Treasure recovered—Accidents encountered—An unexpected Discovery—Enemies met and circumvented.

It is pleasant to loll in the sunshine on a calm day in the stern of a boat and gaze down into unfathomable depths, as one listens to the slow, regular beating of the oars, and the water rippling against the prow—and especially pleasant is this when one in such circumstances is convalescent after a prolonged and severe illness.

So thought Edgar Berrington one lovely morning, some months after the events related in the last chapter, as he was being rowed gently over the fair bosom of the China sea. The boat—a large one with a little one towing astern—was so far from the coast that no land could be seen. A few sea-gulls sported round them, dipping their wings in the wave, or putting a plaintive question now and then to the rowers. Nothing else was visible except a rocky isle not far off that rose abruptly from the sea.

“Well, we’re nearing the spot at last,” said Edgar, heaving that prolonged sigh which usually indicates one’s waking up from a pleasant reverie. “What a glorious world this is, Baldwin! How impressively it speaks to us of its Maker!”

“Ay, whether in the calm or in the storm,” responded Joe.

“Yes; it was under a very different aspect I saw this place last,” returned Edgar. “Yonder is the cliff now coming into view, where the vessel we are in search of went down.”

“An ugly place,” remarked Joe, who was steering the boat. “Come boys, give way. The morning’s gittin’ on, an’ we must set to work as soon as ever we can. Time an’ tide, you know, etcetera.”

Rooney, Maxwell, Chok-foo, and Ram-stam, who were rowing, bent to their work with a will, but the heavy boat did not respond heartily, being weighted with a large amount of diving gear. Just then a light breeze arose, and the boat, obedient to the higher power, bent over and rippled swiftly on.

The only other individual on board was a Malay—the owner of the boat. He sat on the extreme end of the bow looking with a vacant gaze at the island. He was a man of large size and forbidding, though well-formed, features, and was clothed in a costume, half European half Oriental, which gave little clew to the nature of his profession—except that it savoured a good deal of the sea. His name, Dwarro, was, like his person, nondescript. Probably it was a corruption of his eastern cognomen. At all events it suffered further corruption from his companions in the boat, for Baldwin and Maxwell called him Dworro, while Rooney Machowl named him Dwarry. This diversity of pronunciation, however, seemed a matter of no consequence to the stolid boatman, who, when directly addressed, answered to any name that people chose to give him. He was taciturn—never spoke save when spoken to; and at such times used English so broken that it was difficult to put it together so as to make sense. He was there only in capacity of owner and guardian of the boat. Those who hired it would gladly have dispensed with his services, but he would not let them have it without taking himself into the bargain.

Having reached the scene of the wreck of the Warrior, the party at once proceeded to sound and drag for it, and soon discovered its position, for it had not shifted much after slipping off the ledge, where it had met its doom on the night of the storm. Its depth under the surface was exactly twenty-three fathoms, or 138 feet.

“It will try our metal,” observed Baldwin, “for the greatest depth that the Admiralty allow their divers to go down is twenty fathom.”

“What o’ that?” growled Maxwell, “I’ve worked myself many a time in twenty-three fathom water, an’ll do it again any day. We don’t need to mind what the Admiralty says. The submarine engineers of London tell us they limit a man to twenty-five fathom, an’ they ought to know what’s possible if any one should.”

“That’s true, David,” remarked Rooney, as he filled his pipe, “but I’ve heard of a man goin’ down twinty-eight fathom, an’ comin’ up alive.”

“Oh, as to that,” said Berrington, “I have heard of one man who descended to thirty-four fathom, at which depth he must have sustained a pressure of 88 and a half pounds on every square inch of his body—and he came up alive, but his case is an exception. It was fool-hardy, and he could do no effective work at such a depth. However, here we are, and here we must go to work with a will, whatever the depth be. You and I, Joe, shall descend first. The others will look after us. I’ll put on a Siebe and Gorman dress. You will don one of Heinke and Davis, and we’ll take down with us one of Denayrouze’s lamps, reserving Siebe’s electric light for a future occasion.”

In pursuance of these plans the boat was moored over the place where the wreck lay, a short ladder was hung over the side of a smaller boat they had in tow with its pendent line and weight, the pumps were set up and rigged, the dresses were put on, and, in a short time our hero found himself in his old quarters down beside the great crank!

But ah! What a change was there! The grinding had ceased for ever; the great crank’s labours were over, and its surface was covered with mud, sand, barnacles, and sea-weed, and involved in a maze of twisted iron and wrecked timbers—for the ship had broken her back in slipping into deep water, and wrenched her parts asunder into a state of violent confusion. Thick darkness prevailed at that depth, but Denayrouze’s lamp rendered the darkness visible, and sufficed to enable the divers to steer clear of bristling rods and twisted iron-bands that might otherwise have torn their dresses and endangered their lives.

The work of inspection was necessarily slow as well as fraught with risk, for great difficulty was experienced while moving about, in preventing the entanglement of air-pipes and life-lines. The two men kept together, partly for company and partly to benefit mutually by the lamp. Presently they came on human bones tightly wedged between masses of timber. Turning from the sad spectacle, they descended into the cabin and made their way towards the place where Berrington knew that the treasure had been stowed. Here he found, with something like a shock of disappointment, that the stern of the vessel had been burst open, and the contents of the cabin swept out.

On further inspection, however, the treasure-room was found to be uninjured. Putting down the lamp on an adjacent beam, Edgar lifted a heavy mass of wreck from the ground, and dashed the door in. The scene that presented itself was interesting. On the floor lay a number of little barrels, which the divers knew contained the gold they were in search of. Most of these were so riddled by worms that they were falling to pieces. Some, indeed, had partially given way, so that the piles of coin could be seen through the staves, and two or three had been so completely eaten away as to have fallen off, leaving the masses of gold in unbroken piles. There were also bags as well as kegs of coin, all more or less in a state of decay.

The divers gazed at this sight for a few moments quite motionless. Then Edgar with one hand turned the lamp full on his companion’s front-glass so as to see his face, while with the other hand he pointed to the treasure. Joe’s eyes expressed surprise, and his mouth smiling satisfaction. Turning the light full on his own face to show his comrade that he was similarly impressed, Edgar motioned to Joe to sit down on an iron chest that stood in a corner, and giving the requisite signal with his life-line, went up to the surface. He did this very slowly in order to accustom his frame to the change of pressure both of air and water, for he was well aware of the danger of rapid ascent from such a depth. Soon after, he redescended, bearing several canvas sacks, some cord, and a couple of small crowbars. Placing the lamp in a convenient position, and throwing the bags on the floor of the treasure-room, Edgar and Baldwin set to work diligently with the crowbars, broke open the kegs, and emptied their golden contents into one of the bags, until it was quite full; tied up the mouth, fastened it to a rope which communicated with the boat above, and gave the signal to hoist away. The bag quickly rose and vanished.

Previous to redescending, our hero had arranged with Rooney to have pieces of sail-cloth in readiness to wrap the bags in the instant of their being got into the small boat, so that when being transferred to the large boat’s locker, their form and contents might be concealed from the pilot, Dwarro. The precaution, however, did not seem to be necessary, for Dwarro was afflicted with laziness, and devoted himself entirely to the occupations of alternately smoking, in a dreamy way, and sleeping.

For three hours the divers wrought under great excitement, as well as pressure, and then, feeling much exhausted, returned to the surface, having sent up the contents of about twenty boxes and kegs of treasure. Rooney and Maxwell then took their turn under water, and were equally successful.

That night, being very calm and clear, they ran the boat into a sheltered crevice among the cliffs, and slept on board of her. Next morning at day-break they were again at work, but were not equally fortunate, for although plenty of treasure was sent up, several accidents occurred which were severe, though, happily, not fatal.

In the first place, Baldwin tore his left hand badly while attempting to raise a heavy mass of ragged iron-plate that prevented his reaching some loose coin lying under it. This, though painful, did not render him altogether incapable of working. Then, while Edgar Berrington was passing from one part of the wreck to another, threading his way carefully, a mass of wire-ropes and other wreckage suddenly dropt from a position where it had been balanced, and felled him to the deck with such violence that for a few moments he was stunned. On recovering, he found to his horror that he was pressed down by the mass, and had got inextricably entangled with it. If his dress had been torn at that time, or his helmet damaged, it is certain that his adventures would have been finally cut short, and there can be no doubt that his preservation was largely owing to the excellence of the material of which his dress was made.

But how to escape from his wire-cage was a difficulty he could not solve, for the lamp had been extinguished, and the entanglement of his line and air-pipe rendered signalling impossible. He continued to struggle helplessly, therefore, in total darkness. That the air-tube continued all right, was evident from the fact that air came down to him as before.

In this dilemma he remained for a short time, occasionally managing to clear himself partially, and at other times becoming more and more involved.

At last Rooney Machowl, who was attending to the lines above, bethought him that he had not received any signals for some time or observed any of those motions which usually indicate that a diver is busy below. He therefore gave a pull to the lifeline. Of course no answer was received.

“Hallo!” exclaimed Rooney, with a start, for in diving operations Life and Death frequently stand elbowing each other.

He gave another and still more decided pull, but no answer was returned.

Jumping up in excitement, he attempted to haul on the line, so as to bring Edgar to the surface by force, but to his consternation he found it to be immovably fixed.

“Hooroo! Man alive,” he yelled, rather than shouted, to Maxwell, who was attending the other line, “signal for Joe to come up—look sharp!”

Maxwell obeyed with four strong quick pulls on Joe’s line, and Joe appeared at the surface rather sooner than was consistent with safety. On learning the cause of his being called, he infixed his bull’s-eye hastily; went down again with a heavy plunge, and discovering his companion, soon removed the wreck by which he was entangled, and set him free.

Experience, it is said, teaches fools; much more does it instruct wise men. After this event our hero became a little more careful in his movements below.

When a considerable amount of treasure had been recovered, it was thought advisable to return to the shore and place it in security.

“It won’t be easy to manage this,” said Edgar to Baldwin in a low tone, as they sailed away from the rocky islet, under a light breeze. “I have an uncomfortable belief that that fellow Dwarro suspects the nature of the contents of these bags, despite our efforts at concealment.”

“I don’t think he does,” whispered Baldwin. “He seems to me to be one o’ these miserable opium-smokers whose brains get too much fuddled to understand or care for anything.”

“Whist now, don’t spake so loud,” said Rooney, advancing his head closer to his companions, and glancing doubtfully at the object of their suspicion; “sure he’s got a sharp countenance, fuddled or not fuddled.”

The pilot had indeed an intelligent cast of countenance, but as he sat in a careless attitude in the bow of the boat smoking listlessly and gazing dreamily, almost stupidly, towards the shore, it did seem as though he had indulged too freely in the noxious drag which poisons so many inhabitants of these unhappy lands.

As he was out of earshot, the four adventurers drew their heads still closer together, and talked eagerly about their prospects.

“Sure our fortins is made already,” said Rooney; “how much d’ee think we’ve fished up, Mr Berrington?”

“I cannot say, but at a rough guess I should think not less than twenty thousand pounds.”

“Ye don’t main it? Och! Molly astore! Ye shall walk in silks an’ satins from this day forward—to say nothin’ of a carridge an’ four, if not six.”

“But where’ll we putt it, sir?” asked Baldwin.

“I’ve been thinking of that,” replied Edgar. “You see I don’t like the notion of running right into port with it, where this pilot has probably numerous friends who would aid him in making a dash for such a prize—supposing he has guessed what we are about. Now, I happen to have a trusty friend here, a young Scotchman, who lives in a quiet out-o’-the-way part. We’ll run up to his place, land the gold quickly, and get him to carry it off to some place of security—”

“Whist, not so loud! I do belave,” said Rooney, “that rascal is cocking his weather ear.”

“He don’t understand a word of English,” muttered Baldwin.

Dwarro looked so intensely absent and sleepy as he sat lounging in the bow, that the divers felt relieved and continued, though in more cautious tones, to discuss their plans.

Meanwhile the boat ran into the Hong-Kong river. As it proceeded, a small light boat or skiff was observed approaching. Baldwin, who steered, sheered out a little in the hope of avoiding her, but the man who sculled her conformed to the movement, and quickly shot past their bow—so closely that he could exchange salutations with the pilot. Nothing more appeared to pass between the two,—indeed there seemed no time for further communication—nevertheless Rooney Machowl declared that some telegraphic signals by means of hands and fingers had certainly been exchanged.

In a short time the boat was turned sharp round by Baldwin, and run into a cove near a wall in which was a little wooden gate. A flight of dilapidated steps led to this gate.

“What if your friend should not be at home?” asked Joe, in a whisper.

“I’ll land the bags in any case and await him, while you return to the port with Dwarro,” replied Edgar.

If the pilot was interested in their proceedings, he must have been a consummate actor, for he took no notice whatever of the sudden change of the boat’s course, but continued to smoke languidly, and to gaze abstractedly into the water as if trying to read his fortune there, while Edgar and Rooney landed the bags, and carried them through the little gate into the Scotchman’s garden. In a few minutes Edgar returned to the boat, stepped in, and pushed off, while the tw............