“Who did it?” I asked.
“De Lesseps, the French engineer,” he replied. “The man who built the Suez Canal. At least he started it, back in 1880. He worked on it for eight years and men died like flies in the swamps from malarial fever. Then the Americans bought it, spent two years wiping out the mosquito with oil and finished it in 1914. These locks we’re going through now—it’s really a huge dam holding up the waters of Gatun Lake.”
As we came out into the blinding haze of Gatun Lake, Sir Brian pointed out the stumps of dead trees. “The whole lake is artificial,” he said. “Look. See all those islands? They’re really the tops of hills. The old burro trail along which the mule trains came with silver and gold is probably under the water here. There’s been a lot of bloodshed on this isthmus, and not much more than a century ago.”
I thought of Drake and all the pirates who had ambushed and looted those trains of Spanish treasure. It was the most exciting place I’d ever seen. Then we were across the lake and in the Pacific locks. For nineteen miles we moved slowly through a deep cleft, ahead of us a blue line of water enclosed by solid rock and concrete embankments. By nightfall we had anchored off Balboa, and the dark blue expanse of the Pacific lay ahead of us. I looked back at the isthmus through which we had passed. It was a hazy outline of purple in the fading light and I thought it the most forsaken place that could have been chosen for the Herculean task of building a canal.
After the evening meal, when I had finished clearing up the saloon, I went out on deck again. A brilliant moon had risen and I stood in the shadow of the bridge, gazing across to the lights of Balboa which lay reflected in the still waters of the bay. I must have stood there in the warm, tropic night for a long time watching the movement of ships and feeling the excitement of my first sight of a foreign port at night. I was thinking of the men who had built the canal and of the others that had come before—Drake and Hawkins pillaging the Spaniards, and all the other private expeditions that had marched stealthily across this desolate peninsula to ambush the convoys of gold and silver crossing to the Atlantic by mule.
“Keverne.”
I turned quickly, all thought of Spanish plate banished from my mind. The voice that called me had been thick and blurred, a whisper in the night. I gazed aft along the moonlit deck and then shrank back into the shadows. A figure staggered to the rail. “Keverne. Where are you?”
And then I relaxed, for it was the mate. “Here, Mr. Andrews,” I said.
“Ah, there ye are, laddie.” He staggered slightly as he came toward me. “Nice up on deck, ain’t it? Nice and quiet. Everyone below. No watch. Nothing.” I could hardly understand what he was saying, his voice was so blurred. He gripped my arm and pulled me back into the shadows. “Where is it?” he hissed. His eyes glittered in the darkness and his breath reeked of whisky.
“Where’s what?” I asked.
“Come on now. Ye dinna fool me like that. Where is it?”
“Where’s what?” I asked again.
“The map, ye fool,” he hissed. “The map. Come on, now. I ken who ye are. I seen your picture in the Record I was reading yesterday. Suppose we split fifty-fifty, eh? We could slip ashore here an’ we’d be no more than three hundred miles from Cocos. What do ye say to that, eh?”
“Mr. Andrews—you’re drunk, sir,” I said.
“Drunk am I?” he snarled. “Aye. Ye’re right there. I’m drunk. If I were sober I’d be mindin’ me own an’ the company’s business. But damn the company an’ damn Captain Legett for a Biblical maniac. Right this minute I’m think-in’ o’ Stuart Andrews. I’m thinking of that gold, laddie— all those millions of piratical loot.” His hand tightened on my arm till I cried out. “Shut up! I’ll no hurt ye. All I want is the map. Where is it? Ha’ ye got it wi’ ye?”
“No,” I said quickly, for his grip on my arm hurt. “I haven’t got it with me.”
“Where is it?” he hissed.
“Back in England,” I answered. “My guardian, Commander Gurling, placed it in the bank.”
“In the bank.” He cursed violently. “But ye can remember it—surely ye can remember it?” His voice was excited. “Good God, mon, ye must remember what was on it? Listen, Johnny, lad. There’s millions there. More than enough for both o’ us. Ye’ve nothing to be afraid of. Come ashore wi’ me an’ we’ll both be riding in Rolls Royces. Ye can remember now, surely?” His voice was pleading—a yearning whine that was reflected in his eyes.
“It’s too complicated,” I said quickly.
His other hand gripped my shoulder and he shook me in a frenzy. “I’ll no be licked by yer blarsted memory. Think, laddie! Think!” And all the time he shook me he was breathing hard and cursing.
“I can’t,” I gasped. “It’s too complicated.”
“Ye can’t, eh?” For a moment I thought he was going to pick me up and throw me over the side. Then he let me go and brushed his hands back through his hair. “Forget it!” he mumbled. “I’m drunk, that’s all. I was foolin’. Forget it!” And he turned abruptly and stumbled for’ard to the bridge accommodation.
I stood there in the shadows with a horrible sense of fear growing within me. My secret was out. Sparks had warned me. Old Walrus had tried indirectly to warn me. And if this was how treasure affected on honest, decent man like Andrews, how would it affect the crew? I remembered what my guardian had said: “That treasure is real.” I stood there, shivering in the warm darkness. I was scared, scared to move out of the shadows into the bright moonlight of the deck. And away to the west the Pacific Ocean grinned at me mockingly. Beyond the moonpath, out there in the velvet darkness over the lip of the horizon, lay Cocos Island. I prayed that we might go south with all speed.
5. THE STORY OF THE TREASURE
I thought morning would never come. I tossed and turned in my hammock, listening to the hum of the dynamos out there in the hot sticky night and trying to kid myself I wasn’t scared. At last it was light and I went out on deck. That morning started like any other down there below the Tropic of Cancer. The sun came up over the horizon, a flaming ball, and in an instant the sky was a cloudless blue, the flat surface of the water gleamed and the heat rose up at me from the deck with a smell of hot grease from the engines. And the brown landscape trembled.
At breakfast Sparks looked at me and said, “Didn’t sleep well, eh?” There was a mocking note in his voice.
“No,” I said. “It was too hot.”
The mate looked up from his plate. He seemed about to say something. But apparently he thought better of it.
The captain breakfasted in his cabin as usual. When I took the tray in to him, he peered up at me from under his shaggy eyebrows. “Mix much with the crew, boy?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
“But you gossip with the cook, eh?”
“Sometimes, sir.”
“What’s he got to say about them?”
“About who, sir?”
“Why, the crew, boy. There’s something brewing. I can smell it. I can tell by the way they move, the way they talk—why, the very ship feels different since we came through the canal. Now, what is it? Come on boy. Don’t stand there gaping. You’re not a deck hand. What’s it all about?”
“I—I don’t know, sir,” I muttered uncertainly.
He gazed at me from his narrow, hooded eyes. Then he sighed. “Very well. If you won’t talk, I’ll have to get at it some other way. Send Mr. Andrews to me.”
“Very good, sir.”
I was glad to get out of his cabin. I was scared to say anything about myself. The mate knew about me. That was understandable. He had those copies of the Morning Record with him. He had been able to compare me with the picture in that paper. But I didn’t see how the crew could know anything about me. Unless— “They’ve tumbled to you. Your secret’s out.” That was what Sparks had said. And Old Walrus had implied as much with his suggestion that I get ashore at Panama.
I ran the errand to Mr. Andrews and then went down to the g
alley. Old Walrus was standing by the galley porthole, staring out across the burnished surface of the water to the haze of dockside buildings steaming in the heat. He glanced round as I entered. But he didn’t say anything, and turned back to the porthole. “The captain just had a word with me,” I said at length.
He grunted disinterestedly.
“He said there’s something brewing,” I went on. “He said he could smell it.”
“Doesn’t take a master’s certificate to smell it out,” he snorted.
“But—” I hesitated. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He turned slowly. “There’s some things as ain’t no good on a ship,” he said slowly. “Such, for instance, as rats and plague and bad grub and—talk of treasure.”
“Talk of treasure?” I gasped.
“Yep. Treasure. That’s the word that’s being muttered round the crew’s quarters.” He peered at me closely. “If it’s got anything to do with you, me lad, my advice is, ’op it —and ’op it quick, see. I bin in search of treasure in me time. Shipped aboard a yacht once bound from Shanghai to Inaccessible in search of buried silver.” He shook his head sadly. “Never again, me boy. Never again. It ain’t healthy. It’s a bug, that’s what it is. It turns honest men into devils right in front of your eyes. Take my tip,” he added, “if there’s any connection between you and what’s being whispered by the crew—and I ain’t saying there is, mind you—then get out before it’s too late. That’s my advice. And mark my words, it’s good advice, it is.”
I stood there in the galley entrance, not knowing what to do. He had turned back to the porthole and was scratching his bulbous nose as though it irritated. I turned quickly and went up on deck. One of the boats lay alongside, oars shipped and still in the rowlocks. Just across the water was Balboa. And over the starboard rail I could see the shimmering expanse of the Pacific. Once we sailed there’d be no escape, not until we reached Valparaiso. I stared across the flat, oily water. Balboa looked an unfamiliar town with its white buildings and the brown, burnt country round it. What would I do if I got there? I thought of Kean, and Irwin’s log hidden there on Cocos Island, not three hundred miles away. Suppose I told the captain everything? Maybe he’d call in at Cocos Island? Or Sir Brian—he was game for anything.
I stood for a long time in this state of indecision. And then suddenly I decided to go up and see Sparks. He’d said if I wanted help to come to him. He’d advise me. And immediately my spirits rose. But when I reached the afterdeckhouse, I stopped. Inside was the sound of voices. Then suddenly a fist crashed down on a table and I heard Sparks say angrily, “No. I won’t have it.”
I climbed down to the deck again. I’d have to wait until he was alone. As I went for’ard, the mate appeared in the entrance to the bridge accommodation. “‘Hey, laddie. The captain wants ye.”
Something in the way he said it must have warned me, for as we entered the captain’s cabin I found I was trembling. Captain Legett was seated at his desk. Sir Brian was there, too, tapping at his teeth with his gold pencil. “Come in, boy. Come in.” The captain’s tone was curt. “Shut the door, Mr. Andrews.” When it was shut, he turned to me. “There’s talk of treasure on this ship, boy. It’s all over the crew’s quarters. Are you the cause of it?”
“I—I don’t think so,” I said uncertainly.
“What do you mean, you don’t think so? Is this a picture of you or isn’t it?” He thrust a paper in front of my nose.
It was the picture they’d taken of me and Nick on “The Bridge of Orchy” that morning I returned with the police officer. “Yes,” I said.
He adjusted his glasses, and peered at it. “boy pockets cocos treasure,” he read. Then he slammed the paper down on his desk. His lips were a thin line and his brows were drawn close together. He turned to Sir Brian. “You’ll kindly bear witness, Sir Brian, that everybody seems informed on this matter except myself.” He spoke quietly, but I could see he was very angry. And it wasn’t in defense of his dignity, for he added, “Had I known who this boy was, nothing would have induced me to ship him on the ‘Sally McGrew.’ Talk of treasure is bad enough. But this treasure! It’s talked about in every port of the world, and believed in. There’s any number of maps of the supposed hiding place and hardly a year passes, except in time of war, without some syndicate getting concessions from the Costa Rica Government.”
“You needn’t labor the point, Captain Legett,” Sir Brian said. “I’m well aware of the nature of this treasure.”
The captain grunted and drew the paper toward him. He stared at it for a moment. Then he said, “Nothing like this has happened since Keating died. I don’t like it.”
“I thought you said you knew your crew,” Sir Brian put in quietly.
“So I do, Sir Brian,” the captain snapped. “So I do. But I wouldn’t trust a living soul when there’s talk of this particular treasure and the ship’s lying as close as we are to Cocos Island.”
“You think they might mutiny?” Sir Brian asked in astonishment.
Captain Legett looked across at him. “‘An ungodly man diggeth up much evil,’ ” he answered slowly, “ ‘and in his lips there is a burning fire.’ One man can sow the seeds of mutiny. It’s as simple as that if the incentive is big enough. The incentive here is valued in millions.”
“I know all about that,” Sir Brian cut in. “But we’re past the days of Bligh, surely. This is the twentieth century—radio, aircraft; we’re living in what the Americans call ‘the Atomic Age.’ ”
“Quite.” The captain’s tone was dry. “But human nature doesn’t change, Sir Brian. And in a ship out in the Pacific anything can happen. You’re a director of the company that owns the ‘Sally McGrew.’ I’m her captain. What puts us above the other twenty-five men on board? Your power is dependent upon radio. So long as we have radio we can keep in touch with the rest of the world. But if the radio were smashed, then we’re twenty-.seven men and one boy afloat in an ocean bigger than both the Americas. The only thing then that puts the deck officers above the others is our knowledge of navigation. And if one of the men can navigate—” He shrugged his shoulders. Then he picked up the paper and tapped it with his hand. “You’ve read this story. You read what happened to this fellow Kean. ‘ML 615’ was in the Pacific. There was talk of treasure. One of them had a map. And the next thing was mutiny. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “The captain shot down in cold blood on his own bridge. Three other men murdered in their bunks. And that was in a naval ship in time of war.” He looked across at me. “What I’ve been saying is between ourselves, boy. I’m not blaming you. It’s not your fault. But you understand now the seriousness of this matter, eh?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Very well. Please answer me truthfully.” He leaned forward a little. “Have you at any time talked about this map to any of the crew?”
“No,” I answered.
“Or to any of the officers?”
“No.”
“You’ve never mentioned to anyone on board anything about this newspaper story or your experiences—never explained to them who you are?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you any idea how this talk of treasure got about among the crew?”
I hesitated. But to mention my fears would amount to accusation. He’d take me up on it. I couldn’t prove anything. “No,” I said.
He turned to Sir Brian. “That’s what beats me,” he said. “The boy wouldn’t be likely to talk. His guardian knew the danger. Hustling him out of the country the way he did, he would have seen to it that the boy understood the need for silence. Then how has the talk of treasure got around the ship?”
“As I said before, Captain Legett,” Sir Brian answered, “one of the men may have recognized him, just as Mr. Andrews did.”
“Mr. Andrews had his newspapers with him. He could compare the picture with the boy.”
“Perhaps one of the men had a copy of the paper with him?” suggested Sir Brian.
/> “Then why wasn’t there talk of this before? And in any case, the man would surely have tried to check up that it was the same boy.” He turned to me. “Has anyone at any time questioned you on board this ship?”
“No, sir,” I answered. “Only the mate last night.”
Captain Legett nodded. “I don’t like it, Sir Brian,” he murmured. “A man who can hold his tongue all the way out from England to Panama is a man with a plan. ‘In the house of the righteous is much treasure; but in the revenues of the wicked is trouble.’ ” He pressed the tips of his fingers against his eyes as though in prayer. Then he suddenly turned to me. “Where is this map—this rubbing that you took?” he asked.
“My guardian has it,” I answered. “He placed it in the bank.”
“Very wise of him. But you can remember it, eh?”
I hesitated. “Yes, sir.”
“Did you make a copy from memory?”
I felt suddenly trapped. His eyes were staring at me. They were so piercing, they seemed to read my thoughts. “Yes,” I said.
“And you’ve got it on you?” He held out his hand. “Give it to me, boy.”
I hesitated. “No,” I said.
“Don’t be a little fool,” the captain snapped. “The sooner that map’s locked up in my safe the better for all of us. Here’s an envelope. You can seal it up in that.”
But I shook my head obstinately. “I promised Mr. Kean,” I said.
“What did you promise him?”
“That I’d get Irwin’s log and send it to the Admiralty.” His brows puckered. He glanced down at the newspaper in his hand and then at another on his desk. “What log is this?”
But at this point Sir Brian intervened. “I don’t trust newspaper reports,” he said, “I like to hear things first hand.” He turned to me. “Come and sit down here, Keverne.” When I had sat down on the bunk beside him, he said, “Now, suppose you tell us the whole story, just as it happened?” And as I hesitated, he added, “The captain’s right. There’s a cold-blooded, reckless streak in the best of us. I haven’t always been a company director, you know.” His eyes creased at the comers as he smiled down at me. “I’ve knocked about the world. And he’s right. So long as you’re on board with a map of Cocos Island, one man could foment enough trouble to send the lot of us to Davy Jones’ locker. Now, what about it?”
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