“Do you know,” she said, “I believe you could shake me, after all. I had no idea that you were really like that.”
I stared at her, utterly wordless. At last I managed to ask:
“How long have you been there?”
“I’ve just come,” she said; “but I saw you swimming when I was on the other side of the gully. If you hadn’t been a very strong man you would have been drowned. You should never go in just before the ‘still;’ you ought to have known that.”
“How did you get across?” I asked, still staring at her with a vague uncomfortableness; for I had dried and dressed with no thought of the nearness of any stranger.
“At the Lover’s Leap,” she said; “about half a mile down. I gave you a quarter of an hour to dress; and then I came along. You must be conceited, or you wouldn’t take such an awful time.”
“What’s your name?” I asked abruptly.
“What’s yours?” she replied calmly.
“John Eliot.”
“Mine’s Betsy Dunton,” she said.
“Squire Dunton’s daughter?” I asked.
She nodded.
“The madcap!” I said. “Oh, now I understand! You see, Miss Dunton, you’ve got what the butcher’s boy would call a ‘repetition’ for high spirits. Even the stranger without your gates hears about you.”
She made a quaint grimace at me. “What were you diving for?” she asked. “You stayed down a long time. Were you after the treasure?”
“That’s a thing I wanted to ask you about,” I said. “What is this treasure? Or is it just some local jest?”
“Of course there’s a treasure, if we could only find it,” she replied. “I thought everybody knew that the Santa Maria was wrecked off this coast in 1757. It’s in all the history books, or some of them. She had sixty chests of doubloons aboard. Since that time three of the chests have been found. My grandfather found two of them, but the Government got the third, about a hundred years ago. Since then people sometimes pick up odd doubloons on the shore, but especially round the mouth of the Wailing Gully. My father has a charter or grant or something to search for treasure; but all the ‘natives,’ as you call them, also search for it on the sly. Of course they’ve no right, for if they found anything it would really belong to my father and to the Government. All the same, I know they do find things sometimes, but they keep it all quiet.”
“Sounds exciting,” I said. “Has your father ever found anything?”
“Yes,” said Miss. Dunton. “Or, at least, I have, which is the same thing. Three months ago I found a pocket in the rocks, below the water-line, near the mouth of the gully. It was packed with doubloons and sand. There were sixty in all, and in perfect condition, which, my father said, showed that a chest must but lately have broken up; otherwise, if they had been washing about loose, they would have been all bent and worn. Of course, we said nothing about my ‘find’ to the people about here; but the news went round, and ever since everybody has been very keen; they’re always going lobstering, but they never catch any!”
“And you?” I asked. “Have you found anything since?”
“Yes,” she said. “I come down every day, and spend several hours searching. In the last three months I’ve found twenty single doubloons; and once I found five lying together in the bottom of the gully during the ‘still.’ I dived in after them with all my clothes on, because, you see, the ‘still’ only lasts a few minutes and I was going to make sure of them. But I nearly got drowned. My skirts bothered me so.”
She stood up suddenly.
“I must be going now,” she said, “and you must get on with your work.” She walked across and looked at my painting. “It’s really very beautiful,” she continued, with a quaint knowledgeable air, “and you’ve truly caught the strange, dree atmosphere of the place. You must forgive me for my rudeness the other day.”
She held out her small brown hand abruptly; then, after a firm quick shake, she turned and went off swiftly among the rocks, leaving me looking after her.
During the rest of the day I worked in a desultory fashion, and would often find myself with my elbows on my knees, thinking about Miss Dunton; so that by evening I had done very little steady painting.
As I was going back to the inn I had rather a bad tumble, and caught my watch-chain on a jag of rock, with the result that I jerked off the gold doubloon on the pocket end. The doubloon went tinkling down among the stones, and I very nearly lost it. When I got back to my room I washed, and then rang for dinner. The landlord himself brought in my wine, as was always his way. He drew the cork and put the bottle gently on the table. In the same moment he gave a muffled exclamation, and half reached out his hand, but remembered himself suddenly, and drew back with a confused apology.
I stared to see what it was that had attracted his attention, and in the same instant I heard the door close as the landlord went out. Then I saw what it was that had drawn him; for the gold doubloon which I had broken from my chain was lying on the white tablecloth, where I had put it on coming in. In a flash I understood the landlord’s agitation, for he had seen the doubloon, and evidently believed that I had found it on the shore, and possibly he thought that I had really discovered one of the chests, and that this was but one of a great treasure of coin. The idea tickled me hugely, and I determined to carry it forward a bit, so that when next the landlord came in I tackled him.
“Oh, Mr. Benn,” I said, “you look a bit of an old pirate! You should be able to tell me what coin this is which I picked up on the beach” (so I had, after I’d dropped it!).
I said all this in jest, yet with a serious enough face; but the landlord, who was standing a bit to my back, answered never a word; so that I screwed round, wondering, to see why he made no answer. I was amazed to find him looking at me in the strangest fashion, with his big, heavy face almost threatening, and his eyes full of doubt and suspicion.
“What’s up, Mr. Benn?” I asked, half getting to my feet, for he looked so strange. Yet, even as I spoke, he pulled himself together and answered stupidly in broadest Devon that he had no knowledge of such outlandish coins. Which was obviously a lie.
However, I let him go; for it was clear that he was no fit subject for a jest. Yet I wondered very much after he had gone whether it was not the word “pirate” which had troubled him quite as much as the belief that I had really come upon some of the treasure. Though I could quite believe it was the latter, and that he had brooded so much upon it, and searched so often, that he had come to look upon it as his own, and to regard all others as being natural enemies.
That night I went out for a long stroll. As I came back I noticed that the lamp in my room was higher than I had left it, and twice I saw figures pass between the lamp and the blind, but I was still too distant to be able to recognise the shadows. When I got back to my room, however, the lamp was low and the place empty. Yet, as you can understand, the landlord’s attitude had made me a little suspicious, and I noticed things more keenly than I should have. Of course, someone might have been in to tidy up; but I did not think so, as I had told the landlord I should want nothing more that night, which was equivalent to telling him that I desired to be left alone.
I had a careful look round, and then an idea came to me, and I went over to my painting satchel. In a minute I saw that my suspicions were correct, for everything was disturbed, as by a hurried search. I took the lamp and went upstairs to my bedroom; here I found that my boxes also had been gone through, but with much more care, so that it was rather difficult to know immediately whether they had been touched. However, I satisfied myself on this point, and also that nothing had been taken; but it was obvious to me that the landlord had a real belief that I had found some of the treasure, and that he was an unscrupulous man. At first I thought of going down and tackling him right away about the matter; but afterwards I determined to say nothing, and to watch his game, which would not be difficult, so long as I was supposed to be ignorant of anything unusual.
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br /> Next morning I took rations for the day, and my painting gear, and set off early for the rocks. Through a couple of hours I painted vigorously, for I was in the mood, and the utter silence of a quiet and gloomy day was upon the shore, so that I seemed to catch the spirit of the desolation which held the place. The only sound that across all that stillness was curious, faint noise of the sea ebb in the big gully, which seemed to have truly a low wailing note in it.
“I think you ought to keep ears open more than you do,” said a voice suddenly near to me.
I looked up quickly, and there was Mliss Dunton, leaning on an iron lobster-hook and watching me
“How long have you been here?” I asked, rising and offering her my stool.
“Ten minutes, perhaps,” she replied, and, refusing the stool, came over and looked at my work. “You’ve got our Wailing Gully at last,” she said. “You’ve managed to get its loneliness. I believe you’re not so conceited as I thought, after all.”
She stood silent for a little while before the picture; but presently, with a thoughtful look, she turned to me.
“What I was going to tell you,” she said, “before I looked at your painting, was that you are being watched by two strange men, who are hiding among the rocks behind you. No, don’t look now; you can’t possibly see them.”
I laughed, feeling a bit glum, and told her about the doubloon and the searching of my boxes and satchel. She nodded.
“That explains why the men are watching you. They think your painting is merely a ‘blind,’ and that you are really looking for the treasure. Benn has set them to watch you. I believe that he’s really a bad lot. I know that some curious tales are told in the village about him and about a Captain Jutt, who is his friend. They used to be at sea together, and there is a story going about that they were something very like pirates. I expect your saying that rather upset him! Perhaps he believes you are a detective. Anyway, I think you ought to take care and not let people creep in on you quietly, as I have been able to do. You know, Benn and Captain Jutt are always down here on the search, though they have no right at all. I have often watched them without their knowing. I’ve heard that they have made a chart of all the local tides and eddies to help them in their search. My old nurse, who lives in the village, tells me things when she comes up to the Hall to clean.”
Presently, with a final warning to be careful, Miss Dunton left me. As soon as she was gone I climbed up the nearest big rock and had a good look round for the two men who were watching me. I took care to climb up on the side farthest from the men, so that they could not see what I was doing, and in this way, using great care, I managed to discover them. They were both dark men, and looked rather like Spaniards. The bigger of the two was peering out from behind a large boulder about sixty yards away, and the other man was looking through a spy-glass, evidently after Miss Dunton.
Now, all this made me pretty angry, and I thought I would give these two a lesson. I slipped down from the rock, and began to creep in a circle among the boulders until I was at the back of the men. Then I stood up and walked quickly up to the big man.
“Hullo!” I said. “You seem to be rather interested in watching me. Can I do anything for you?”
Both the men jumped and turned like tigers, so that I thought they meant to come for me there and then. I noticed that both of them wore sailors’ sheath-knives. However, they just stood and stared at me in a stupid, dangerous fashion.
“Well,” I said again, “what can I do for you?”
“For to h-ll you go!” said the big man, and came towards me aggressively,
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” I said, and hit him hard in the neck below the ear, so that he went down in a heap, grunting. Then I went for the small man; but he drew his knife and ran like a hunted rat. I chased him for half a mile, and then let him go, for I had evidently given him a good fright. I returned to where I had left the big man, and dragged him to the nearest pool, where I soused his head in and out of the water until he came round. I don’t know whether this was the right thing to do, but it acted all right with him, and he got up and went off, muttering in some foreign language.
That night when I got back to the inn I thought Benn, the landlord, looked at me rather strangely, though this may have been no more than my fancy, for naturally I was wondering what he was thinking. However, after dinner I decided I would test him again, and told him I was going for a mile along the beach to digest my dinner, I took care to wear rubber-soled shoes, and to have my sword-stick with me. Before I had gone far I found (as I had expected) that I was being followed. This gave me a pleasant thrill of excitement, and I set the pace hard for a good mile; then I dodged in among some big boulders to the right of the shore-path, and waited. Presently there came the sound of footsteps, and in a minute two men passed me in the darkness, running cautiously, and panting. I let them go well past, then I got up and ran back to the inn as hard as I could go. As I approached I saw that there were lights in both of my rooms, but they went out suddenly as I came near, which made me think that someone had been watching for me from the inn, and had seen me coming.
When I got inside, of course, my rooms were empty; but a quick examination showed me that a search had been made, which must have been terminated rather abruptly, for some of my gear had been stowed away in rather a hurry. Yet, in spite of this double proof that the landlord was certainly a shady character, and evidently not likely to “stick at anything,” I decided to say nothing, but to pretend ignorance and to see whether I could not upset his game.
Next morning Miss Dunton came early to tell me that she had told her father about me, and he wanted to meet me. I asked whether I might come then, to which she nodded, and gave me a hand to get my gear together. She led me along the side of the gully for about half a mile, until we came to a place where it narrowed to about twenty-four feet. Here there protruded upward out of the middle of the gully a spire of rock, which was about nine feet from our shore, and reached to within nearly six of the opposite side. I looked at Miss Dunton, who smiled; then, holding my canvas lightly, which she was carrying, she gave a short run and landed well on to the top of the spire, jumping easily and neatly, I followed, and she nodded approval, looking at me quizzically,
“Not bad for a painter-man,” she said, and jumped to the shore on the land side. I came immediately afterwards, and soon we were going up the cliffs to the Hall, which stood only about a quarter of a mile inland.
When we arrived Miss Dunton took me into the big kitchen garden, where she introduced me to her father, who was working in his shirt-sleeves, as “The Man on the Beach.” Then she left me with her father. I saw that Squire Dunton was one or those homely, simple-ideaed men, with plenty of natural shrewdness, but no great ambition. I saw also that he was looking at me keenly, with an almost peculiar interest, and that he seemed satisfied, for he took me all around the garden, lecturing on this and that flower or plant as we went along, so that it was easy to see that gardening was his delight. At the end of an hour he returned for his coat, and as he was putting it on he asked me suddenly whether my father had not been in the army.
“Why,” I said, staring, “you’re never, surely you’re never the Lieutenant Dunton I’ve so often heard him speak about?”
“I believe I am, or used to be,” he said quietly. “I knew your face as soon as I saw you.” He paused and seemed to be looking back into his memory. “How the years pass on—how the years pass on!” he muttered presently to himself, and slipped his arm into mine. “Come along in and have a bit of lunch with us,” he said. “My daughter, you know, recognised you first from a portrait of your father.”
As we went along he told me a hundred little incidents about my father and himself, and you can imagine how happy all this made me; for you must have seen that I had begun to think a great deal about Miss Dunton.
At lunch I found that I was seated right opposite to a portrait of my own father. It was all most astonishing. Miss Dunton showed no surpris
e. “I’ve been sure of it ever since I heard your name,” she told me. “Before then, the first time I saw you, I recognised the extraordinary likeness. But I don’t make that an excuse for speaking to you. I should have spoken to you in any case, you looked so conceited. I watched you three days just to see how long you would remain wrapped up in yourself; but it was easy to see that you thought you were the only person on the earth.”
The Night Land & Other Romances Page 56