Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1891-05-02

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which fringed the crags, wandered bacl
TO the caravan.
At daybreak the next day bo strollet
back along the crags, first taking {
bird's-eye view of the village: and per-
ceiving no sight of William Jones, who
had doubtless no suspicion that l,c
would rise so early, he soon found the
spot where lie had stood overnight.
; watching the approach Of the boat; and
! first accommodating the neighborho od.
struck off among the sand-hils. AT
hrst he was guided by footprints, but
as the sand grew harder, these disap-
peared. At length, after somewhat
bewildering search, he found the sand
hlll he sought, the rock with his mark
upon IL, the cross marked in the ground,
and, finally, the well-concealed mouth
! of the hole.
lie looked keenly to right and left.
No one was visible. STOPPING down he
displaced the stones and loose sand and
disclosed the trap-door with its iron
ring. A long pull, "a strong pull, and
up came the trap. Open sesamel Be-
| meath him was dark cavity, with a
slanting path descending into the bowels
OF the earth.
Anxious to lose no time, he squeezed
himself through the aperture, and be-
gan descending. While he did so he
heard the hollow roaring he had heard
the night before. AS he proceeded he
drew out box of matches and a candle.
which he lit. Proceeding cautiously on
his back, and restraining himself with
his elbows from too rapid descent, he
| found himself surrounded not by sand.
but by rock, and, peering downward,
saw that he was looking down into a
large subterranean cave.
just beneath him was flight of stens
cut in the solid rock. Descending these
carefully, for they were slippery as ice,
he reached the bottom, and found it
made of Sea-gravel and loose shells,
forming, indeed, decline like the sea-
shore itself, to the edge of which, filing
about half the cavern, the waters Of the
sea crept with a long, monotonous
moan. Approaching the waters edge,
he saw facing him the solid back of the
cliff, but just at the base there was an
opening, sort OF slit, almost touching
the waves at all times, quite touching
them when the swell rose, and through
this opening crept beams of daylight,
turning the waves to clear malachite
green.
The mystery was now clear enough.
The cave communicated directly with
the sea, but in such way as to make
an entrance for any large object impos-
sible from that direction.
Turning his back upon the water, and
holding up the candle, he examined the
interior. The damp black rocks rose
on every side, and from the roof hung
spongy and hideous weeds, like those
fungi TO be seen in sunless vaults of
wine; but piled against the inner wall
vas hoard of treasures TO make
smuggler's mouth water or turn
wrecker's brain.
Puncheons of rum and other spirits.
bales of wool, planks of mahogany and
pine, oars, broken masts, coils of rope,
tangles of running rigging, flags of all
nations, and articles of such material
as is used on shipboard, swinging-tables,
brass swlnging-lamps, masthead-lan-
terms, and hammocks; enough to spare,
in short, to fit out small fleet of yes
sells. Lost in amaZement, Brinkley ex-
amined this extraordinary hoard, the
accumulation doubtless of many years.
All at once his eye fell upon large can
vas bag, rotten with age, and gaping
open. Ii was as full as it could hold
with pieces of gold, bearing the super
scription OF the mint of Spain.
o William Jonesl William Jones!
And all this was yours, at least by right
of plunder, upon the queens seaway;
all this which, turned into cash, would
have made man rich beyond the
dreams OF avarice, was the possession
OF one who lived like a miserly beggar.
grudged himself and his flesh and blood
the common necessaries of life. and had
never been known, from boyhood up-
ward, to give starving fellow-creature
so much as crust of bread, or to drop
n penny into the poor-box. o William
Jones! William Jones!
The above reflection and parenthesis
belong, not to the present writer, but
TO my adventurous discoverer, the cap
tain of the caravan.
As Brinkley proceeded on his tour of
inspection, he became more and more
struck with wonder. Nothing seemed
too insignificant, or too preposterously
useless, for secretion in that extraordi-
uary ships cavern. There were mops
and brooms, there were holy stones,
there were "squeegees," there were can
listers of timed provisions, there were
bags OF weevil'd biscuits, there were
sacks OF potatoes (which esculents, long
neglected, had actually sprouted, and
put forth leaves), there were ring bolts,
there were tin mugs and pannikins, and,
lastly, mirJbile dictu, there were books
said books lay piled on the top of a
heap OF sacks, and were in the last stage
of mildew and decay. For what purpose
had they been carried therep Certainly
not to form library, for William Jones
could not read. As curiosity deepened,
Brinkley opened some of the. forlorn
volumes, covered with mildew, and full
of hideous crawling things. Most were
in foreign tongues, but there were sew
eral English novels half century old,
and book of famous Voyages" also
in English. Near to them were some
large paper rolls-ship's charts, evident
ly, and almost falling to pieces. And
on the top OF the charts was tiny pray
er-book, slime-covered and dripping
wet!
What possessed Brinkley to examine
the prayer-book l cannot determine,
but in after years he always averred
that 1t was an inspiration. At any rate,
he did open it, and saw that the flyleaf
was covered with writing, yellow, diff
cult to decipher, fast fading away. But
what more particularly attracted his
attention was loose piece of parch-
ment, fastened to the title-page with
rusty pin, and covered also with written
characters.
Fixing the candle on nook in the
damp wall, he inspected the title-page,
and deciphered these words:
Christmas Eve, 1854, on board the |
ship Trinidad, fast breaking up on the
Welsh coast. If any Christian soul
should find this book and these lines
where I place them, il they sink not
n. l~,t.~ A.. T. -