Cord and Creese

J >> James de Mille >> Cord and Creese

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Brandon walked on, and even in the intense desire of his soul to find
what he sought he felt himself overcome by the sublime influence of this
submarine world. He seemed to have intruded into some other sphere,
planting his rash footsteps where no foot of man had trodden before, and
using the resources of science to violate the hallowed secrecy of awful
nature in her most hidden retreats. Here, above all things, his soul was
oppressed by the universal silence around. Through that thick helmet,
indeed, no sound under a clap of thunder could be heard, and the ringing
of his ears would of itself have prevented consciousness of any other
noise, yet none the less was he aware of the awful stillness; it was
silence that could be felt. In the sublimity of that lonely pathway he
felt what Hercules is imagined to have felt when passing to the
underworld after Cerberus,

Stupent ubi undae segne torpescit fretum,

and half expected to hear some voice from the dweller in this place:

"Quo pergis audax? Siste proserentem gradum."

There came to him only such dwellers as belonged to the place. He saw
them as he moved along. He saw them darting out from the hidden
penetralia around, moving swiftly across and sometimes darting in shoals
before him. They began to appear in such vast numbers that Brandon
thought of the monster which lay a mangled heap upon the surface above,
and fancied that perhaps his kindred were waiting to avenge his death.
As this fear came full and well defined before him he drew from his belt
the knife which Asgeelo had given him, and Frank had urged him to take,
feeling himself less helpless if he held this in his hand.

The fishes moved about him, coming on in new and more startled crowds,
some dashing past, others darting upward, and others moving swiftly
ahead. One large one was there with a train of followers, which moved up
and floated for a moment directly in front of him, its large, staring
eyes seeming to view him in wonder, and solemnly working its gills. But
as Brandon came close it gave a sudden turn and darted off with all its
attendants.

At last, amidst all these wonders, he saw far ahead something which
drove all other thoughts away, whether of fear, or of danger, or of
horror, and filled all his soul with an overmastering passion of desire
and hope.

It was a dark object, too remote as yet to be distinctly visible, yet as
it rose there his fancy seemed to trace the outline of a ship, or what
might once have been a ship. The presentation of his hope before him
thus in what seemed like a reality was too much. He stood still, and his
heart beat with fierce throbs.

The hope was so precious that for a time he hesitated to advance, for
fear lest the hope might be dispelled forever. And then to fail at this
place, after so long a search, when he seemed to have reached the end,
would be an intolerable grief.

There, too, was that strange pathway which seemed made on purpose. How
came it there? He thought that perhaps the object lying before him might
have caused some current which set in there and prevented the growth of
plants in that place. These and many other thoughts came to him as he
stood, unwilling to move.

But at last he conquered his feelings, and advanced. Hope grew strong
within him. He thought of the time on Coffin Island when, in like
manner, he had hesitated before a like object.

Might not this, like that, turn out to be a ship? And now, by a strange
revulsion, all his feelings urged him on; hope was strong, suspense
unendurable. Whatever that object was, he must know.

It might indeed be a rock. He had passed one shortly before, which had
gradually declined into the bottom of the sea; this might be a
continuation of the same, which after an interval had arisen again from
the bottom. It was long and high at one end, and rounded forward at the
other. Such a shape was perfectly natural for a rock. He tried to crush
down hope, so as to be prepared for disappointment. He tried to convince
himself that it must be a rock, and could by no possibility be any thing
else. Yet his efforts were totally fruitless. Still the conviction
remained that it was a ship, and if so, it could be no other than the
one he sought.

As he went on all the marine vegetation ceased. The coral rocks
continued no further. Now all around the bottom of the sea was flat, and
covered with fine gravel, like that which he had touched when he first
came down. The fishes had departed. The sense of solemnity left him;
only one thing was perceptible, and that was the object toward which he
walked. And now he felt within him such an uncontrollable impulse that
even if he had wished he could neither have paused nor gone back. To go
forward was only possible. It seemed to him as though some external
influence had penetrated his body, and forced him to move. Again, as
once before, he recalled the last words of his father, so well
remembered:

--"If in that other world to which I am going the disembodied spirit can
assist man, then be sure, oh my son, I will assist you, and in the
crisis of your fate I will be near, if it is only to communicate to your
spirit what you ought to do--"

It was Ralph Brandon who had said this. Here in this object which lay
before him, if it were indeed the ship, he imagined the spirit of
another Ralph Brandon present, awaiting him.

Suddenly a dark shadow passed over his head, which forced him
involuntarily to look up. In spite of his excitement a shudder passed
through him. Far overhead, at the surface of the sea the boat was
floating. But half-way up were three dark objects moving slowly and
lazily along. They were sharks.

To him, in his loneliness and weakness, nothing ever seemed so menacing
as these three demons of the deep as he stared up at them. Had they seen
him? that was now his thought. He clutched his knife in a firmer hold,
feeling all the while how utterly helpless he was, and shrinking away
into himself from the terror above. The monsters moved leisurely about,
at one time grazing the tube, and sending down a vibration which
thrilled like an electric shock through him. For a moment he thought
that they were malignantly tormenting him, and had done this on purpose
in order to send down to him a message of his fate.

He waited.

The time seemed endless. Yet at last the end came. The sharks could not
have seen him, for they gradually moved away until they were out of
sight.

Brandon did not dare to advance for some time. Yet now, since the spell
of this presence was removed, his horror left him, and his former hope
animated all his soul.

There lay that object before him. Could he advance again after that
warning? Dared he? This new realm into which he had ventured had indeed
those who were ready and able to inflict a sudden and frightful
vengeance upon the rash intruder. He had passed safely among the horrors
of the coral forest; but here, on this plateau, could he hope to be so
safe? Might not the slightest movement on his part create a disturbance
of water sufficient to awaken the attention of those departed enemies
and bring them back?

This was his fear. But hope, and a resolute will, and a determination to
risk all on this last hazard, alike impelled him on. Danger now lay
every where, above as well as below. An advance was not more perilous
than an ascent to the boat. Taking comfort from this last thought he
moved onward with a steady, determined step.

Hope grew stronger as he drew nearer. The dark mass gradually formed
itself into a more distinct outline. The uncertain lines defined into
more certain shape, and the resemblance to a ship became greater and
greater. He could no longer resist the conviction that this must be a
ship.

Still he tried feebly to prepare for disappointment, and made faint
fancies as to the reason why a rock should be formed here in this shape.
All the time he scouted those fancies and felt assured that it was not a
rock.

Nearer and nearer. Doubt no longer remained. He stood close beside it.
It was indeed a ship! Its sides rose high over head. Its lofty stern
stood up like a tower, after the fashion of a ship of the days of Queen
Elizabeth. The masts had fallen and lay, encumbered with the rigging,
over the side.

Brandon walked all around it, his heart beating fast, seeing at every
step some new proof that this must be no other, by any conceivable
possibility, than the one which he sought. On reaching the bows he saw
the outline of a bird carved for the figure-head, and knew that this
must be the _Phoenix_.

He walked around. The bottom was sandy and the ship had settled down to
some depth. Her sides were covered with fine dark shells, like an
incrustation, to a depth of an inch, mingled with a short growth of a
green, slimy sea-weed.

At last he could delay no longer. One of the masts lay over the side,
and this afforded an easy way by which he could clamber upward upon the
deck.

In a few moments Brandon stood upon the deck of the _Phoenix_.

The ship which had thus lain here through centuries, saturated with
water that had penetrated to its inmost fibre, still held together
sturdily. Beneath the sea the water itself had acted as a preservative,
and retarded or prevented decay. Brandon looked around as he stood
there, and the light that came from above, where the surface of the sea
was now much nearer than before, showed him all the extent of the ship.

The beams which supported the deck had lost their stiffness and sunk
downward; the masts, as before stated, had toppled over for the same
reason, yielding to their own weight, which, as the vessel was slightly
on one side, had gradually borne them down; the bowsprit also had
fallen. The hatchways had yielded, and, giving way, had sunk down within
the hold. The doors which led into the cabin in the lofty poop were
lying prostrate on the deck. The large sky-light which once had stood
there had also followed the same fate.

[Illustration: "THE MASTS HAD FALLEN AND LAY, ENCUMBERED WITH THE
RIGGING, OVER THE SIDE."]

Before going down Brandon had arranged a signal to send to Frank in case
he found the ship. In his excitement he had not yet given it. Before
venturing further he thought of this. But he decided not to make the
signal. The idea came, and was rejected amidst a world of varying hopes
and fears. He thought that if he was successful he himself would be the
best messenger of success; and, if not, he would be the best messenger
of evil.

He advanced toward the cabin. Turning away from the door he clambered
upon the poop, and, looking down, tried to see what depth there might be
beneath. He saw something which looked as though it had once been a
table. Slowly and cautiously he let himself down through the opening,
and his feet touched bottom. He moved downward, and let his feet slide
till they touched the floor.

He was within the cabin.

The light here was almost equal to that with-out, for the sky-light was
very wide. The floor was sunken in like the deck of the ship. He looked
around to see where he might first search for the treasure. Suddenly his
eye caught sight of something which drove away every other thought.

At one end was a seat, and there, propped up against the wall, was a
skeleton in a sitting posture. Around it was a belt with a sword
attached. The figure had partly twisted itself round, but its bead and
shoulders were so propped up against the wall that it could not fall.

Brandon advanced, filled with a thousand emotions. One hand was lying
down in front. He lifted it. There was a gold ring on the bony finger.
He took it off. In the dim light he saw, cut in bold relief on this
seal-ring, the crest of his family--a Phoenix.

It was his ancestor himself who was before him.

Here he had calmly taken his seat when the ship was settling slowly down
into the embrace of the waters. Here he had taken his seat, calmly and
sternly, awaiting his death--perhaps with a feeling of grim triumph that
he could thus elude his foes. This was the man, and this the hand, which
had written the message that had drawn the descendant here.

Such were the thoughts that passed through Brandon's mind. He put the
ring on his own finger and turned away. His ancestor had summoned him
hither, and here he was. Where was the treasure that was promised?

Brandon's impatience now rose to a fever. Only one thought filled his
mind. All around the cabin were little rooms, into each of which he
looked. The doors had all fallen away. Yet he saw nothing in any of
them.

He stood for a moment in deep doubt. Where could he look? Could he
venture down into the dark hold and explore? How could he hope to find
any thing there, amidst the ruins of that interior where guns and chains
lay, perhaps all mingled together where they had fallen? It would need a
longer time to find it than he had at first supposed. Yet would he
falter? No! Rather than give up he would pass years here, till he had
dismembered the whole ship and strewn every particle of her piecemeal
over the bottom of the sea. Yet he had hoped to solve the whole mystery
at the first visit; and now, since he saw no sign of any thing like
treasure, he was for a while at a loss what to do.

His ancestor had summoned him, and he had come. Where was the treasure?
Where? Why could not that figure arise and show him?

Such were his thoughts. Yet these thoughts, the result of excitement
that was now a frenzy, soon gave rise to others that were calmer.

He reflected that perhaps some other feeling than what he had at first
imagined might have inspired that grim old Englishman when he took his
seat there and chose to drown on that seat rather than move away. Some
other feeling, and what feeling? Some feeling which must have been the
strongest in his heart. What was that? The one which had inspired the
message, the desire to secure still more that treasure for which he had
toiled and fought. His last act was to send the message, why should he
not have still borne that thought in his mind and carried it till he
died?

The skeleton was at one end, supported by the wall. Two posts projected
on each side. A heavy oaken chair stood there, which had once perhaps
been fastened to the floor. Brandon thought that he would first examine
that wall. Perhaps there might be some opening there.

He took the skeleton in his arms reverently, and proceeded to lift it
from the chair: He could not. He looked more narrowly, and saw a chain
which had been fastened around it and bound it to the chair.

What was the meaning of this? Had the crew mutinied, bound the captain,
and run? Had the Spaniards seized the ship after all? Had they recovered
the spoil, and punished in this way the plunderer of three galleons, by
binding him here to the chair, scuttling the ship, and sending him down
to the bottom of the sea?

The idea of the possibility of this made Brandon sick with anxiety. He
pulled the chair away, put it on one side, and began to examine the
wooden wall by running his hand along it. There was nothing whatever
perceptible. The wall was on the side farthest from the stern, and
almost amidships. He pounded it, and, by the feeling, knew that it was
hollow behind. He walked to the door which was on one side, and passed
in behind this very wall. There was nothing there. It had once perhaps
been used as part of the cabin. He came back disconsolately, and stood
on the very place where the chair had been.

"Let me be calm," he said to himself. "This enterprise is hopeless. Yes,
the Spaniards captured the ship, recovered the treasure, and drowned my
ancestor. Let me not be deceived. Let me cast away hope, and search here
without any idle expectation."

Suddenly as he thought he felt the floor gradually giving way beneath
him. He started, but before he could move or even think in what
direction to go the floor sank in, and he at once sank with it downward.

Had it not been that the tube was of ample extent, and had been
carefully managed so as to guard against any abrupt descent among rocks
at the bottom of the sea, this sudden fall might have ended Brandon's
career forever. As it was he only sank quickly, but without accident,
until his breast was on a level with the cabin floor.

In a moment the truth flashed upon him. He had been standing on a trap-
door which opened from the cabin floor into the hold of the ship. Over
this trap-door old Ralph Brandon had seated and bound himself. Was it to
guard the treasure? Was it that he might await his descendant, and thus
silently indicate to him the place where he must look?

And now the fever of Brandon's conflicting hope and fear grew more
intense than it had ever yet been through all this day of days. He
stooped down to feel what it was that lay under his feet. His hands
grasped something, the very touch of which sent a thrill sharp and
sudden through every fibre of his being.

_They were metallic bars!_

He rose up again overcome. He hardly dared to take one up so as to see
what it might be. For the actual sight would realize hope or destroy it
forever.

Once more he stooped down. In a sort of fury he grasped a bar in each
hand and raised it up to the light.

Down under the sea the action of water had not destroyed the color of
those bars which he held up in the dim light that came through the
waters. The dull yellow of those rough ingots seemed to gleam with
dazzling brightness before his bewildered eyes, and filled his whole
soul with a torrent of rapture and of triumph.

His emotions overcame him. The bars of gold fell down from his
trembling hands. He sank back and leaned against the wall.

But what was it that lay under his feet? What were all these bars?
Were they all gold? Was this indeed all here--the plunder of the
Spanish treasure-ships--the wealth which might purchase a kingdom--
the treasure equal to an empire's revenue--the gold and jewels in
countless store?

A few moments of respite were needed in order to overcome the tremendous
conflict of feeling which raged within his breast. Then once more he
stooped down. His outstretched hand felt over all this space which thus
was piled up with treasure.

It was about four feet square. The ingots lay in the centre. Around
the sides were boxes. One of these he took out. It was made of thick
oaken plank, and was about ten inches long and eight wide. The rusty
nails gave but little resistance, and the iron bands which once bound
them peeled off at a touch. He opened the box.

Inside was a casket.

He tore open the casket.

_It was filled with jewels!_

His work was ended. No more search, no more fear. He bound the
casket tightly to the end of the signal-line, added to it a bar of gold,
and clambered to the deck.

He cast off the weight that was at his waist, which he also fastened
to the line, and let it go.

Freed from the weight he rose buoyantly to the top of the water.

The boat pulled rapidly toward him and took him in. As he removed
his helmet he saw Frank's eyes fixed on his in mute inquiry. His face
was ashen, his lips bloodless.

Louis smiled.

"Heavens!" cried Frank, "can it be?"

"Pull up the signal-line and see for yourself," was the answer.

And, as Frank pulled, Louis uttered a cry which made him look up.

Louis pointed to the sun. "Good God! what a time I must have been down!"

"Time!" said Frank. "Don't say time--it was eternity!"

CHAPTER XXIV.

BEATRICE'S JOURNAL

BRANDON HALL

September 1, 1848.--Paolo Langhetti used to say that it was useful
to keep a diary; not one from day to day, for each day's events are
generally trivial, and therefore not worthy of record; but rather a
statement in full of more important events in one's life, which may be
turned to in later years. I wish I had begun this sixteen months ago,
when I first came here. How full would have been my melancholy record by
this time!

Where shall I begin?

Of course, with my arrival here, for that is the time when we separated.
There is no need for me to put down in writing the events that took
place when _he_ was with me. Not a word that he ever spoke, not a
look that he ever gave, has escaped my memory. This much I may set down
here.

Alas! the shadow of the African forest fell deeply and darkly upon me.
Am I stronger than other women, or weaker? I know not. Yet I can be calm
while my heart is breaking. Yes, I am at once stronger and weaker; so
weak that my heart breaks, so strong that I can hide it.

I will begin from the time of my arrival here.

I came knowing well who the man was and what he was whom I had for my
father. I came with every word of that despairing voyager ringing in my
ears--that cry from the drifting _Vishnu_, where Despard laid down
to die. How is it that his very name thrills through me? I am nothing to
him. I am one of the hateful brood of murderers. A Thug was my father--
and my mother who? And who am I, and what?

At least my soul is not his, though I am his daughter. My soul is
myself, and life on earth can not last forever. Hereafter I may stand
where that man may never approach.

How can I ever forget the first sight which I had of my father, who
before I saw him had become to me as abhorrent as a demon! I came up in
the coach to the door of the Hall and looked out. On the broad piazza
there were two men; one was sitting, the other standing.

The one who was standing was somewhat elderly, with a broad, fat face,
which expressed nothing in particular but vulgar good-nature. He was
dressed in black; and looked like a serious butler, or perhaps still
more like some of the Dissenting ministers whom I have seen. He stood
with his hands in his pockets, looking at me with a vacant smile.

The other man was younger, not over thirty. He was thin, and looked pale
from dissipation. His face was covered with spots, his eyes were gray,
his eyelashes white. He was smoking a very large pipe, and a tumbler of
some kind of drink stood on the stone pavement at his feet. He stared at
me between the puffs of his pipe, and neither moved nor spoke.

If I had not already tasted the bitterness of despair I should have
tasted it as I saw these men. Something told me that they were my father
and brother. My very soul sickened at the sight--the memory of Despard's
words came back--and if it had been possible to have felt any tender
natural affection for them, this recollection would have destroyed it.

"I wish to see Mr. Potts," said I, coldly.

My father stared at me.

"I'm Mr. Potts," he answered.

"I am Beatrice," said I; "I have just arrived from China."

By this time the driver had opened the door, and I got out and walked up
on the piazza.

"Johnnie," exclaimed my father, "what the devil is the meaning of this?"

"Gad, I don't know," returned John, with a puff of smoke.

"Didn't you say she was drowned off the African coast?"

"I saw so in the newspapers."

"Didn't you tell me about the _Falcon_ rescuing her from the
pirates, and then getting wrecked with all on board?"

"Yes, but then there was a girl that escaped."

"Oh ho!" said my father, with a long whistle. "I didn't know that."

He turned and looked at me hastily, but in deep perplexity.

"So you're the girl, are you?" said he at last.

"I am your daughter," I answered.

I saw him look at John, who winked in return.

He walked up and down for a few minutes, and at last stopped and looked
at me again.

"That's all very well," said he at last, "but how do I know that you're
the party? Have you any proof of this?"

"No."

"You have nothing but your own statement?"

"No."

"And you may be an impostor. Mind you--I'm a magistrate--and you'd
better be careful."

"You can do what you choose," said I, coldly.

"No, I can't. In this country a man can't do what he chooses."

I was silent.

"Johnnie," said my father, "I'll have to leave her to you. You arrange
it."

John looked at me lazily, still smoking, and for some time said nothing.

"I suppose," said he at last, "you've got to put it through. You began
it, you know. You would send for her. I never saw the use of it."

"But do you think this is the party?"

"Oh, I dare say. It don't make any difference any way. Nobody would take
the trouble to come to you with a sham story."

"That's a fact," said my father.

"So I don't see but you've got to take her."

"Well," said my father, "if you think so, why all right."

"I don't think any thing of the kind," returned John, snappishly. "I
only think that she's the party you sent for."

"Oh, well, it's all the same," said my father, who then turned to me
again.

"If you're the girl," he said, "you can get in. Hunt up Mrs. Compton,
and she'll take charge of you."

Compton! At the mention of that name a shudder passed through me. She
had been in the family of the murdered man, and had ever since lived
with his murderer. I went in without a word, prepared for the worst, and
expecting to see some evil-faced woman, fit companion for the pair
outside.

A servant was passing along. "Where is Mrs. Compton?" I asked.

"Somewhere or other, I suppose," growled the man, and went on.

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