Pieces of Eight | Page 8

of the long string of coral islands
now known as the "Exuma Cays." But of "Short Shrift Island" we
sought in vain for a trace.
Then the details for identification of the sites left something to be
desired in particularity. But that, I reasoned, rather made for Tobias's
veracity than otherwise. Were the document merely a hoax, as John
continued to suspect, its author would have indulged his imagination in
greater elaboration. The very simplicity of the directions argued their

authenticity. Charlie Webster was inclined to back me in this view, but
neither of my friends showed any optimism in regard to the possible
discovery of the treasure.
The character of the brush on the out-islands alone, they said, made the
task of search well nigh hopeless. To cut one's way through twenty
miles of such stubborn thickets, would cost almost as much in labour as
the treasure was worth. And then the peculiar nature of the jagged coral
rock, like endless wastes of clinker, almost denuded of earth, would
make the task the more arduous. As well look for a particular fish in the
sea. A needle in a haystack would be easy in comparison.
"All the same," said I, "the adventure calls me; the adventure and that
million and a half dollars--and those 'Dead Men's Shoes'--and I intend
to undertake it. I am not going to let your middle-aged scepticism
discourage me. Treasure or no treasure, there will be the excitement of
the quest, and all the fun of the sea."
"And some duck perhaps," added Charlie.
"And some shark-fishing for certain," said John.
* * * * *
The next thing was to set about chartering a boat, and engaging a crew.
In this Charlie Webster's experience was invaluable, as his friendly zeal
was untiring.
After looking over much likely and unlikely craft, we finally decided
on a two-masted schooner of trim but solid build, the Maggie Darling,
42 feet over all and 13 beam; something under twenty tons, with an
auxiliary gasolene engine of 24 horse power, and an alleged speed of
10 knots. A staunch, as well as a pretty, little boat, with good lines, and
high in the bows; built to face any seas. "Cross the Atlantic in her," said
the owner. Owners of boats for sale always say that. But the Maggie
Darling spoke for herself, and I fell in love with her on the spot.
Next, the crew.

"You will need a captain, a cook, an engineer, and a deck-hand," said
Charlie, "and I have the captain, and the cook all ready for you."
That afternoon we rounded them all up, including the engineer and the
deck-hand, and we arranged to start, weather permitting, with the
morning tide, which set east about six o'clock on July 13, 1903. Charlie
was a little doubtful about the weather, though the glass was steady.
"A northeaster's about due," he said, "but unless it comes before you
start, you'll be able to put in for shelter at one or two places, and you
will be inside the reef most of the way."
Ship's stores were the next detail, and these, including fifty gallons of
gasolene, over and above the tanks and three barrels of water, being
duly got aboard, on the evening of July 12, all was ready for the start;
an evening which was naturally spent in a parting conclave in John
Saunders's snuggery.
"Why, one important thing you've forgotten," said Charlie, as we sat
over our pipes and glasses. "Think of forgetting that. Machetes--and
spades and pickaxes. And I'd take a few sticks of dynamite along with
you too. I can let you have the lot, and, if you like, we'll get them
aboard to-night."
"It's a pity you have to give it away that it's a treasure hunt," said
John,--"but, then you can't keep the crew from knowing. And they're a
queer lot on the subject of treasure, have some of the rummest
superstitions. I hope you won't have any trouble with them."
"Had any experience in handling niggers?" asked Charlie.
"Not the least."
"That makes me wish I were coming with you. They are rum beggars.
Awful cowards, and just like a pack of children. You know about
sailing anyhow. That's a good thing. You can captain your own boat, if
need be. That's all to the good. Particularly if you strike any dirty
weather. Though they're cowards in a storm, they'll take orders better

than white men--so long as they see that you know what you are about.
But let me give you one word of advice. Be kind, of course, with
them--but keep your distance all the same. And be careful about losing
your temper. You get more out of them by coaxing--hard as it is, at
times. And, by the way, how