation and forgetfulness, and that was my flute. Upon this instrument I played fairly well, and it was my constant practice, whenever I was in a favourable place, after my evening meal, to bring forth my instrument and set the peasants dancing. They loved to hear the merry English airs, and became quite excited over the various dance tunes I played them. Minuets, jigs, strathspeys, reels, and hornpipes, all found favour with them, and their attempts to keep step with the more lively measures were sure to bring forth a deal of good-natured banter, mirth, and merriment. I always placed a tin cup at my feet, into which the dancers could drop a small coin if they felt so disposed, and this little collection I invariably gave to relieve any case of distress or poverty in the village. The poor peasants looked upon me as a very strange fellow, for they could not understand why it was I played for money and then gave it all away again, sometimes adding to the fund from my own somewhat slender purse.

Thus I wandered, week after week, as fancy led me, being sure of a good reception in each village I stopped at, for my fame as an artist-musician preceded me, and wherever I stayed for the night a crowd would invariably assemble outside my window, ready for me to step out flute in hand when I had finished my evening meal.

One day I found a peculiarly effective “bit” to transfer to my canvas. It was a lonely, mountainous district I was in, and I had tumbled across some finely-coloured rocks, picturesquely-disposed trees, a ruined chapel, and a turbulent, dashing, little waterfall.

I unstrapped my light-folding easel and set to work. It was a beautiful day, and I toiled on for several hours, singing and whistling quietly to keep myself in countenance and spirits, for I did not see a soul in this lonely spot.

At last I began to grow tired of my painting, and, as the shadows were beginning to lengthen, I packed up, and was about to foot it to the nearest village some four miles distant, when, mingled with the peculiar noises made by the sound of falling water, I fancied I could hear the moaning either of a human being or some animal, apparently in great distress or pain.

Listening, I caught the sound of what I took to be a faint groan!

I placed my kit upon the ground and looked around. At first I could see nothing; but after a moment’s search I discovered an old man sitting among the rocks, moaning and groaning at some serious injury he had apparently received.

Forgetting where I was, I addressed the old man in English.

“Hallo, old fellow, what’s amiss with you?”

He suddenly brought me to myself by replying in good English (although spoken with a foreign accent), and informing me that whilst sitting under a rocky cliff, contemplating the beautiful solitude, a large portion of stone had become detached, and rolling upon his foot, had severely crushed and cut it.

He was a man apparently seventy years of age, with an aquiline nose, piercing dark eyes, whose depth and brilliancy were enhanced by the whiteness of his over-hanging eyebrows, and a fine flowing white beard. All this I took in with an artist’s eye, and made a mental note not to lose an opportunity, by and by, of painting such a wonderfully fine head, if the old man would allow me.

I tore up my pocket-handkerchief, bound up the poor crushed foot, after bathing it with cool water from the river, and set my old friend, who was profuse in his thanks, upon his feet. I ought perhaps say foot, for he could not place his injured foot to the ground, and consequently was unable to walk. I was in a dilemma; the nearest village being a smart hour’s walk away, down in the valley.

“Cheer up, father,” said I; “allow me to try and carry you a little; possibly we may meet some one as we descend the road.”

“Nay, nay, my son,” the old man replied, “leave me. Perhaps after a rest I may be able to put my foot to the ground and proceed on my way.”

“No, that will never do, old gentleman; do you not know that wolves haunt these rocky heights, and would probably devour you in the night if you were left here by yourself and unarmed?”

“Ah, a sweet death, my son, but, alas! wolves cannot harm me.”

I looked at him in amazement as he uttered these words, but concluded the pain had made him somewhat delirious and wild in his talk. Then I took him in my strong young arms and carried him down the rugged path, halting every now and again to recover breath and rest my aching limbs; for, although my burden was but a bag of bones, still, on a rough mountain path, his weight began to tell before I had gone a mile, and I feared I should become exhausted long before we reached the village whither we were bound.

Again and again I lifted the old man and carried him onward, but each time I noticed the distance was less than the previous effort had covered, and after struggling on for a couple of miles, I was forced to give in for a long spell of rest. We were now down upon the plain, and the sun was fast approaching the horizon, when my eye suddenly lighted upon an ox feeding in a little green hollow a couple of hundred yards off. Knowing that in Southern Europe oxen, to a great extent, take the place of horses, I approached it; feeling sure that if it were an ox broken to work, I could give my old friend a comfortable ride to the village upon its ample back.

The animal stood and stared at me with its great soft eyes, and I stared back in return, but having no knowledge of the handling of cattle, I was at a loss to know what to do next. It was an intelligent-looking creature, so I coaxingly spoke to it in English, trusting that if its education had not been neglected it might understand that I meant it no harm. I took it by one of its horns, and, to my joy, the gentle beast was good enough to follow me; and as it did so I looked at its neck and could see where the yoke had galled it, by which I knew it was used for agricultural purposes.

We soon got to understand each other, and when I lifted the old man on its back, and supported him there, the ox moved off quietly to the village, which we reached just as the light had passed through that stage which poets and learned men call crepuscular.

We found a comfortable inn, and there I attended the old man for two or three days; but I must own my attention was not altogether due to philanthropic motives, as I spent much of each day in painting the grand old head of my patient. As I painted, so the old man talked; and I soon discovered he had a wonderful memory, especially for historic subjects: he appeared to have the history of Europe and Western Asia at his fingers’ ends. He would have made a splendid historian, for he could remember not only the chief events of the subject he happened to speak upon, but a great many of the minor details which go to make up an important episode in history.

His conversation thrilled me, and during some of his vivid recitals I ceased painting, and sat down to listen as one spellbound. He commenced with the struggles of the early Christians, graphically described the decline of the Roman power, and the rise of the Northern and Western nations.

Then he became eloquent upon the Conquest of England, knowing that I was a native of that land, and so minutely described the field of Hastings, that one might have imagined he had been an eyewitness. He spoke of the persons of William and Harold, the weapons and armour used, and could answer my queries so exactly, that I began to fear there was something decidedly uncanny about my model. From the Conquest he took me, in thought and word, right through the Crusades, and with sparkling eyes described the principal actors on the bloody fields of Holy Land, and when describing the prowess and fierceness in battle of our Richard Cœur de Lion, he became so excited in his recital, that, despite his injured foot, he rose from his couch in the centre of the room, and taking up a mahl-stick, struck and thrust in all directions, to explain to me how he of the lion’s heart bore himself.

I was speechless with amazement; my crippled patient was dancing about the room with the vigour of a youth of twenty, quite regardless of the mangled foot, which apparently gave him but little concern, and less pain.

“My friend,” I exclaimed loudly, “your foot!--think of your injuries! Your description is wonderful, magnificent, but do not forget your crippled state!”

“Ha!” he returned, “seven times seven have passed over me, and my foot is perfect again. See!”

Saying which he tore off the bandages, and exhibited to my startled eyes a foot without even a scar.

I now began to feel a strange fear creeping over me, and I asked him what he meant by “seven times seven passing over him?” To which question, as near as I can recollect, his reply was this.

“My friend, I will tell you what my meaning is, on one condition--that for three months from now you will not divulge a word of what I am about to speak to you. If you do, may the burden of your insincerity be on your own head! You have proved yourself a friend to a stranger, and the fact of your not knowing whom you have assisted, makes your act one of greater charity, and your kindness, like that of the Good Samaritan in my young days, shall be rewarded ere we part.”

What, I thought, does he mean by the Good Samaritan of his youth? I knew of but one: he of whom we read in the New Testament parable; and I was about to ask him the meaning of this second enigma, when he motioned me not to interrupt, and proceeded with his remarkable monologue.

“By ‘seven times seven’ I mean, that although an accident may befall me, as it may any other man, yet, after seven times seven hours have passed away, I shall be sound again.

“I am keenly sensible to pain and to all human feelings, but _I cannot know death_!

“No, between death and myself a gulf has been fixed by my Master, and though corporeal pain may for seven times seven hours rack and torture me, I am at the end of that period whole again, even though I were wounded ten times fatally.

“I am the deathless one!”

At the aspect and demeanour of my weird companion I could have shrieked with fear; his eyes were incandescent in their blazing lustre, and the locks of his beard and hair writhed to my astonished eyes like the living locks of a Gorgon.

“The stories I told you of past centuries were no mere tales gathered from books, but were from my own personal observations.

“I stood in Rome when it was in flames; I saw with these very eyes the martyrdom of the early Christians; I walked through the length and breadth of Europe while Rome, with all its power and glories, was passing away. At Hastings I stood beside brave Harold, when a short arrow, taking him in the eye, pierced brain and skull, and he fell dead beside me. I have seen the Saracens fall like mast in the autumn before the trained arms of the bold Crusaders; and when Napoleon’s army fled from Moscow I too followed them.

“I have felt the fierce rays of the Eastern sun and the biting winds and frost of dreary Lapland.

“I have courted dangers and death in all forms, but here, after centuries, I stand before you a living mortal covered with the cloak of immortality.”

“Heaven help you, poor man!” I cried; “you must be distraught; mayhap much learning has weakened your brain. Rest, good father, I implore you. Rest on this couch, you will be better soon.”

“Rest, rest!!” he wildly exclaimed, “there is no rest for me, nay, not even in the peaceful grave. Often and often have I stood in Death’s path, and have felt the icy coldness of his breath, but, alas! he has ever passed me by unheeded.”

“Surely,” said I, “you do not tell me that you are he who is doomed to walk this rolling earth till the Master bids thy penance be no more?”

“Ay,” he replied, “I am he--he whom men, without knowing my true name, call ‘The Wandering Jew’!”

I could scarcely believe my senses. Was the man mad? or was I mad? or was it all a phantasy of my brain?

My guest held out his hand to me, which I mechanically clutched; then drawing me to the couch, we sat down together.

“Forgive me, my young friend, for the shock I have caused you. Your kindness has touched my heart, and for that kindness I will repay you, as in times past I have occasionally rewarded others of my true friends.

“Now,” he continued, lowering the tone of his voice to a kindly pitch, “I dare say you have read of a certain mighty personage, who, in the early days of Christianity, was returning with great spoils from a neighbouring country, when he was hard beset by the enemy, who, with allies, followed close upon his heels; and how to save the vast treasures he had taken, turned aside the course of a certain river, and at dead of night buried his spoils there, deflecting the river to its true course again ere daydawn.”

I bowed assent.

“Now,” he continued, “I know the country where this took place, and can not only point out the very river, but the identical spot in the river where that treasure still lies hidden. Have you the perseverance, vigour, and endurance to bring that vast hoard to the light of day again? If so it shall be yours!”

Hardly knowing what I was saying I replied in the affirmative, and after further conversation we retired for the night.

We stayed a day or two longer at the inn to procure mules and other necessaries, and then rode off upon our distant quest.

After weeks of wandering through mountains and valleys we came to a river which flowed through a beautifully diversified country; hilly, rocky, and well clothed with trees and luxurious foliage.

Riding along the river’s bank we came to a very lonely spot,--a long glen--through which the river peacefully flowed in meandering curves and foaming falls. The end of the valley broadened out into a level plain of considerable extent, and in the midst of this plain stood the crumbling remains of two ancient towers, of which little more than the foundations remained.

“Here,” said my guide, “we halt; there lies our treasure,” saying which he pointed to the deep, silent stream flowing between the two massive towers.

“Now,” he continued, “you must follow out the plan I have devised for regaining the wealth which lies hidden there, and carry out everything just as I desire you.

“At the small town of Y---- hard by lives the owner of this land. You will assume the character of a wealthy but eccentric (or partly mad) Englishman. You are enchanted with the beautiful views in the glen yonder, and wish to stay here for a long period, to paint pictures and to generally enjoy yourself. You would like a two-roomed cottage built near one of the towers, that you may live and sleep amid the scenery you so love to depict. You will pay liberally.

“That is all I ask you to do. We will proceed at once to the town and make these very necessary arrangements. I am your mentor, your tutor, should prying people desire to know why an old man accompanies you.

“At Alexandria I have a friend, to whom I must write for certain necessary implements to be sent to us, without which it will be in vain to attempt our quest. To procure these implements shall be _my_ task. They must be sent to the nearest port, and thence may easily be brought here on the backs of mules.

“D---- is the nearest port, and there my friend Isaac Susha is harbour-master; on my bidding he will send the goods here, free from all observation or suspicion. In the mean time our little house will be building, and you can amuse yourself with your painting, while I elaborate my plans and ply my angling rod, for there is much fish in this river. I shall make an ideal fisherman, for a flowing beard points to the contemplative man, and your true angler is certainly of a contemplative mind; such a man was your English Izaak Walton.”

In due course the little house was built, and the implements or goods, supposed to be furniture, etc., arrived in six heavy cases borne on the backs of mules. The muleteers were paid and dismissed, and in a short time people ceased to regard us as a kind of show, and we were left in peace and quietness, except for an occasional couple who would stroll along in the evening to look at the mad Englishman and his keeper! Now and again an old shepherd, whose flocks nibbled the juicy pasture of the plain, would come and pay his respects to us, and watch the picture growing on my canvas; but after nightfall we were never disturbed, for the people of the district were very superstitious; and as the towers had the reputation of being haunted, we were free from all interruption after dark.

I unscrewed the packing-cases, and found they contained sundry articles of furniture, such as folding-chairs, folding iron bedsteads, cutlery, culinary ware, etc.; but in one of the cases was a complete diving suit, helmet, overalls, tubing, lead weight, heavy boots, and everything that a diver requires, even to a submarine lantern. Another case contained an air pump, extra tubing, crowbars, and sundry gear.

My old friend chuckled with delight at my surprise, and his eyes sparkled as we commenced putting the apparatus together.

“Now,” said he, “the inhabitants of this country are, as you know from the legend of the haunted towers which you have heard, very suspicious, and probably we shall have some official or other, making it his business to call upon us occasionally, to see what is going on, and it will never do to let him see the pump and diving apparatus, or we should at once be haled before some dignitary, and charged with having dealings with the Evil One. Now I have a proposition to make, which is this--our bedroom lies next the river, and I suggest that beneath the floor we hollow out a small chamber, about seven feet square, in which we can keep both the pump and diving suit from observation, so that at whatever time during the day any one chooses to call, nothing will be in view to betray us.”

“Agreed!” I exclaimed; “a capital proposal; we will set to work this very night. We will excavate, and as we dig up the earth I will carry it in a basket to the river’s brink and throw it in.”

“Very well,” said the ancient Jew, “I will delve, and you shall be the beast of burden, as you suggest, for you are the stronger man.”

“But,” I queried, “as you delve beneath the surface you will find it very wet, you will catch your death from cold, and have your limbs set fast with rheumatism.”

The old Jew laughed and replied, “Death--pah! You forget, my friend, who I am. Come, let us commence.”

I looked at my wonderful old comrade and shuddered.

In a fortnight we had our secret room prepared, and everything was ready to commence our search.

The Jew had informed me that the two towers were built by the great General, some weeks after the treasure was hidden, at a time when he had reasserted his power, and was once more in possession of the country hereabouts. In the towers he placed watchmen and tax-gatherers, whose duty it was to levy toll from each vessel passing up or down the river; at least this was what he gave forth, but it was in reality to guard the treasure lying buried in the bed of the river, which at a convenient time he purposed recovering.

For some years he was harassed by the enemy, and at length died, whereupon the enemy retook the country, and the new ruler, not being aware of the treasure buried in the river, carried on the custom of demanding toll, as he considered it a capital institution.

Years went by, men and manners changed, and the towers were neglected and fell into decay; but around the hoary ruins many curious legends gathered, and among others one which came very near the truth, as it told of an ancient king, who, in flight, being hard pressed by his pursuers, was in such haste to cross the river that the boat was overset, the king and many others drowned, and a great deal of valuable _spoil lost in the river_.

The Jew smiled at this particular story, and remarked that although, like the legend, his was only hearsay, yet, as he received his account first-hand from a friend who was _an eyewitness_ of the diversion of the river and the subsequent burial of the treasure, there could be but little romance about his version, which he averred was solid, substantial fact.

“Now,” he observed in conclusion, “I am positive that the treasure was buried midway between those two towers, but whether after the flight of all these centuries we shall find it, or in what form we shall find it, I cannot say; but if you are willing we will make the search, and if successful the whole shall be yours; I require nothing! The mere search is ample reward for me, as it serves to break the monotony of my existence.”

We commenced diving operations in a very timid manner, or at least I did, for although I had witnessed divers at work, I had never before had any actual experience; still, as the Jew said, “There was no hurry.”

The first few nights were spent in fitting up the apparatus, in making experimental dives, and in concocting a signal code that we might understand each other, etc.

The sensation of submarine diving has so often been described that I will not attempt to state what my feelings were at the outset of the operations; suffice it to say that they were far from pleasant, but with practice I soon became expert, especially as the deepest part of the water was not more than twenty feet, so that I did not suffer much from compression.

I quickly discovered that the bed of the river was somewhat muddy, that is to say, there was a deposit of several inches of mud or soft earth, resting upon a substratum of gravel. In some parts large beds of weeds were to be seen sailing their long fronds upward to a height of several feet: these I quickly cut away, and with great labour at length succeeded in clearing away the upper layer of soft ooze nearly from bank to bank, and for a width of perhaps twenty yards near the centre.

We worked four “turns” per night of an hour each, with an interval of half-an-hour between each dive, so that we were occupied from 10 p.m. till 4 a.m., when we went to bed and slept till 10 o’clock, beside obtaining several little daylight snoozes when all was quiet. The Sunday was to us a true Sabbath, and no manner of work was done, not even cooking; we reserved that day for prayer, meditation, conversation, and much-needed rest.

We had now been working for six whole weeks, but though everything was in perfect working order, and the river-bed was being cleared, we had no more knowledge of the exact location of the spoil than when we arrived three months previously.

The real toil now commenced; for digging in the river-bed had to be undertaken at depths varying from fifteen to twenty feet beneath the surface. To dig on dry land a hole of four or five feet in depth is a comparatively easy task, but to dig a hole of like depth _under water_ is a most arduous undertaking, a task requiring strength, perseverance, and much patience. Tools used under water are difficult to manage, and by reason of the resistance of the water lose half their efficacy. For instance, a strong man wielding a heavy hammer under water, although he may strive his hardest, and exert his full strength, can only make his blow of the same force that a child of ten could strike on _terra firma_, because the water resists his arm and the fall of the hammer, in proportion to the area of surface of his arms and the implement. I also found that when using a spade I could only remove a portion of a spadeful each time, as the current and swirl of water floated the lighter particles off, leaving only the heavier pieces upon the blade of the spade; thus digging holes in the expectation of finding the treasure was a wearisome task, especially as I had to cease my work at frequent intervals, to allow the turbid water, thick with sediment, to become clear enough for me to see what I was about. Thus toiling on, another five weeks passed wearily away, without the least trace of our quest being discovered.

The Jew at length began to weary of pumping air to me, and I of diving and delving, so we resolved to take a few days’ rest, and decide what further steps we should take in our search.

The river was about forty yards wide, and although I had sunk about a dozen pits in the bed of the stream, I had discovered absolutely nothing.

I thought the matter carefully over each day, but could only come to the conclusion that we were either searching in the wrong place, or that the treasure had long since been washed away and lost. Still, I could not imagine how even the swiftest torrent could affect or move anything buried beneath the river-bed at a depth of four or five feet. Then it struck me that earthquakes were not unknown in the region, and a shock might have caused an upheaval of the river-bed, by which the treasure might have been exposed and washed away centuries ago by some unusually heavy flood. If this had happened, was it not also probable that the stumps of the two towers would have been rent and cracked in many places?

Certainly it was.

I therefore examined the ruined towers, but their foundations were perfect, save for a few superficial fractures. I thereupon concluded that my earthquake theory was not tenable.

I next examined the banks on each side of the river, especially the portion immediately _between the towers and the water_, and found that on one side, the side farthest from our hut or cottage, solid rock formed the principal part of the bank. From the tower on that bank to the brink of the water was a distance of just fifty feet; but the tower on our side of the river stood within ten feet of the water, and the foundation stood upon an ordinary layer of earth, with an under stratum of gravel similar to the bed of the river.

My old friend and I could see nothing in this to assist us in any way; but when I retired to rest that night I could not help asking myself the question, “Why does one tower stand fifty feet from the water and the other only ten?”

Was it not probable that whoever built the towers would erect them at equal distances from the river? And again--If one tower were required for some reason to be nearer the water than the other, would it not be the one which was built upon the solid rock?

Over these questions I pondered and worried half through the night, while my old comrade snored away as peacefully and regularly as he had done any time during the past nineteen centuries.

Before I joined my companion in a nasal duet I came to the following conclusions:--

1. Probably centuries ago the river had been much narrower.

2. A river does not keep its exact course for ever: many things may cause it to change its course.

3. This river had not diverged much from its original course, as proved by the towers; but if it had diverged at all it was towards the eastern tower (cottage side).

4. The towers were exactly one hundred and eighty feet apart, but the true centre of the river would be forty feet from the west bank and eighty feet from the east bank.

5. River _beds_ may rise or fall from their original level, by deposits of earthy particles settling, and thus covering up what was once the true river-bed; or by a swift river scouring off the upper surface of the bed, which would thus eventually expose anything hidden at a depth of five or six feet below the bed.

6. The deepest part of a river is usually in the centre, and there would probably be the spot where anything in the way of treasure would be buried, because of the greater inaccessibility.

Next day the Jew and I held a consultation, when we decided, after carefully weighing the above ideas, that I should cut a trench five feet deep and twenty or thirty yards long, from north to south, along the bed of the river in a line with its course, and at a distance of forty feet from the west bank, a spot which we surmised to be the centre of the river in ancient times.

Again night after night I toiled, and for three weeks I dug and delved, but this time not _quite_ in vain, for at the end of this period I came upon a hard substance which I supposed to be just what I had struck my spade upon many times before--a stone. I took it in my hand, for the water was too turbid to see anything clearly beneath its surface, and felt it to be much too heavy for a flint of the size of one’s fist. Probably it was metal!

My heart beat swiftly as I ascended.

I took it to the hut and examined it. It was indeed metal--it was gold!

We gazed upon it for some time, and then, placing it upon the table, I capered round it with delight. The Jew was very calm over it.

“Wait,” said he; “this may only be a solitary nugget dropped from a boat, or thrown into the stream by some thief to hide his guilt.”

I went soberly to work again, taking with me a small basket weighted with stones to prevent it floating away. I dug, and again struck upon large nuggets, which I placed in the basket; I also found pieces of metal which had evidently been shaped by human hands, although they were in such a corroded state that I could only surmise what had once been their shape or use. I washed off the adhering gravel and took my find ashore to the hut, trembling with excitement as I did so.

Hurrah! every piece was pure gold! gold!! gold!!! Then, being thoroughly exhausted by my long dive and the excitement of my discovery, I frightened my companion nearly out of his wits by fainting, and falling like a log of timber at his feet.

When I awoke it was broad daylight, and I was lying comfortably in my cot, but with a very bad headache.

I groaned, for it at once flashed across my mind that the basket of gold was, after all, nothing but a dream, a delusion!

Calling my friend from the other room, and glaring at him the while, I asked half-a-dozen questions before he could answer one.

“Calm yourself, my son, and I will answer all your questions, but not before you give me your word that nothing shall excite you. Remember, that in your overwrought state, with a burning brain, an enfeebled frame, and a naturally excitable temperament, such a thing as madness might overtake you, or an attack of brain fever seize you.”

“Father, I will be a very Stoic; nothing shall unduly move me.”

“Prove then that you can control your feelings by not asking me a single question till you have eaten your breakfast.”

I obeyed; but how every morsel stuck in my throat, and had literally to be washed down with coffee. The apparently everlasting meal was at length finished, and again I put my numerous questions, and recounted my dream of the basket of gold. Then with a gesture intended to compose me, the Jew drew forth from a locker the basket of gold, and held it out to my astonished gaze.

“Gold!” I exclaimed, stretching out my trembling hand.

“Yes, gold,” said the Jew, quietly placing the basket upon the table as if it contained apples. “Gold, simple gold; would you be so weak as to addle your brain for a basketful of the vile dross? It is at once the curse and blessing of humanity; it kills and it saves; it blackens the pure, and gilds vice; it creates and it destroys, and more often paves the way to hell than builds a ladder to heaven.”

What my friend said upon gold would fill many pages, but to shorten these remarks I will simply say that his eloquence and force of argument were so great, that I presently became infected with his ideas of the metal before me. I had been like a man drunk with gold, but had now become sober with advice.

My fevered brain quieted down, and I simply resolved in my mind that I should be a rich man. Well! what of that, there were plenty of rich men in the world who lived and enjoyed their wealth, but then--unlike my ancient friend--a few short years would bring them face to face with that great harvestman, Death, and what of the riches then?

In a day or two, having with the Jew’s kind nursing and attention quieted my mind, I re-commenced my work, and found many more baskets of gold of various shapes; battered crowns, cups, shield bosses, rings, and ornaments of all kinds, many of them with gems in them, were brought to the surface; and one night as I lay in bed, it came into my head that I would the next night bring ashore a basketful of the loose gravel, and examine it to see if any small pieces of gold were among it.

Accordingly the next night, as most of the large pieces of gold had been gathered, I filled my basket with gravel, and took it to the hut, where I spread it forth on the table.

To our astonishment, not only did we discover small pieces of gold, but precious stones, cut and uncut, were to be seen sparkling amid the heap of gravel. The gravel was of more value than the lumps of gold!

The cut gems we put carefully by in a box, and those in a rough state, which we had more difficulty in finding because they were of a dull and lustreless surface, we placed in a large leathern bag.

I found I had literally been shovelling up precious stones when I fancied I was digging gravel, but now that I was aware of the value of the gravel-bed, I carefully brought every basketful ashore, and together we sorted over the contents.

For several weeks, night by night, I continued my work of diving, until nature gave out, and I became completely prostrate, and by my old friend’s advice resolved to give up seeking for more valuables. I had gold of ten times my own weight, several leathern bags of natural uncut gems, about a peck of beautiful cut jewels, and enough ring-seals and ornaments to stock a museum; I was rich beyond my most extravagant dreams. I was twice over a millionaire!

[Illustration: “Precious stones, cut and uncut, were to be seen sparkling amid the heap of gravel.”--_p. 58._]

The Wandering Jew had but a few more days to be with me, for he may not sojourn at one place more than six months, and that privilege is only allowed him once in each century; at other times a calendar month is his longest stay at any place. Usually he tramps from place to place, halting but a short time at each town or village; at other times he undertakes long journeys among the Caucasus Mountains, the Urals, or the Alps; at other times he hies him to Norway, Finland, and even Siberia. These journeys he undertakes with no other encumbrance than a long staff. He can accomplish feats that would be impossible to other mortals: no wild animal dare attack him; cold he can feel but it cannot harm him; sleep has no hold upon him when he wills himself to remain awake, nor does hunger have any pangs for him, as he is able to fast for weeks at a time without any great inconvenience. He speaks many languages and knows many countries. He wants for nothing, as he has the power of willing persons to give him exactly what he may require, not _against_ their will, but with pleasure to themselves.

For the few days which remained we occupied ourselves in packing and forwarding the boxes by different routes, and under different disguises, to my home in distant England, in which I longed once more to set foot.

I endeavoured in every way to obtain the real name of my generous old friend, but without success, and am sorry to say he did not even give me the opportunity of thanking him for having made me a millionaire, for one stormy morning when I arose I found myself alone; my comrade had flown, leaving upon the table a scrap of paper bearing these words--

“My son, riches added neither to the honour nor happiness of the great king Solomon; how, then, shall they bring _thee_ peace--that peace which is the spirit of happiness--except by doing good with that which earth and water have yielded up to thee?

“Do good with thy riches, and thy fellow men shall bless and reverence thee.

“Use thy riches in a selfish or discreditable manner, and thy gold shall turn to lead as thou graspest it, and drag thee deep down to an eternal doom. Fare thee well.

“(Signed) JOHN XXI., xxiv.”

* * * * *

Many were the schemes which racked my brain for turning my valuables into money; and for a long time after returning to England I did not know how to proceed, but at length hit upon a plan. The very numerous relics of pagan times I presented, under various assumed names, to museums throughout the kingdom. The gold I had no difficulty in disposing of to the large manufacturing jewellers in Birmingham. The uncut precious stones I occasionally send in parcels of a thousand to M. Koster of Amsterdam, who for the past ten years has set apart a wing of his great establishment, containing twenty-five men, who are constantly employed in cutting and polishing gems for me. These are then sent to agents in all parts of the world, and disposed of, the proceeds being placed to my account in the Bank of England.

I live as a wealthy country gentleman should, in good style, but without ostentation. I travel a great deal in the summer, and to every genuine call of distress my purse is open, but the cases requiring pecuniary aid which come under my _personal_ observation are not nearly enough to absorb the amount--about £100,000--which I wish to spend yearly in charity and good philanthropic work. My money is distributed over the British Isles to charities of every denomination under the initials A. Z., which you have probably often seen in the daily newspapers, and I trust I may live for many years to bestow my largesse on cases and institutions worthy of aid.

I have more than I shall spend during my lifetime, but there is doubtless a great deal more treasure in the river-bed which I overlooked in my hasty search, and which could be made the means of alleviating much suffering, wretchedness, and distress in this country, if it were brought to light by some one who would search for it in a more diligent and thorough manner than I did, and who would, when he had secured it, put it to the same good use that I am doing. To whom could I tell the secret of the whereabouts of the ruined towers, with the certainty that he would carry out my wishes?

I wonder who would take up the search at the point at which I ceased?

By obtaining permission from the government of Z----, the river’s course could be again deflected as it was in the early Christian days, and the remaining treasure systematically and leisurely recovered.

* * * * *

It was quite late when my guest left me that night, after having first extracted from me the promise that I would call upon him at his humble inn in the happy valley next day.

Having made a parcel of the still wet clothes I called next morning upon my new friend, and spent the day with him, wandering about the valley, and trying a cast with the fly. On parting in the evening he informed me that he was to return to town next day, and I should probably see him no more.

A day or two after his departure a man came down to the beach leading a fine piebald mare, and inquiring if I were Mr. S----. I informed him that that was my name, whereupon he gave me a note written in pencil, reading thus--

“MY DEAR FRIEND,

“I cannot allow the day I spent in your cosy domicile on wheels to pass without some little acknowledgment of the courtesy shown me, and of the kindness you extended to a perfect stranger. By bearer I send you a magpie, which kindly accept as a remembrance of

“Your obliged friend, “H. K. K. (A. Z.)”

I have never seen H. K. K. since, although I think I could, if I wished, make a very near guess at his real name and abode. The magpie still tugs myself and home from place to place, the admired of all beholders from the beauty of his peculiar markings. He makes my caravan an object of extra interest wherever I go, simply because of the superstitious belief that a piebald horse brings luck.

Some people _wish_ when they see my horse, others affirm that stroking its glossy hide helps to realize their wish. Parents whose children suffer from St. Vitus’s dance have asked me to allow the afflicted ones to ride a little way on its back, in the belief that such exercise on a parti-coloured steed will effect a cure.

A jockey about to ride a race on a certain occasion begged seven black hairs from the tail of my horse and seven white ones from its mane. I granted his request, and watched him bind the hairs carefully round the handle of his riding-whip. I witnessed the race with more than usual interest, and strangely enough the superstitious jockey WON his race by a short head.

At more than one inn at which I have halted, the landlord would take no money for the maintenance of my parti-coloured horse, saying that bad luck would fall upon them if they charged for the keep of a “lucky” horse.

So much for credulity and superstition!