Dutch the Diver: or, A Man's Mistake

For it was determined to make the best use they could of the daylight, and consequently their meals were snatched in the little intervals of work. Even the men forbore to grumble at being kept without their regular food, for there was a novelty in their task.

The sand caused a great deal of trouble to the divers, but this was steadily mastered, and when at sunset the task was set aside for the night, and, wearied out, the adventurers sat down to the repast ’Pollo had prepared and the steward set out, the question was asked in a whisper, what was the value of the treasure recovered. Mr Parkley, who had been below, could only say —

“Many thousands.”

Story 1-Chapter XXVI.

A Good Resolution

The next day and the next and the next passed rapidly in the same toil; and work, rest, and refreshment were all that were thought of. Even Dutch had been seized now by the thirst for wealth, and, hardly looking at Hester, he toiled on at his task, while she, pale and rigid, kept watch over him, never once gaining confidence as she saw his many descents, but always tortured by the horror of that first day.

To her great relief, though, Lauré had hardly noticed her, and there seemed to be an unspoken truce existing between them. She could see that he was one of the most industrious of the workers, and she shuddered as she felt why this was, and knew that some terrible catastrophe might ere now have taken place on the schooner, only that Lauré wanted the divers to do their work to the full before he asserted himself.

And yet she dared not speak, feeling that to utter a warning would be to sign her husband’s death-warrant, while he, giving no heed to, perhaps not crediting, her sufferings, passed her by at times without a look.

But a change was rapidly approaching, and it took place so suddenly as almost to surprise Hester herself.

The only thing that had disturbed the harmony of the past week had been the bitter opposition of John Studwick to the advances made by the young doctor. So far from the presence of a medical man on board being of advantage to the invalid, it had served to irritate and annoy him, and more than once he had angrily turned his back and drawn his sister away with the petty jealousy of a child more than a man, all which the doctor had taken in quite good part, while Bessy had more than one hearty cry to herself, as she called it.

Hester and she were like sisters now, and in consequence a coolness existed towards Dutch, who saw nothing, however, but, miser-like, gloated over the enormous wealth he was helping to pile up for himself and partner.

It was on the ninth day of the diving that, all elate, and congratulating themselves on the calm and delightful weather that had attended their efforts, the task began once more. The sand had been well mastered, and great half-rotten, water-hardened pieces of timber had been removed, and the silver was sent up, from the ease with which it was obtained, at a greater rate than ever.

Dutch had been down five times, and he was now down for the sixth, having succeeded Mr Parkley, and wading to the hole that had been made, after filling the bucket with some difficulty, the silver having now become scarce, he took his bar and tried to remove a piece of blackened wood that showed plainly in the mid-day sun.

It seemed quite fast, but a good wrench moved it, and, lifting it with ease, Dutch carried it a few paces and thrust it between two of the ribs behind him.

A man shut up in a diver’s helmet and suit is not in a condition to feel much elation, but Dutch’s heart beat rapidly as he resumed and stooped to gaze down at what he had found. There was no mistake, though. The hold of the wreck had been cleared from side to side, and there was evidently no more silver – in fact, as far as it was concerned, the treasure was won. He tried the iron probe to find sand or wood – sand or wood, forward or aft, while, of course, the possibility of anything being found to right or left was bounded by the old ribs which now stood out clear to the keel.

But here, aft of the silver treasure, and separated originally, no doubt, by a strong timber partition, one of the timbers of which Dutch had wrenched away, dull red and glistening, totally free from shelly concretion, but in places bound together by a fine sand, lay, as he cleared away the covering from the surface, and plainly marked out by the black wood that surrounded it on three sides, forming a great chest-like place about four feet by six, but whose sides, of black rotten timber, were ten inches thick, what was evidently of greater value than the mass of silver they had obtained.

For there before him lay neatly packed, as they had been by busy hands at least two hundred and fifty years before, hundreds upon hundreds of little rough ingots of gold. Not a bar was displaced, for the massive framework in which they had been stowed, though rotten, had not given way like what had probably surrounded the silver, which lay tossed about at random.

“Wealth, wealth, rich gold,” muttered Dutch, as he signalled for more air; and then, looking more closely at his find, he could see by sweeping away the sand that slowly trickled back, as if eager to cover the treasure it had held secret so long, that the gold had not been packed as he had supposed, but had evidently been in little wooden boxes, which had rotted quite away, the places of the wood being filled up by sand, which lay in rectangular lines.

“The silver has all been saved without doubt,” said Dutch to himself as he gazed at his find, and thought of the delight with which the news would be received by his partner. Then he turned to get the bucket and fill it, wishing himself on deck when it arrived there to watch the astonishment of those who emptied it.

As he moved he had again to signal for more air, and looking down he saw the sand slowly trickling back over the gold, so that in a very few moments it would have been covered.

He picked up the shovel, meaning to throw the sand in that part more effectually away, when once more the difficulty of breathing attacked him.

He signalled for more air, but no more came, neither to his next signal; and feeling that something must be wrong with the apparatus, he was already on his way to the steps, when he received a signal to come up; and on reaching the surface, with the air becoming each moment more deficient, he was quickly helped on board and relieved of his helmet.

“I couldn’t help it, Mr Dutch,” exclaimed Rasp, “the leather’s giving way on the piston, and we must have a good repair.”

“But it’s held out just long enough,” said Mr Parkley, “for Rasp tells me we’ve got to the end, and he only just left you a little of the silver to send up.”

“Yea, Mr Pug, I tried all round, but there was nothing but wood and sand – wood and sand everywhere. ’Cept what you’ve sent up, I say there wasn’t a bit more silver left.”

“Why didn’t you say so before I went down?” said Dutch.

“Because I wanted to hear what you thought, and let you judge for yourself,” growled Rasp, handling a screw-hammer.

As they spoke, the men who had been pumping and hauling gathered round, evidently eager to hear what was said, and this made Dutch alter the words he was about to utter.

“Rasp is right,” he said, “I have sent up the last of the silver.”

“And have you tried well round with the rod?”

“Everywhere,” said Dutch, “and touched the ship’s timbers right down into the sand. There isn’t another bar of silver, I should say.”

“Well,” said Mr Parkley, “man’s never satisfied. I was quite ready to get more. There, my lads, we’ll clean up our apparatus.”

“Yes,” said the captain, “and clear the decks; they want it badly enough. You’ve worked well, my lads, and you shall have a bit of a feast for this. ’Pollo shall prepare you a supper, and we’ll drink success to our next venture.”

The men gave a bit of a cheer, but on the whole they looked rather disappointed, and Dutch, he hardly knew why, held his peace about the gold. One thing was evident: nothing could be done to get it on deck till the worn valve of the air-pump had been repaired, and this Rasp declared would take him all the afternoon, for he would have to apply new leathers and india-rubber.

So the diving suits were hung up to dry, the helmets, polished dry and clean, and placed upon their stands. Mr Parkley and the doctor, who had looked upon this part as more in his province – Mr Parkley said because it helped to destroy life – had coiled up the wires, emptied the battery, and placed the dynamite in safety, and the rough shelly matter was thrown over the side, while Dutch, who had still kept his discovery to himself, was down below close to the end of the wind-sail – that canvas funnel that took down a constant current of fresh air – smoking a cigar with Mr Wilson, the naturalist, who was chatting away about his birds, and his determination to have another run or two on shore to shoot, asking his companion to accompany him.

“It would do the ladies so much good, too, I’m sure,” said Mr Wilson; “and really, Mr Pugh, I never dare speak to Miss Studwick now,” he added with a sigh, “for if I do, her brother looks daggers at me, and if I mention Mrs Pugh, you look just as cross.”

Dutch had been saying “Yes” and “No” in amusing manner, hardly hearing what his companion said, but the mention of his wife’s name made him start angrily round and glare at the speaker.

“There, that’s just how Mr Studwick, junior, looks at me,” said the naturalist simply. “A regular jealous, fierce look. I wish you would not treat me so, Mr Pugh,” he continued earnestly, and with a pleading look in his weak, lamblike face, “for I like you, I do, indeed. I always have liked you, Mr Pugh, and how you can fancy I have dishonourable ideas about Mrs Pugh I can’t think. It shocks me, Mr Pugh, it does, indeed.”

“My dear fellow,” said Dutch, smiling, half in amusement, half in contempt, “I never did think any such thing.”

“Then why do you look at me so?” continued Wilson, mildly. “You see,” he said, with gathering enthusiasm, “I love Miss Studwick very dearly, but I seem to have no hope whatever. But why are you so angry?”

“There, there, there, don’t talk about it,” said Dutch, shaking the naturalist’s hand. “These are matters one don’t like to talk about.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Wilson, looking at him wistfully. “But you won’t mention what I said.”

“As to your love confidences,” said Dutch smiling, “they are safe with me; but look here, Wilson, you are better as you are – better as you are.”

“You think so, perhaps,” said the young man; “but I do not. You are angry with Mrs Pugh for something: that is all. She is very pretty, but perhaps she is a little imprudent,” he added simply.

“What do you mean?” exclaimed Dutch angrily.

“Don’t be cross with me, Mr Pugh. Perhaps I am wrong.”

“Speak! What do you mean?” exclaimed Dutch, panting.

“I only thought she ought to be more particular, perhaps, as a lady, and not speak to the dark mulatto sailor.”

“Have – have you seen her speaking to – to that man?” said Dutch, with his breath coming thick and short.

“Yes, I did last night,” said Wilson; “but I did not mention it to anyone else, and of course she was only doing it out of kindness, for she is very amiable.”

“When – when was it?” panted Dutch, whose face flushed with shame and anger that he should be stooping to ask such questions.

“Just after dark, when you diving people were having your meal below. They parted, though, directly.”

“Thanks; say no more about this,” said Dutch, more calmly. “Perhaps it looks a little imprudent, but, as you say, she is so amiable and kind to the men that her actions are easily misconstrued.”

Dutch rose to go on deck, for the air in the cabin seemed to stifle him, but Wilson arrested his steps.

“But you will come if we have a shooting expedition, Mr Pugh?” he exclaimed. “You have not been ashore yet, but spending your time over this dreadful treasure-hunting, when the treasures ashore are a thousand times more beautiful.”

“I will see – perhaps – I cannot say,” replied Dutch; and he stumbled on deck to stand watching Rasp, who was busy over the air-pump, which he had taken all to pieces, but as it was close upon dusk he was collecting the various screws and placing them loosely in their proper holes before covering all over with a tarpaulin to keep off the heavy night dew that hung in drops each morning from every rail.

The words of Wilson, the simple-hearted naturalist, had so troubled Dutch that his mind was once more in a whirl. Till then he had been gradually getting into a calm, resigned state, and accepting the inevitable; but now to hear such remarks as these about his wife’s conduct was simply maddening him, and as he went and leaned over the side, gazing down into the pure water where the golden treasure lay, it was forgotten mostly in the trouble of his heart, and he made up his mind that he would see Hester and demand some full explanation of her conduct, and so end this terrible suspense.

“I will know,” he muttered; and as he rose he felt surprised at the lapse of time, for the short tropic twilight had given place to intense darkness while he had been brooding over his troubles, and now it occurred to him that he had not told Mr Parkley about the gold.

“I’ll see him now,” he said; and he was turning to go to the cabin stairs when the low musical voice of his wife fell upon his ear, and though the darkness was so great that he could not see her he was aware that she was close at hand in conversation with some one whose voice seemed familiar.

He could not make out a word, but it was evident that whoever was speaking to Hester was addressing her in a low, passionate tone, while her replies were almost inaudible.

Who was it? Not the mulatto: his peculiar, harsh, grating voice was too familiar. This was the voice of some one who made his nerves thrill with rage and indescribable emotion; and yet in his confusion and excitement he could not make out who it could be.

“I cannot play the spy like this,” said Dutch to himself, and, raging as he was with curiosity and mortification, he walked away; but his agony was unbearable, and, turning back, he approached the spot once more, to hear a half-stifled cry for help; then there was the noise of a slight struggle, and he darted forward to strike himself against the foremast and stagger back half-stunned, and lean against the side to collect his scattered thoughts.

For his forehead had come violently into collision with the mast, and for a few minutes memory forsook her seat, and a strange sense of sickness accompanied the oblivion.

This soon passed off, though, and now, thoroughly roused, Dutch retraced his steps, going with outstretched hands to the spot whence the voices had seemed to proceed, to find all perfectly still.

“But she was here,” he muttered moodily; and recalling his determination to insist upon a full explanation, Dutch walked straight to the cabin occupied by Bessy Studwick and his wife, and stood listening for a few moments before he knocked.

He could hear voices behind him, where it was evident that the captain and his friends were gathered, and upon listening more attentively he learned what he wished to know, but was never in doubt about – namely, the presence of Hester in the little cabin.

She was there, though, for he heard some one talking in a low tone, and that there was a low sob.

He waited no longer but knocked.

There was no reply.

He knocked again, and there was a rustling sound within which made his heart beat heavily, the blood rushed to his eyes, and a strange swimming affected his brain, as the horrible suspicion crossed his mind that it was not Bessy Studwick’s voice he had heard, but the same that he had listened to on deck.

Fighting against the dizzy sensation, and striving to become calm, he raised his hands and stood in the attitude of one about to hurl himself against the door and burst it from its fastenings; but something seemed to restrain him, and he knocked again, and this time plainly enough, he heard Hester’s voice in an excited whisper say, —

“He is there! pray, pray, don’t open the door.”

It never occurred to Dutch that his wife could not know that it was he who knocked, for the hard jealousy that he had taken to his heart suggested and thought but evil of the woman he had sworn to love and protect. It was not Bessy Studwick, then, who was with her, and they dared not open the door. He had given up before, and sought no revenge; this time he would have it if he died.

“Open this door,” he said in a low deep whisper, full of the rage he felt, for in his mad cunning he told himself that if he raised his voice or broke in the door, he would alarm the occupants of the other cabin.

There was a dead silence for a few moments, and he was about to make a fresh demand as his hands clenched, and the veins in his forehead stood out throbbing from the excess of his wild emotion.

“Will you open this door?” he hissed again savagely, with his lips close to the panel.

“No,” exclaimed a firm voice. “Make the slightest attempt to enter again, and I will alarm the ship.”

Dutch Pugh’s hands dropped to his side and a sigh like a groan burst from his lips as he staggered away on deck, and going to the side rested his aching head upon the rail.

“Am I mad?” he said to himself. “That was Bessy Studwick. Could it have been her I heard talking here on deck? No, that was impossible, for there was the struggle. Oh! Hester, Hester, my darling, forgive me if I am judging you wrongfully; I’d give my life to believe you true, and yet again to-night I am so ready to accuse you in my heart.

“It is no use, I will not lead this life of hell upon earth: she must – she shall explain her conduct. There was some reason more than I know for her coming on board here. Her conversations with that mulatto. That meeting to-night. Ha! is it possible? Yes! I have it at last: Studwick was right: Lauré’s influence still with us. Bah! I believe I am half-mad,” he said, with a contemptuous ejaculation. “I will see her in the morning, and this trouble shall be cleared away.”

As he spoke he went down to the cabin he shared with the doctor, feeling lighter of heart for the resolution he had made, and telling himself that half his trouble might have been saved had he spoken to his wife. “She might even have come out of the trial unscathed,” he said, with a strong feeling of elation, and worn out mentally and bodily he threw himself half dressed into his berth, after opening the little window, for the heat was stifling.

“A good resolution at last,” muttered Dutch as he laid his head upon his pillow, and as he dropped off to sleep listening to the lapping of the water against the schooner’s side, the sound seemed to form itself into a repetition of the words – “Too late, too late, too late,” until he fell into a heavy sleep.

Story 1-Chapter XXVII.

Hester’s Trials

That evening, for the second time in obedience to a fierce demand from Lauré, Hester Pugh crept timidly on deck as soon as it was dark, and then repenting of her venture she was about to retreat when she felt a grasp like steel clasp her wrist, and in a low voice that made her shudder Lauré began to upbraid her, speaking passionately of his love, and telling her that it was his wish to win her by his tenderness, and not by force, while she in turn told him of his cruelties, and piteously pleaded for mercy.

“Yes,” he said at last, “the same mercy that you have had on me,” and flinging his arms round her he drew her shuddering form tightly to his breast.

“Make a sound,” he hissed in her ear, “and you slay Dutch Pugh, perhaps all here on board except my party. Be silent and you shall be my happy, loving wife, a princess in wealth and station.”

Maddened by her position, Hester struggled fiercely and lettered a stifled cry for help, and at the same moment almost there came the sound of approaching feet, followed by the sound of a blow; and half fainting, she found herself loosened from the arms that held her, and ran, how she never knew, to her cabin, to fall exhausted into Bessy Studwick’s arms.

“Lock the door, lock the door!” she panted, clinging tightly to her friend. “Oh Bessy, Bessy, if I could but die.”

Bessy locked the door, and returned wondering to Hester’s side.

“Hester, darling, your husband must be a perfect monster,” she cried, taking the sobbing woman in her arms.

“No, no, no,” wailed Hester, “he is all that is good and noble and true, but he thinks me wicked.”

“How dare he treat you like this, if he does!” cried Bessy, indignantly, as she smoothed Hester’s dishevelled hair.

“No, no, no, it was not he,” panted Hester.

“Not he?” exclaimed Bessy. “Do you mean to tell me that you have been on deck to meet some one else?”

“Yes, yes, and I am afraid; oh, I am afraid,” whispered Hester, with a shudder, as she clung more closely to her friend.

“Hester Pugh,” said Bessy, gravely; and her voice sounded cold and strange. “You must explain. I cannot wonder at poor Dutch’s conduct if you act like this.”

“Bessy!” wailed Hester, clinging convulsively to her, “don’t speak like that. Don’t you turn from me too. I am innocent; I am innocent. Oh that I were dead – that I were dead!”

“Hush, hush, hush,” whispered Bessy, trying to soothe her, for she was alarmed at the violence of her companion’s grief. “Tell me all about it, Hester. Am I not worthy of your confidence?”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” sobbed Hester, “but I dare not – I dare not tell you.”

“Dare not, Hester?”

“No, no, no,” she moaned. “Hush! listen! he is there. Bessy,” she whispered, clinging to her, “kill me if you will, but do not let him touch me again.”

As she whispered this appeal there came Dutch’s summons at the door, repeated again, with at last Bessy’s stern reply, and then silence.

“He is gone,” said Bessy at last, her own heart beating furiously with emotion.

“No, no, he is waiting,” wailed Hester, clinging to her; “he is always watching me.”

“Hester,” said Bessy, sternly, “who is that man?”

“I dare not tell you,” whispered Hester, with a shudder.

“As an old friend of your husband, I insist upon your telling me. This is cowardly weakness.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” wailed Hester, in her helpless misery; “but for his sake, I dare not tell you.”

“And you have not told your husband?”

“No.”

“Has he asked you?”

“Yes – yes,” sobbed Hester. “Oh, if I could but die!”

“Shame on you,” said Bessy. “Hester, I loved your husband very dearly once, and thought it all past now; and I have tried to love you for his sake. I will not be a partner in this mystery. To-morrow morning he shall hear all I know.”

“No, no, no,” cried Hester, in affright. “You must not tell. For heaven’s sake do not speak a word. Perhaps help may come.”

“I shall tell him,” said Bessy firmly.

“You do not know what you say,” wailed Hester, growing more pallid by the faint light of the lamp.

“I know a true honest man is being deceived, and that some scoundrel has frightened his weak young wife into silence, and – ”

She said no more, for Hester rose horror-stricken and threw herself upon her knees, imploring her silence, and then, utterly overcome by her emotion, fainted dead away.

So long-continued was the swoon that Bessy was about to summon assistance when there was a faint sigh, and she revived.

“I was just going to send for Mr Meldon,” said Bessy, kindly, as she kissed her.

“That is not as you kissed me to-day, Bessy,” said Hester, sadly. “I would tell you gladly – all – all, if I only dared.”

She hid her face shudderingly, and then, clinging tightly to Bessy, they remained silent for what must have been quite a couple of hours, when Bessy, who had been dozing off to sleep, suddenly started up to find Hester awake and standing up in a listening attitude.

“What is it?” said Bessy, in alarm. “Hush! do you not hear?” whispered Hester, hoarsely. “He is maddened and has turned upon them. Oh Dutch, my husband! God – protect – ”

She said no more, but stood with white face and starting eyes, listening, for at that moment there was the sound of struggling overhead, a hoarse shriek as of a man in mortal agony, a heavy fall – a rustling noise; and then, just by the little round window of their cabin, a heavy splash.