Produced by R.G.P.M. van Giesen [Illustration: cover art] The Quest of the "Golden Hope" BLACKIE & SON LIMITED 50 Old Bailey, LONDON 17 Stanhope Street, GLASGOW BLACKIE & SON (INDIA) LIMITED Warwick House, Fort Street, BOMBAY BLACKIE & SON (CANADA) LIMITED 1118 Bay Street, TORONTO [Illustration: CAPTAIN JEREMY IS WOUNDED (missing from book)] The Quest of the "Golden Hope" A Seventeenth Century Story of Adventure BY PERCY F. WESTERMAN Author of "East in the _Golden Gain_" "The Third Officer" "Sea Scouts All" &c. ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK E. WILES BLACKIE & SON LIMITED LONDON AND GLASGOW By Percy F. Westerman Rivals of the Reef. A Shanghai Adventure. Pat Stobart in the "Golden Dawn". The Junior Cadet. Captain Starlight. The Sea-Girt Fortress. On the Wings of the Wind. Captured at Tripoli. Captain Blundell's Treasure. The Third Officer. Unconquered Wings. The Buccaneers of Boya. The Riddle of the Air. Chums of the "Golden Vanity". The Luck of the "Golden Dawn". Clipped Wings. The Salving of the "Fusi Yama". Winning his Wings. A Lively Bit of the Front. A Cadet of the Mercantile Marine. The Good Ship "Golden Effort". East in the "Golden Gain". The Quest of the "Golden Hope". Sea Scouts Abroad. Sea Scouts Up-Channel. The Wireless Officer. A Lad of Grit. The Submarine Hunters. Sea Scouts All. The Thick of the Fray. A Sub and a Submarine. Under the White Ensign. The Fight for Constantinople. With Beatty off Jutland. Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow Contents I. OF THE FUGITIVE FROM SEDGEMOOR II. THE TWO DRAGOONS ON THE BROCKENHURST ROAD III. CAPTAIN JEREMY'S SURPRISE IV. THE _MADRE DE DIOS_ V. THE CHART VI. A MIDNIGHT INTRUDER VII. THE CAVE IN THE LONELY HEATH VIII. CONCERNING THE EVENTS THAT PROMPTED ME TO A DESPERATE RESOLVE IX. FLIGHT X. IN THE HOLD XI. MY FIRST DAY AT SEA XII. A BRUSH WITH ALGERINES XIII. OF THE MYSTERIOUS SHIP IN THE MIDST OF THE OCEAN XIV. "CAPTAIN 'ENERY" XV. WE ARRIVE AT TREASURE ISLAND XVI. A HASTY RECALL XVII. ATTACKED BY BUCCANEERS XVIII. "REPEL BOARDERS!" XIX. BLOWN UP XX. THE REPULSE AT THE STOCKADE XXI. CAPTAIN CRADDOCK XXII. A LEAP FOR LIFE XXIII. THE PERILS OF THE SHOAL XXIV. MORE TROUBLE IN SIGHT XXV. WE ARRIVE AT THE HIDING-PLACE OF THE TREASURE XXVI. UNTOLD WEALTH XXVII. THE MUTINY OF THE _NEPTUNE_ XXVIII. THE FATE OF THE MUTINEERS XXIX. HOMEWARD BOUND XXX. THE LAST OF MY SWORN ENEMY XXXI. THE BURNING SHIP XXXII. CONSTANCE'S STORY XXXIII. SAFE IN PORT Illustrations ------ CAPTAIN JEREMY IS WOUNDED (Frontispiece) I DESCENDED HAND OVER HAND THE TREASURE OF THE "MADRE DE DIOS" I SHOUTED TO THE MEN TO HEAVE ROUNDLY ------ MAP OF THE ISLAND [Illustration: MAP OF THE ISLAND] A The _Golden Hope_ in harbour. B The stockade. C Path taken by first expedition in search of the treasure. CC Path taken by successful expedition. D Wreck of the _Madre de Dios._ E Cave where Clifford was held prisoner. F Shoal where Clifford was attacked by octopus. G Site of the master gunner's ambuscade. H Buccaneers' harbour and settlement. K Wreck of the _Black Arrow._ L False landmark erected by Captain Jeremy's orders. M Wreck of _Neptune_ owing to false bearings. N Where the treasure was found. O Cove where Cherry and the long-boat's crew landed. P Deep water channel inside shoals, unknown to Captain Jeremy. Q Existing path between buccaneers' harbour and south side of island. R Bearing for navigating channel. The track of the _Golden Hope_ into the harbour is shown by the black line. The shaded portion of the shoals were uncovered at low water. THE QUEST OF THE "GOLDEN HOPE" CHAPTER I Of the Fugitive from Sedgemoor Well do I, Clifford Hammond, remember the 10th day of July in the year of grace 1685. Rebellion, though some would have it 'twas justifiable invasion, had appeared in the land. Monmouth had landed in Dorset, and had raised an army. How he fared, the men of Hampshire knew not as yet, though there were many who prayed for the successful issue of his venture. Little did I think, living on the borders of the New Forest, that the outbreak in the West would affect the welfare of our house. Yet it did, though, I must confess, indirectly; for had it not been for the routing of the rebels at Sedgemoor, the voyage of the _Golden Hope_ would not have been undertaken, nor would I be able to relate the desperate adventures of her crew in gaining the object of the expedition. But I am forestalling my story. Our family, the Hammonds of Brockenhurst, had lived within the bounds of the Forest for centuries, as witness the name of Geoffroi Hammond, who served with distinction at the taking of the _Great Christopher_ in the sea-fight of Sluys; or of Thomas Hammond, who fought at Agincourt: but I would make it plain that the Hammonds of Brockenhurst have no connection with the rebel Colonel Hammond--though, to his credit be it said, he treated His Majesty King Charles the Martyr, during his captivity in the Isle of Wight, with far more courtesy than did his brother officers. My father, Captain Richard Hammond--"Foul-weather Dick", as he was affectionately dubbed in the fleet--had had an adventurous career both ashore and afloat. Beginning with the fatal fight at Naseby when he was but a young cornet of horse of barely twenty years of age, he had fought Dutch, Algerines, and, sad to relate, his fellow-countrymen; but for the last ten years he had retired from the King's service, and had settled down to a quiet country life in his native Hampshire. Thanks to his father's devotion to his sovereign, the exchequer of the Hammond family had been sadly depleted. During the ever-to-be-abhorred Rebellion, plate, jewels, money, all went, and 'twas fortunate that our lands had not been confiscated by the Commonwealth. My father had to rely upon the unkept promises of His Majesty King Charles II as a reward for the sacrifices of our house towards the royal cause; nevertheless, the meagre pay of a sea captain in the King's fleet, together with the income from the shore estate, sufficed to keep us in comparative ease. My father married late in life. His spouse, the daughter of Sir Digby Tall (a baronet as impecunious as the majority of his class at this time), died within three years of their union, leaving two children. At the time my story opens I, Clifford Hammond, was sixteen years of age, my sister Constance being eighteen months my junior. She was a tall, sprightly girl, with fresh complexion, blue eyes, and rich golden hair, being, 'twas said, the image of her mother in her youth. No one would readily have taken Constance and me for sister and brother, for I was olive-featured, with straight, dark-brown hair and grey eyes; tall in stature, yet inclined to slenderness. On the particular morning to which I have referred, Constance and I had gone into Lyndhurst to give orders to a carrier respecting the purchase of a certain article at Southampton. What the nature of the purchase was we did not at the time know, although every month, summer and winter, year in and year out, my father had a similar package brought in by the regular carrier. Here I may mention that my sire, in spite of his sixty odd years, was a wonderfully well-preserved man, his dark-brown locks (for he scorned to wear a peruke) being innocent of any trace of grey hairs. Yet I call to mind the occasion, when I was yet a child of tender years, upon which my father had perforce to attend the Verderers' Court at Lyndhurst with his hair of a rusty, iron-grey hue. That was about the time that Giles Shearing's wain was upset at Redbridge, and many a housewife in Lyndhurst and Brockenhurst who relied on the Southampton carrier had to go short-handed. I no longer wonder at the coincidence. As we left Lyndhurst town on our return journey, I leading a shaggy Forest pony on which my sister, holding the required purchase, was perched, a troop of horse came riding with loose rein and hot spur through the quiet High Street. They were fierce-looking fellows, with bronzed features, begrimed with sweat and dust; upturned moustachios, and flowing locks. They wore red frock-coats trimmed with white facings, the skirts buttoned back to enable them to sit the better in the saddle; dark-green breeches, long riding-boots of buff leather, and broad-brimmed beaver hats, looped up on one side. All were armed with a broadsword and a pair of pistols, while not a few carried snaphances in a bucket at the right side of the saddle, or slung across their backs. This much I noticed as they tore onwards with undiminished pace through the narrow street, till they were lost to view in a cloud of dust on the Southampton Road. "There's some news for Cap'n Hammond, Master Clifford!" shouted Chambers the blacksmith from across the way. "They say as how Duke Monmouth's been beaten, and half his army cut to pieces. Those redcoats are Cornbury's Dragoons, and they are hot on the track of the Hampshire rebels. Heaven help the Mayor of Lymington and the score of men he sent to the West!" Young as I was, I realized that it was a case of woe to the vanquished. Although our county had not taken up the cause of the rebel Duke to any thing like the extent of Dorset, Somerset, and Wiltshire, several of the towns in the western division of Hampshire had sent small contingents to aid Monmouth's cause, and Lymington had been the chief offender in this respect. Fortunately for us, Brockenhurst had held aloof, though the villagers were none too kindly disposed towards King James's measures. We hastened on our homeward journey, eager to convey the momentous news to my father. For the first half of the way the road ran between dense masses of trees, intersected by shady glades, in which the leaves of last year still littered the ground. Ever and anon a herd of fallow deer would dash across the highway, or a troop of Forest ponies would scamper betwixt the trees, fearing in every human being a possible master. Pigs also roamed in great numbers, for though it was the time of fence month[1] within the Forest, so lax had the jurisdiction of the Verderers' Court become that the commoners paid less heed to the regulations than they had for years past. At length we emerged from the forest and gained the rolling expanse of heath, where, to right and left, as far as the eye could reach, the heather and the gorse gleamed in the bright sunshine like a sea of purple and gold. "See, there's a man riding as fast as his horse can carry him!" exclaimed Constance, pointing down the bridle path that, running between Ring wood and Beaulieu, crosses the highway near the place where we were. "Aye, he seems in a mighty hurry," I replied, shading my eyes from the glare. "Perchance 'tis another of those horse soldiers?" "Nay, he wears no red coat," I answered, reassuring her; but though I did not mention it, I perceived two men riding a long distance behind the first horseman as if in pursuit, and, unless my eyes deceived me, they were dragoons. "Let us hasten," urged Constance, as if filled with some forebodings, though she was usually a strong-minded girl. "He'll not molest us," said I. "He is too intent on his errand, I trow." Nearer and nearer came the fugitive--for fugitive he was--till I could distinguish his features. Then my heart gave a sudden bound, for I recognized the man: it was Jeremy Miles, a master mariner of Lymington, and one of the townsfolk who had gone west to join the rebel standard. Constance knew him also, for she exclaimed, "'Tis Captain Miles! And see, Clifford, there are soldiers after him!" Something compelled me to stop and await the arrival of the fugitive, and, holding the pony's bridle by one hand, I assisted Constance to dismount. As we stood we were hidden from the bridle path by a gorse-covered bank that, being but breast high, was sufficiently low to enable us to command the track on which the horsemen were riding without being seen by them until they gained the highway. Not for one moment did I expect to be in danger, for Miles was riding strongly and evidently holding his own, while 'twas unlikely that the troopers, keen on his pursuit, would draw rein to molest a boy and a girl. The fugitive was now crossing the white dusty road within twenty paces of us, when suddenly his horse sank under him, throwing its rider headlong to the ground. But before the expiring animal gave a last convulsive shudder, Miles had sprung to his feet and was looking dazedly towards his pursuers, now but a mile behind. "Captain Miles!" I shouted, urging my pony forward. "Captain Miles! Take Trotter and ride him across the heath." "Why, 'tis Master Hammond!" he exclaimed. "Nay, lad, that beast would not ship a crew like me: But they'll have their work cut out to take me. Come, young sir, I'll trouble you to give a hand with my mare, if you will." Together, with Constance helping us, we dragged the body of the animal off the road, and hid it in a slight depression behind some furze bushes. Then hurriedly we strove to conceal the tell-tale tracks on the dusty road. The dragoons were now only a bare quarter-mile away. [1] The period between the 20th June and the 20th July, during which time the ancient right of "Pannage", i.e. turning out pigs to feed on acorns and beech-mast, within the New Forest was withheld. CHAPTER II The Two Dragoons on the Brockenhurst Road "Leave me and shape your own course, Master Hammond!" exclaimed the Captain composedly, for he had regained both his breath and his wits. "You can do no more, and I'll warrant I can shift for myself." So saying, he wriggled along the ground over the bank that screened us from the soldiers, and lay hidden in the bracken on the same side of the highway as the troopers. Meanwhile, filled with anxiety on the behalf of Jeremy Miles--for he was always a general favourite amongst the youths in and around Lymington--Constance and I resumed our way, endeavouring to appear as unconcerned as possible. Less than a minute must have passed since we saw Captain Miles's great frame disappear beneath the bracken, when we heard the clatter of the troopers' horses as their hoofs struck the road. Knowing that it would ill play our part to refrain from curiosity, we stopped and looked back at the pursuing soldiers. They were of the same troop that we had seen in Lyndhurst a short half-hour ago. Great, swarthy men they were, hardened to cruelty by reason of their service at Tangiers, and, though I knew it not at the time, ready to practise the barbarities acquired from the Moors upon their own countrymen, as many a poor peasant of the marshes of Somerset had learned to his cost. "Curse him!" exclaimed one, with an oath. "Where hath he gone? Are we to let a guinea slip through our fingers after all our trouble?" "He's not far away," replied his comrade, pointing with an exclamation of triumph to the partially concealed tracks on the road. "See, he hath had a fall. Methinks we have him by the heels." "'Tis like looking for a sprat in the ocean," returned the first trooper, gazing across the wilderness of gorse. "So long as he stuck to his mount we could have tracked him. 'Tis what I feared: he hath made off afoot." "Here, sirrah," he shouted to me, urging his horse down the road to where we were, "hast seen aught of a horseman riding like Beelzebub?" "Nay," I replied truthfully enough; "no horseman has passed this way." "You young prevaricator!" he exclaimed, tapping his pistols significantly. "You do but dissemble. You know whither that man went." I kept silence. Suddenly the other trooper, who had forced his horse through the gorse by the side of the road, shouted, "Here's a find, David. The rogue hath lost his horse." "Then you saw him fall," continued the dragoon who had overtaken us. "Back you come with me, you young rebel!" "I am no rebel," I replied, as stoutly as I could force myself to speak. "Back, I say!" he repeated, ignoring my protest, and producing a pistol from his holster. There was no help for it. I had to go with him. "Run off home, Constance," I said in a low voice; "I shall be all right." "No, you don't, you little wench!" exclaimed the villain. "You'll come in useful to make this young rebel open his mouth. Come on, both of you, I say!" I looked at Constance. She was deathly white, yet she spoke not a word, although by the expression of her eyes she said, as plainly as if she had spoken, "Do not tell where he is." "Mum's the word, eh?" was the greeting of the second trooper, as we were told to stand still near the scene of our meeting with the fugitive, Captain Miles. "Shall I tell 'em about that stubborn young rebel at Dulverton--it was Dulverton, wasn't it, David?--who thought to deceive one of Cornbury's Dragoons? A little tow tied to his thumbs did the trick, and I'll swear he's nursing his burns now. There's no tow to be had hereabouts, but I'll warrant a little dry heather will suffice. Now, sirrah, which way did the rebel go?" "What! you won't answer?" he continued, as he dismounted from his horse, his comrade following his example. Whipping out his broadsword, he struck me a heavy blow on the ankle with the flat of the weapon. The pain was intense, yet, though an involuntary cry escaped me, I kept my lips tightly closed. I gave a hasty look right and left along the straight white road. Not a creature was in sight. Even if there had been, 'twas difficult to imagine that a solitary wayfarer would dare to interfere with two armed and powerful ruffians. "Pluck me a wisp of dry grass," said my tormentor. "Nay, Jim," replied the other, "we've no time to waste in that fashion. If the rebel is making off afoot, every moment is precious. I know of a way." And, thrusting his huge fingers through my sister's golden locks, he shouted, "Now, sirrah, answer, or I'll pull out a handful of hair, to remember this pleasant meeting." Constance cried with pain as the villain slowly tightened his grip. Knowing he was quite capable of carrying out his threat, I was torn with conflicting thoughts, till my brave sister exclaimed, "Not a word, Clifford!" Possibly the rogue answering to the name of Jim realized my desperate intention, for at the risk of my life I was on the point of dashing my clenched fist in the face of Constance's assailant. With his right hand the dragoon gripped me by the nape of the neck, so that in his powerful grasp I was as helpless as a kitten; while with his left he caught and slowly twisted my wrist. Suddenly a huge, dark form sprang from the concealing heather, and like an arrow from a bow Jeremy Miles flung himself upon the dragoon whose fingers were still grasping Constance's tresses. I saw it all as clearly as if 'twere the work of minutes rather than of one instant. A swinging blow of the Captain's ponderous fist, and the ruffian's arm fell nerveless to his side; and a second blow stretched him lifeless on the ground. The other dragoon, with a furious oath, flung me headlong. As I fell I heard the crashing explosion of his pistol. Slowly I raised myself on my arm, and watched the struggle betwixt our preserver and his antagonist. Powerful though the trooper was, the Captain, thanks to his strenuous life afloat, was his master. For a while they swayed to and fro in a desperate struggle, Jeremy's arms clasping the soldier like bands of steel, till the villain's resistance grew weaker and weaker. Then, with a superhuman effort, Captain Miles wrenched his bulky foe clean off the ground, and hurled him, like a sack of flour, over his shoulder. "Bear a hand with your sister, lad," he then exclaimed, in a matter-of-fact tone, although he was breathing heavily. "She has swooned." This was a work of some difficulty, for water was not at hand, but at length Constance opened her eyes. Poor girl! Although not much hurt, for the rogue had not had time to carry out his threat to the fullest extent, she was terribly frightened, and the sight of the two dragoons lying motionless on the road did not help matters. "Take her down the road a little way, and make her sit down," said Captain Jeremy kindly. "Then hasten back, for I'll warrant we've a fine job to make all shipshape and Bristol fashion." "Have you seen any more of these lubbers?" he asked, after I had returned from carrying out his instructions. "There was a troop of them in Lyndhurst this morning. They went Southampton-wards." "I'll pray that they'll not return in a hurry," he exclaimed. "We've enough to do to cover up our tracks." "Are they dead?" I asked shudderingly. "As a marline-spike," he replied. "For the time we are safe; they were the only ones that battened themselves to me. The Duke is taken. I saw him seized by some of Portman's Militia near Ringwood but yesterday. Faith! I was disappointed in King Monmouth, for he fled from the field long before his men began to give way." "And how did you escape?" "'Twas touch and go. Monmouth, in a peasant's dress, lay hidden in some ferns, I but ten yards away. Little did I think 'twas the Duke till I heard Portman say as 'twas. I suppose that find satisfied them, for they searched no more. Farmer Shearing of Ringwood lent me his mare, and I rode off early this morning, intending to shape a course for Pitt's Deep, for 'twould have been madness to return to Lymington. Master Hammond, I was a fool even to set out for the West. What I've seen in forty years afloat is naught to what I've seen these last few days. But let's to work!" We thereupon dragged the bodies of the troopers into the bracken, and carefully obliterated all signs of the struggle. The troopers' horses were contentedly nibbling the coarse grass by the roadside, our pony Trotter having followed Constance. They were fine animals, these dragoons' mounts, and I wondered what would become of them. The same question evidently troubled Captain Miles, for if they came within hearing of a trumpet call they would most likely trot off to rejoin their fellows. Yet, as there were no troopers within several miles of us, the horses might be taken by some of the peasants who lived on the outskirts of the heath, especially if we removed the saddlery. "Nay, 'tis too much of a risk," muttered Jeremy to himself, though I heard the words; and, lifting the fore-foot of one of the animals, he examined its hoof. There, in a manner that could not be effaced, were the royal monogram and regimental number; while a further search revealed the government mark branded on the creature's flank. "Those marks are their death warrant," he exclaimed. "How so?" "No man cares for a dumb animal more than I do," he replied. "Yet, when human life and liberty are at stake, it behoves us to take stern measures. Now, I pray you, take your sister home, and return speedily with a pair of serviceable spades." So saying, he led the two animals aside into the gorse, while I hastened to rejoin Constance. We had barely gone a hundred paces when a pistol shot rang out, quickly followed by another. "What sound is that?" asked my sister. "'Tis but naught," I replied, not daring to tell her the plain truth. "Captain Miles has unloaded the troopers' pistols." CHAPTER III Captain Jeremy's Surprise. "What hath befallen you?" asked my father anxiously, as we crossed the threshold of the house. "Ye are both as pale as ghosts, and your clothes, Clifford, are smothered in dust. Hath Trotter thrown you?" For answer, Constance sat down upon a settle and sobbed hysterically, while my father, stopping abruptly his task of questioning us, bestirred himself to comfort her. "Two dragoons have molested us," I announced. "They were in pursuit of Captain Miles." "Have they hurt you?" he asked. "Nay, but little--thanks to the Captain." In a few words I related the incidents that had terminated in the death of the two villains. My father looked grave. "And Jeremy?" he asked. "Hath he gone to Lymington?" "Nay, he awaits me by the Beaulieu bridle path." "'Tis well for him, though I am loath to risk His Majesty's displeasure in succouring rebels. Yet, especially as he did befriend you, I'll do my best to repay Jeremy's kindness. He must not go to Lymington, Clifford." "He doth not intend to do so," said I. "He is making for Pitt's Deep." "Equally as rash as if he journeyed to Lymington. I, too, heard the news this morning soon after you left. The dragoons watch every mile of this part of the coast, and at every little port a watch is set, so that no strangers dare set foot on shipboard without being closely questioned. My son, I take the risk even of harbouring a rebel. I'll go with thee and speak my mind with friend Jeremy." Bidding Martha, our housekeeper, stay with Constance, and impressing upon her the necessity for silence as to what had occurred, my father, taking a mattock in his hand, set out to the scene of the encounter, I accompanying him, and carrying the spades over my shoulder. "Where is the package I bade you bring from Lyndhurst?" he asked, as we left the outskirts of the village. I searched the pockets of my doublet without success, though I was certain that the article had been safely placed in one of them. "It must have fallen out on the road," I replied. "'Tis a grave matter," he said, with a look of anxiety and a gesture of impatience. "How can I--but there! if 't comes to the worst, I must journey into Southampton myself. 'Tis the fortune of war." No more was said, for we were already in sight of the cross-roads, and Captain Miles was sitting on the bracken-covered bank awaiting us. "Good day to you, Cap'n Hammond!" he exclaimed as we approached. "'Tis a sad business dragging you and yours into this bickering." "Yet, thanks to Heaven and your aid, my children were saved from the clutches of those rogues." "Had it not been for me the rascals would not have been here," replied Captain Miles apologetically. "Yet I thank you, sir, for coming to my assistance, though 'tis to the advantage of this part of the countryside that we hide this carrion," and he pointed with his finger to the bodies of the two dragoons. We set to work with a will, and in less than a quarter of an hour a shallow trench was dug sufficiently deep to receive the corpses of the ruffianly soldiers. "Egad! 'tis warm work," exclaimed my father, leaning on his mattock as the first part of the task was completed. "I'm right sorry I've no rum to offer you," said Captain Miles, wiping his heated brow. "You see, we're not aboard the old _Venture_, otherwise 'twould be different." "I, too, regret that I brought not my flask of cordials," replied my father. "There is a bottle of strong waters that I found close to the body of one of these villains," remarked Jeremy; "but though I did make three good attempts at it, 'twas more than I could stomach. It smells aright, but the taste--faugh! I have it in my mouth yet. Try it, Captain Hammond, and see if it suit thy palate." So saying, he produced a bottle and handed it to my father, who gave an exclamation of surprise, quickly followed by a hearty laugh. "Why, what's amiss?" asked the astonished Captain, as my father thrust the bottle into his pocket. "Hist! I'll tell thee anon," said my sire mysteriously. "Now, let's resume our task." The carcasses of the troopers' horses, the victims of Captain Miles's self-preservation, were next interred; while, to make doubly sure, the mount that Jeremy had borrowed from the Ringwood farmer was also buried. This done, I happened to cross the highway, where, to my surprise, I found the wrappings of the package for which we had journeyed into Lyndhurst on that eventful morning. "See! here is the covering of your packet," I exclaimed, holding it up to my father's view. "Aye, Clifford, I know it. Say no more on this matter." Inwardly wondering, I obeyed. Whatever the package contained, I now felt certain that 'twas the same stuff as Jeremy Miles had attempted to swallow. "Now, look you, Captain Miles," said my father, as we prepared to return homewards, "neither Lymington nor Pitt's Deep offers an asylum for you. To go to either place is to set your head in a trap. I have made up my mind that you must tarry with us at Brockenhurst till this storm has blown over." "Nay, 'tis unfair to saddle you with the presence of a proclaimed rebel," objected Captain Jeremy stoutly. "The service I rendered your children does not warrant such a generous payment. I'll accept your hospitality for this night, and at sunrise to-morrow I'll make my way into Sussex. I know of an old shipmate at Shoreham who'll gladly set me across to France." "You'll never get out of Hampshire, my friend," interrupted my father; "at least, not yet awhile. Perchance the tide of monarchy will change again, though, mark you, I'd far rather have James Stuart as my lawful sovereign than James Walters. No, no, I say; further flight is out of the question. At Brockenhurst you will stay till I give you leave to go farther afield." 'Twas no light matter to smuggle the fugitive into our home; but we did it, and for the next week or more Captain Miles remained within doors, my father having pointed out to him the secret panel in case of an emergency. This surprised me not a little, for he was usually very reticent about this matter. True, I had been told of the existence of the hiding-place, but even Constance was kept in ignorance of it. The person who contrived the sliding panel must have done his work well, for no one unacquainted with its mechanism could cause it to move. But I've said enough concerning this matter, for although 'tis well known that our home does possess such a contrivance, its position and the method of working it still remain a secret locked in the breast of a trusted few, and 'twould not be doing my duty towards the Hammonds that are to come were I to say more. Yet there was no reason for alarm. Though troops of horse often passed through Brockenhurst on their way to and from Lymington, none stopped to search for rebels. Neither did the disappearance of two of Cornbury's Dragoons cause any trouble, for we learnt that they were set down as deserters, while, as good fortune would have it, a report came in that two men answering their description had been seen riding northwards out of Salisbury. One morning I was seated with Captain Jeremy in the little room where he was wont to spend most of his time. Often I would go thither to be regaled with stories of his voyage to the Indies and his adventures in foreign parts, till my young blood coursed madly through my veins; and so strange were some of the tales he told that I'm afraid his share of imagination must have been a double one. In the midst of his narrative on this particular day, my father entered, having just returned from Lymington Town. "I have bad news for you," he announced. "'Tis not the first time, Captain Hammond," replied Jeremy composedly. "What is it this time?" "The sheriff hath taken possession of your house, and it and all its contents are to be sold by candle auction."[1] "'Tis the fortune of war," said Captain Miles, removing his long clay pipe from his lips and puffing out a thick cloud of smoke. "I expected it, and provided for it ere I left for Monmouth's camp. What money I possess, beyond what I require for my present disbursements, I have stowed away in the hold of the good ship 'Never-Sink'--to wit, Mother Earth. But there is one thing I'd be glad to lay my hands on. Wouldst be willing to buy a certain article out of my house?" "Would I could buy the lot!" "Nay, 'tis but a picture--a painting of my good barque the _Venture_, done in oils by a rascally Neapolitan, for which he charged me five ducats, though he did place the chain plates too far aft, and the spritsail yard above the bowsprit." "'Tis a common fault with a landlubber," said my parent. "Nevertheless, I'll see to it." "I prize the painting but lightly," continued Jeremy; "but there's more in it than meets the eye." "I do not understand." "Captain Hammond, you've treated me right nobly, and 'twould ill become me were I not to repay you to the utmost of my power. I'll be straightforward in this matter. Listen!" My father motioned to me to leave them, but, perceiving the gesture, Captain Jeremy exclaimed: "No, no, let the lad remain, for 'tis also to his advantage to hear. That picture contains the true and only clue to the lost treasure ship _Madre de Dios_." [1] This custom appears to be fairly common in south-coast ports. In September, 1628, the Mayor of Portsmouth reported to the Admiralty that "The The Gift of God", prize, was sold on the last day of August by the burning of a candle. CHAPTER IV The _Madre de Dios_ My father opened his eyes wide, and his mouth also, so that his pipe clattered on the oaken floor and was broken into a score of fragments. "The _Madre de Dios_!" he exclaimed at length. "You speak truly--the same _Madre de Dios_ concerning which Fergusson adventured himself in the last reign?" "The same, Captain Hammond. I have the secret under my thumb." "You know where the wreck lies hidden?" "Aye, but that matters little. The treasure is not in her, but lies in a safe place." Even I had heard the wonderful story of the Spanish treasure ship. 'Twas well known that in the last century Sir John Berkeley, during his attack upon Porto Rico, had captured a Spanish caravel, the _Madre de Dios_. On her he found pearls worth ten thousand ducats, gold dust, ingots, and other treasure to the value of 400,000 pounds. Of this vast spoil Sir John shipped about one-half aboard his own ship, sending the _Madre_ under convoy for England. The caravel, overtaken by a furious north-easterly gale, was lost with all hands amongst the islands of the Lesser Antilles, and although expeditions innumerable had been sent out to discover the wreck, none had met with success. If Captain Jeremy Miles was not deceiving himself and us also, a king's ransom was almost within his grasp. "Pardon me if I put it bluntly," said my father, "but if you know where the treasure lies, why have you not recovered it ere now?" "That I'll explain, methinks, to your satisfaction, though 'tis a long story. Yet, to put it briefly, I was cast away on the island where the treasure lieth in the year 1674. For two years I was cut off from my fellow-men, till a Spanish barque took me off. It goes without saying that I told the Dons naught concerning the treasure; but on setting foot in England once more, I took steps to obtain command of a vessel trading with the Indies. Yet ill fortune thwarted my purpose." "How so?" "Head winds and pestilence. Then, though I was averse to sharing my secret, I applied to my Lord Rochester to intercede with the King; but, since I was only a plain merchant captain, and no King's officer, my lord must needs flout me and deride my statement." "My Lord Rochester had his own views on this matter, I take it," remarked my father. "There were no less than forty applications to his late Majesty from would-be treasure seekers. Fergusson went and failed; Captain Calcott did likewise, and now Phipps has been gone these two years, spending the King's money and using his ships of war, which might be more profitably employed elsewhere. Nay, I cannot blame my Lord Rochester." "But I do!" exclaimed Captain Miles vehemently. "Not for his refusal, mark you, for he's the loser on't, but for his churlish manner. 'Twas mainly for this reason that I set out to join Monmouth's standard, for, had all been well, I am certain he would, as a man of spirit and enterprise, have been willing to grant me aid in the search." "The Duke will need all his spirit and enterprise to save his neck from the headsman's axe," replied my father. "But concerning this matter?" "I have a proposal to make, Captain Hammond. But ere we go farther, 'tis worth while laying hands on the chart." "Aye," replied my father. "The sale is fixed for to-morrow, so I'll to Lymington and secure the picture at all costs." The subject was then dropped for the time, yet I did not fail to notice that my sire was by no means in his usual spirits, but seemed preoccupied, and inclined to irritability. Constance, too, noticed the change. "What doth he ponder over?" she asked. "Is there fresh trouble coming upon us? Have they discovered aught of that affair on the Lyndhurst Road?" and she gave a little shudder at the remembrance of it. "Nay," I replied. "That affair has, I hope, blown over. Something is in the wind, nevertheless, for I doubt not that our father and Captain Miles are engaging upon some profitable enterprise; it may happen that a voyage to the West Indies will restore the fortunes of our house." "But will father have to go to sea again?" she asked anxiously. "It may so happen," I replied. "And you----?" "I would I could," I rejoined earnestly, for 'twas my cherished ambition to go to sea; yet I feared my father would withhold his consent. The next day my father and I rode into Lymington, and having left our horses at the "Hart", we repaired to Jeremy's house. It was a long, low-built, thatched-roofed building, standing at the bottom of the steep High Street, and overlooking the muddy harbour where the Lym stream joins the sea. The door and the frames of the diamond-paned windows were painted a vivid green--possibly the work of the energetic seaman; while above the porch was nailed an effigy of a woman holding an arrow in her hand--the figurehead of one of his former vessels. Crowds of eager and curious townsfolk were gathered without the door on which the sheriff's notice of the sale was affixed, while two tip-staves, escorting a lean, pale-faced man, were trying to force their way through the press of onlookers. "'Tis the attorney for the Crown," whispered my father, pointing to the white-faced man, who was evidently ill at ease. "'Tis fortunate for him that he has a troop of horse within ear-shot, or I'll warrant he would have a warm reception." But even the presence of the soldiers, who were drawn up in an alley leading to the quay, did not prevent volleys of rotten eggs and street garbage being directed against the sheriff's representative, till, the door being opened, he disappeared within, followed by the incensed townsfolk. Jeremy was, as I have mentioned, a general favourite in and around Lymington; and, besides, his rash participation in the revolt was not unfavourably regarded by his fellow-townsmen, who took this opportunity of expressing their practical sympathy with the absent Captain. By dint of much elbowing we succeeded in gaining admission to the house, and, to my inexperienced eyes, the scene within was strange and pathetically interesting, as preparations were made to dispose of our friend's goods and chattels. By threats, entreaties, and commands the sheriff's officer obtained comparative quiet, and amidst the groans of his audience he read the proclamation setting forth that the house and goods of Captain Jeremy Miles, he having been declared a traitor to His Majesty King James, were to be sold forthwith. Thereupon one of the tip-staves produced a long wax candle having a number of metal pegs stuck into it at regular intervals. This he proceeded to light; the first lot was announced, and the highest bid, ere the uppermost peg fell from the melted wax, secured the submitted article. In the excitement, as bidder after bidder was outbidden, even the voices of the malcontents were hushed; while as peg after peg dropped out and rebounded from the oaken table, the clang of the hammer could scarce drown the angry remonstrances of the disappointed would-be purchasers. Thus the auction proceeded, and from room to room we went, watching the disposal of the Captain's goods. One or two instruments of navigation my father secured, though, as I knew he already possessed similar ones, I guessed that they were for Jeremy's future use. At length the parlour was reached, and between the heads of the crowd and the low, raftered ceiling I caught a glimpse of the fateful painting--a ship under all plain sail, set with a vivid blue sea and a cloudless sky of an almost similar colour. My father marked it likewise, for he straightened himself, and coughed slightly once or twice to clear his throat. "Lot Seventy-two. A painting by a worthy Neapolitan artist, Messer Tito Cozzini, of--of--I cannot decipher the place--methinks it looks like Foggia." The taper was again applied to the candle, the feeble light flickering dimly in the dusty, crowded room. No one seemed anxious to possess the work of art, for my father, concealing his impatience, had purposely withheld his bid. The metal peg began to droop in its support of melting wax. "A crown," said my father. CHAPTER V The Chart "And sixpence." A voice like the bellowing of a bull burst from the corner of the room, while its owner began to force his way vigorously through the crowd towards the rostrum. "Six shillings." The peg gave a decided jerk, but still remained in the wax. "Six shillings and sixpence." "Seven shillings." Ping! The metal pin tinkled on the table, the hammer descended, and the picture was ours. A muttered oath caused me to turn my head and look behind. The unsuccessful bidder was a short, bull-necked man, with clean-shaven, red complexioned features, closely cropped hair, save for a bob hanging over his neck; and powerfully-built shoulders and arms. With a violent effort to conceal his disappointment, the stranger backed his way through the crowd, and was lost to view. To disarm suspicion, we remained for nearly another hour; then, having paid the sheriff's clerk the amount of the purchase money, my father took possession of the painting and the nautical instruments, and handed them over to the care of a lad, with instructions to follow us. Having mounted our horses, we rode them at a walking pace, the youth panting at our heels, for the day was excessively warm. As we were passing Buckland Rings I chanced to glance over my shoulder at our follower, and in so doing I caught sight of a man stealing cautiously along in the shadow of the trees at about two hundred paces off. It was the unsuccessful bidder for Captain Miles's picture. "How say you?" asked my father. "The rascal means no good;" and abruptly wheeling his steed, he trotted back to the edge of the clump of pines that stand betwixt the highway and those relics of paganism commonly known in the district as "The Rings". Yet though we searched the clump and the far side of the hillock as well, our efforts were in vain. "Your eyes have deceived you, Clifford," said my sire, as we cantered along the road to overtake the lad with his precious burden. Though I felt certain on the point, I refrained from insisting that I was right, and without further happening we reached our house, though I was continually turning in the saddle to see if we were followed by the discomfited rogue. Having to attend the Verderers' Court that afternoon, my father could devote no time to his purchase until the evening, though I was burning with impatience to see the chart revealed, and felt certain my parent was in a like state. "'Tis well done," exclaimed Captain Jeremy with undisguised delight, when he saw the painting. "Now, Captain Hammond, we'll cut the canvas and get the chart." "Nay," remonstrated my father, laughing; "the picture cost me seven shillings, and 'tis a pity to spoil it for the sake of being overhasty. Bring a mallet and chisel, Clifford, and we'll prise open the back." This was accordingly done, and as the heavy boards were removed from the frame a musty piece of parchment, creased in several places, was disclosed to view. "Here 'tis," declared Captain Jeremy, pointing with his yellow finger. "There lies the _Madre_ treasure." The chart was a good yard in length, and about three spans in breadth. It had evidently been drawn with a considerable amount of care, the names being neatly inserted. In the top right corner, spanned by a compass, was a scale of leagues, while in the left was a representation of the mariner's compass. Three strange-looking vessels, with towering forecastles and poops, and a veritable network of rhumb-lines, covered all the portion of the chart that was supposed to represent the ocean. In the bottom left-hand corner, which had been greatly thumb-marked, were the letters "...go Ribero", and the date "1529"; and marked by a rough circle, drawn, it seemed, at a later date, was the position of an island, against which appeared the words: "Much golde here--_Madre de Dios_, 1599". "This is an old Spanish chart," said Captain Miles, "yet 'tis accurate enough for our purpose. Even Generals Penn and Venables, when they took Jamaica, freely acknowledged that none of our making could equal it." "'Tis a sovereign piece of work," assented my father. "But methinks you said the position was known only to you? How comes it, therefore, that this chart has the spot marked fair and legibly?" "Therein have many men been deceived," replied Captain Jeremy. "That was placed thereon for the purpose. Mark you a small cross on the island?--'tis a good two leagues from the wrongly marked spot. On my word of honour, I can testify that there lieth the treasure. Now, what say you, Captain Hammond? Will you join with me in prosecuting a search? for freely in my gratitude will I share the gains with you. Yet 'tis but fair to give you full warning, though I heed it not. 'Tis said that the treasure of the _Madre de Dios_ is under a curse, and only through bloodshed and fire can it be regained. This was the curse of the Friar Pedro Lopez, whom, 'tis avowed, Sir John Berkeley threw overboard with his own hands." "The matter is a weighty one," replied my father, as he proceeded to replace the back of the frame. "I Even should the treasure be yet undiscovered, there arises the question of the cost of fitting out a ship. Were I a man of wealth I'd not be averse from adventuring a round sum. As for the friar's curse, I heed it not." "Neither have I much wealth, seeing that my house and goods were in the sheriff's hands this day," observed Captain Jeremy, with a grim smile. "Yet, as I have said heretofore, I have hidden a certain sum. This, though 'tis my all, I would gladly devote to the enterprise; and, forsooth, a man could not give better pledge of his sincerity." "'Tis not that I doubt your sincerity, and I crave your pardon should I have touched upon a tender spot. Now, I pray you, explain the chart, inasmuch as it concerns the treasure island." Thus encouraged, Captain Jeremy carefully filled his long clay pipe, and resting the glowing bowl on the edge of the table
{'title': "The Quest of the 'Golden Hope': A Seventeenth Century Story of Adventure", 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}