Captain Dan Danblasten
This story concerns the treasure of a certain Captain Dan Danblasten, known in his youth as merely Dan Danblasten, in the village of Geddley, on the south coast.
With the youth of Captain Dan Danblasten, which occurred, if I may so phrase it, prior to 1737, I have little to tell, except that being “wild like” and certainly lacking in worldly “plenishings,” he was no credit to the respectability of that quiet seaport village.
In consequence of this double stigma of commission and omission, he went away to sea taking his wildness and his poverty along with him; on which it is conceivable that the respectable matrons and maidens of Geddley sighed; though, possibly with different feelings.
There you have the whole tale of Dan Danblasten’s youth in a few words; that is, so far as Geddley is concerned.
Twenty years later he returned, with an ancient and ugly scar from right eyebrow to chin, and two enormous iron-bound chests, whose weight was vouched for by the men he hired to carry to the old Tunbelly Hostel, that same Tunbelly Inn being fronted on the old High Street Alley, which has been done away with this twenty years, and more.
Now, if young Dan Danblasten had lacked of friends and kindliness in his wild and youthful days of poverty, the returned Captain Danblasten had no cause for complaint on such score. For, no sooner had he declared his name and ancient kinship to the village, than there were a dozen to remember him and shake him by the hand, in token of those older days, when—as they seemed strangely to forget—there had been no such general desire to grip hands and invite him to sundries of that which both cheers and inebriates.
Yet, at the first of it, there seemed to be every reason to suppose that Captain Danblasten had forgotten the slights and disrespect that had been put upon the onetime Dan; for he accepted both the hands and the liquors that were offered to him; and these, I need scarcely say, were not stinted, when word of those weighty iron-bound chests had gone through the little port; for there was scarcely a man who could refrain from calling in the Tunbelly to welcome “old Dan, coom back agen. Cap’n Dan, sir, beggin’ your pardin’.”
As that first evening of warm welcoming of the returned and now respectable citizen of Geddley wore onward, Cap’n Danblasten warmed to the good liquor that came so plentiful and freely, and insisted on dancing a hornpipe upon the bar-table. At the conclusion of the warm applause which followed this feat, he declared his intention of showing them that Cap’n Danblasten was as good as the best: “‘s good asser besht,” he assured the barroom generally a great many times; and finally shouted to some of them to bring in his two great chests, which was done without argument or delay; a thing, perhaps, easy to understand. They were set in the middle of the floor, and all the men in the room crowded round, with their beer mugs, to watch. But at this point Cap’n Danblasten proved he was quite uncomfortably sober; for he ordered every man to stand back, enforcing his suggestion with a big brass-mounted pistol which he brought very suddenly out of a long pocket in the skirts of his heavy coat.
Having assured himself of a clear space all around his precious chests, Cap’n Danblasten pocked the big, brass-mounted pistol, and pulled out a big snuff-box, from which he took ample refreshment. He then dug in amid the snuff, with one great powder-blackened forefinger, and presently brought out to view two smallish keys. He replaced the snuff-box in his vest pocket, and set the keys against the side of his big nose, exclaiming with a kind of half-drunken knowingness, in French:
“Tenons de la verge d’une ancre!” which most of those present understood, being sailormen and in the free-trade, to mean literally the “nuts of the anchor”; but used at that time as a marine catch-phrase, as much as to say “the key of the situation”; though often used also in a coarser manner.
“Tout le monde à son poste!” he shouted, with a tipsy laugh, and turned to unlock the nearer chest. There were two great locks on each chest, and a separate key was used for each; and the interest was quite undoubted, as the cap’n turned back the bolts, and lifted the lid of the chest. Upon the top of all, there were four long wooden cases containing charts. Those he lifted out, and put with surprising care upon the floor. Afterwards, there came a quadrant, wrapped in an old pair of knee-breeches; then a compass, similarly wrapped in an old body-vest. Both of these he put down upon the four chart-cases with quite paternal tenderness.
He reached again into the chest, lurching, and hove out on to the floor a pile of heavily braided uniforms; a pair of great sea-boots with iron leg-guards stitched in on each side of the tops; a couple of heavy double-barrelled French pistols; a big Navy cutlass, and two heavy Malay knives without sheathes. And all the time, as he ladled out these somewhat “tarry” treasures, there was no sound in the big, low-ceilinged room, except the heavy breathings of the interested men-folk of Geddley.
Cap’n Danblasten stood up, wiped his forehead briefly with the back of his hand, and stooped again into the chest, seeming to be fumbling around for something; for the sound of his rough hands going over the wooden inside of the chest was plain to be heard. Presently he gave a satisfied little grunt, and immediately afterward there was a sharp click, which, as the landlord of the Tunbelly told certain of his special cronies afterwards, was a sure sign of there “bein’ a secrit lock-fast” within the chest. Be this as it may, the next instant Cap’n Danblasten pulled a thick wooden cover or partition, bolted with flat iron-bands, out of the chest, and hove it with a crash to the floor. Then he stooped, and began to make plain to the men of Geddley the very good and sufficient reason for the immense weight of the two great chests; for he brought out a canvas bag, about the size of a man’s head, which he dropped with a dull ringing thud on to the floor. Five more of these he brought out, and threw beside the first; and all the time, no sound, save the breathing of the onlookers, and an occasional hoarse whisper of excited suggestion.
Cap’n Danblasten stood up as he threw the sixth bag upon the others, and signed dumbly for his brandy-mug, with the result that he had half a score offered to him, as we say these days, gratis. He took the first, and drained it; then threw it across the room, where it smashed against the far wall. Yet this provoked no adverse comment, even from the fat landlord of the Tunbelly; for those six, bulging, heavy bags on the floor stood sponsors for many mugs, and it is to be supposed, the contents thereof.
It will be the more easily understood that no one bothered to remark upon Captain Danblasten’s method of disposing of his crockery-ware, when you realise that the cap’n had squatted down upon the floor beside his bags, and was beginning to unleash the neck of one. There was not a sound in the room, as he took off the last turn of the spunyarn stopper; for each man of Geddley held his breath with suspense and expectation. Then Cap’n Danblasten, with a quite admirable unconcern, capsized the bag upside down upon the floor, and cascaded out a heap of coins that shone with a dull golden glitter.
There went a gasp of astonishment, echoing from man to man round the room, and then a chorus of hoarse exclamations; for no man there had ever seen quite so much gold at one time in his life. Yet, Cap’n Danblasten took no heed; but with a half-drunken soberness, proceeded to unlash the necks of the five other bags, and to empty them likewise upon the contents of the first. And by the time that the gold from the sixth bag had been added to the heap, the silence of the men of Geddley was a stunned and bitter and avaricious silence; broken at last by the fat landlord of the Tunbelly, who with a nice presence of mind, came forward with the brandy keg under his arm, and a generous sized beer-mug, which was surely a fit spirit-measure for the owner of so prodigious a fortune.
Yet, Captain Danblasten was less appreciative of this tender thought-fulness than might have been supposed; for with a mixed vocabulary of forceful words, chosen discriminately from the French and English, he intimated that the landlord of the Tunbelly should retire, possibly with all the honours of war, but certainly with speed. And as the stout proprietor of the Tunbelly apparently failed to grasp the full and imperative necessity of speed, Cap’n Danblasten plucked his big brass-mounted pistol from the floor beside him, and let drive into the brandy-keg which reposed, as you know, under the well-intending arm of the fat Drinquobier; this being, as you may as well learn here, the landlord’s name. The bullet drove through the little keg, and blew out the hither end, wasting a great deal of good liquor, and scored the head of Long John of Kenstone, who came suddenly into a state of fluency; but was unheeded by the majority of the men of Geddley, who were gathered round the stout landlord of the Tunbelly, where he lay like a mountain of flesh upon the floor of the tap-room, shouting at the top of his fat and husky voice that he was shot, and shot dead, at that—which seemed to impress his customers with a conviction of truth. But as for Cap’n Danblasten, he sat calmly upon the floor, beside his heap of gold coinage, and began unemotionally to shovel it back into the six canvas bags, lashing each one securely as it was filled. Presently, still unheeding of the death cries of the very much alive landlord, he rose slowly to his feet, and began to replace the gold in the big chest, replying to Long John of Kenstone’s rendering of the commination service, merely by drawing forth a second heavy pistol, laying it ready to his hand across a corner of the chest.
In course of time, the fat landlord having discovered that he still breathed, and Long John of Kenstone having considered discreetly the possibilities of the second pistol, there was a period of comparative quiet once more in the big tap-room, during which Cap’n Danblasten methodically completed his re-stowage of his goods in the chest, and presently locked it securely with the two keys.
When this was finally achieved, a sudden silence of renewed interest came down upon the men of Geddley, as the cap’n proceeded to unlock the second chest, which though somewhat smaller than the other, was yet considerably the heavier. Cap’n Danblasten lifted back the ponderous lid, and there, displayed to view, was the picture of an enormous skull, worked in white silk on a background of black bunting. It was evident that the cap’n had forgotten in his half-drunken state that this lay uppermost in the chest; for he made now a hurried and clumsy movement to turn back the folds of the flag upon itself, so as to hide the emblem which was uncomfortably familiar in that day. Yet, that the men of Geddley had seen, was obvious; for there came a general cry from the mariners present, some of whom had been privateersmen, and worse, of: “The Jolly Roger! The Jolly Roger!”
Cap’n Danblasten stood a moment, in a seeming stupid silence, with the flag all bunched together in his hand; then suddenly, he turned, and flirted it out wide across the floor, so that the skull and the crossed bones, surmounted by a big D, showed plain. Underneath the D there was worked an hourglass in red wool. The men of Geddley crowded round, handling the flag, and criticising the designs, with something of the eyes of experts; some of them, and notably Long John of Kenstone, saying it was no proper Jolly Roger, seeing that it held no battle-axe. And on this, a general and forceful discussion ensued, which ended in a physical demonstration of their views, on the part of Long John of Kenstone, and a squat, heavy privateersman, during which Captain Danblasten hauled the flag out of the midst of the discussion, and began to bundle it back into the chest, which he did so clumsily that he disturbed a layer of underclothing which covered the lower contents, and displayed to view the chest nearly two thirds full of smashed and defaced gold and silver work of every description, from the gold-hilts of swords and daggers, to the crumpled golden binding of some great Bible, showing the burst jewel-sockets from which precious stones had been roughly prised.
At the sight of all this new treasure, the value of which was plainly enormous, a great silence came upon the room, broken only by the scuffling and grunting of the two who were setting forth their arguments upon the floor of the tap-room. So marked was this silence that even the latter at last became aware of something fresh, and scrambled to their feet to participate. And they, also, joined in the general hush of astonished awe and avarice, and—what cannot be denied—renewed and intense respect for this further proof of the desirable worth of the returned citizen of Geddley. And the cap’n, realising in his half-drunken pride, the magnitude of the sensation he had created, and the supremeness of the homage that he had won, shut down the lid of the chest, and locked it with the two keys, which he afterwards returned to the snuff-box; bedding them well down into the snuff, and shutting the box with a loud snap, after he had once more refreshed his nose sufficiently.
“Be you not goin’ to turn out t’other, cap’n?” asked Long John of Ken-stone, in a marvellously courteous voice—that is, considering the man!
“Non,” said Captain Danblasten, with that brevity of courtesy so admired in the wealthy; and truly Cap’n Danblasten was indeed wealthy; for it is likely enough that the wealth contained in those two great chests was sufficient to have bought up the whole of the port of Geddley, and a good slice of the country round about it lock, stock and barrel, as the saying goes.
Now, when the captain had so wittily described his intention, he pulled out a small powder flask from his side pocket, and proceeded, in a considerable silence, to recharge the fired pistol, which he did with a quite peculiar dexterity, speaking of immense practice, and this despite his half-drunken condition. When he had finished ramming down a couple of soft-lead bullets upon the charge of powder, he primed the lock, replaced the flask, and announced his intention of turning-in (i.e. going to bed), which he achieved with remarkable speed, by dragging the two chests together in the middle of the tap-room and using them as a couch, with his rolled up coat for a pillow; and so in a moment he composed himself with a grunt, his loaded pistols stuffed in under the coat, and his great right hand resting on the butts.
And so he seemed to be instantly asleep; yet it is a curious thing that once, when Long John stepped over towards him, after a bout of hoarse whispering with several of the men in the room, Cap’n Danblasten opened one bleary eye, and—without undue haste—thrust out one of his big pistols in an indifferent manner at the body of Long John, whereat that gentleman stepped back without even attempting to enter into any argument on the score of intention.
After this little episode, the cap’n once more returned to his peculiar method of slumbering; but there was no longer any whispering on the part of Long John Kenstone and his mates. Instead, a quite uncomfortable silence reigned in the tap-room, broken presently by the departing feet of this man and that man, until the place was empty, save for the fat landlord who leaned against the great beer-tub, and regarded the sleeping captain in a meditative and puzzled fashion.
The landlord’s pondering was interrupted disagreeably; for slowly one of the sleeping captain’s eyes opened, and a curiously disturbing look was fixed silently upon the fat landlord, for the space of perhaps a full minute. Then Captain Danblasten extended a great hand towards the landlord, and in the hand was one of his big brass-bound pistols, the muzzle towards the Master Drinquobier. For a little space the captain directed the pistol thus, whilst the landlord shrivelled visibly in a queer speechless fashion.
“Tenons de la verge d’une ancre!” said Captain Danblasten, even as he had said it once before that evening. He tapped the pistol with his other hand, to emphasise his remark; and sat up on the bigger chest, still looking at the landlord.
“So,” he said, at last, speaking in English, “you’re thinkin’ to go halves with Long John o’ Kenstone, ye gowk tunbelly. You’m waitin’ now, beer-hog, to give them the signal to enter when I’m gone over, ye swine; and think to fool Dan Danblasten easyways; and I knowin’ what ye meant, an’ they only without in the enter-porch, ye fat fool. Out with you, smartly! Out, I say!” And therewith he flung the leaded pistol at the landlord’s head; but he dodged, quite cleverly for so fat a man, and the weapon exploded against the wall with a great crash of sound; whilst Drinquobier ran heavily for the door, tore it open, and fell headlong out into the passage-way, whilst within the empty tap-room, the captain sat on the chest and shook with a kind of grim laughter.
Presently, he rose from the chest, after he had heard the landlord go scrambling away in clumsy fright upon his hands and knees. He stood a few moments, listening intently; then, seeming to hear something, he ran with surprising nimbleness to the door, pushed it silently to, and set down the socket-bar across from side to side, so that the door would have to be broken down before anyone could enter. Then he bent forward to listen, and in a little while, heard the faint sound of bare feet without in the passage, and soon a soft, gentle fumbling at the door.
“Dépasser!” he shouted, roaring with a kind of half-laughter, half-anger. Then, in English: “You’ve over-run your reckoning, my lads! Get below an’ turn in!” And with the word, he turned unconcernedly from the door, and went back to his rough couch, and presently was sleeping unemotionally, whilst without the door, the men who had come with some hope of surprising him, departed with muffled but considerable fluency, and an unabated avarice.
And thus, and in this manner exactly, was the home-coming of Captain Danblasten, Pirate (presumably), and now (certainly) a most desirable citizen of the Port of Geddley.
Captain Danblasten waked early, and rolled off his uncomfortable bed. He walked across to the shelf where the brandy-kegs were stored, and helped himself to a generous tot; after which he went over to the door, unbarred and opened it, and bellowed the landlord’s name, calling him also old tunbelly and beer-hog, and cursing him between whiles in both French and English until he came tumbling down the creaking stairs, in a very fluster of dismay.
Breakfast, was Cap’n Danblasten’s demand. Breakfast, and speedily and plentifully; and if the maids were not up yet, then it was time they turned out, or old tunbelly could prepare the meal himself and serve it to him there in the tap-room, upon one of his big chests. Meanwhile, he applied himself methodically to the brandy-keg, varying his occupation by occasional bellows through the quiet of the inn, for the breakfast he had ordered.
It came presently, and, squatted sideways upon the narrower chest, he set to work. As he ate, he asked the landlord questions, about this and that woman of the port, who—when he had gone off to sea all those twenty years gone—had been saucy maids, but were now mostly mothers of families, if he could believe all that the fat Drinquobier told him.
“Eh,” said Cap’n Danblasten, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “there was some saucy young ones among that lot, when I was a younker. An’ how’s young Nancy Drigg doin’?”
“She be Nancy Garbitt these thirteen year, Cap’n Danblasten, sir,” said the landlord. Whereat the cap’n ceased his eating, a moment, to hark the better.
“Eh?” he said, in a curious voice, at last. “Married that top o’ my thumb, Jimmy Garbitt? Dieu! but I’ll cut the throat of him this same day of our Lord! Dieu! The sacre man-sprat! The blandered bunch o’ shakin’s! Dieu!”
“He’m dead these yere two years, cap’n,” said Drinquobier, staring hard at Captain Danblasten, with half-frightened and wholly curious eyes. “I heard oncest ‘s ye was sweet-ways on Nancy. No offence! No offence, cap’n! Seven, Jimmy left be’ind, an’ all on ‘em maids, at that.”
“What!” cried Captain Danblasten, with a sudden, strange anger, and threw his brandy-mug at the landlord’s head. But afterwards he was silent for a time, neither eating nor speaking; only frowning away to himself. “An’ Nancy Drigg, herself?” he asked, at length. “How’m she lookin’ these days, ye old tunbelly? Seven on ‘em! Seven on ‘em, an’ to that blandered bunch o’ shakin’s…. Why don’t ye answer, you bilge-guzzlin’ beer-cask! Open your face, ye—ye—”
“Fair, cap’n, sir; fair an’ bonny like, Cap’n Danblasten,” old Drinquobier interjected with frightened haste, his frontal appendage quivering like a vast jelly, until the form shook on which he sat.
“Ah!” said the captain, and was quiet again; but a minute afterwards he made it pointedly clear to the landlord that he needed a timber-sled to be outside of the inn speedily. “An’ half a dozen of thy loafer lads, tunbelly, do ye hear! An’ smart, or I’ll put more than beer betwixt thy wind and water, ye old cut-throat, that must set a respectable townsman to sleep with his pistols to hand all the long night in this inn o’ yours, lest ye an’ your louts do him a mischief! Smartly, ye beer-swiller, wi’ yon sled, an’ smartly does it, or I’ll be knowin’ the why!”
And evidently smartly he did do it, as we say; for in a very few minutes Captain Danblasten was superintending, pistol in hand, the transferring of his two great chests to the sled, by the hands of a dozen brawny longshore men, who had been fished out of various handy sleeping places, by the fear-driven landlord.
Cap’n Danblasten sat himself down upon his chests, and signalled to the horse-boy to drive on. But as he started to move, the fat landlord discovered somewhere in his monstrous body the remnant of a one-time courage, and came forward towards the sled, crying out that he would be paid for his liquor, bed and board. At this, Cap’n Danblasten raised one of his pistols, evidently with the full intention of ending—once and for all—the entire agitation of the landlord’s avaricious soul; but suddenly thinking better of it, he drew out a couple of guineas, which he hove in among the little crowd of shore-boys, shouting to them to get their fill of good beer at the hatchways, and the change might go to pay his debts to Drinquobier. This he did, knowing full well that no change would the landlord ever see out of those two guineas; and so sat back, roaring with laughter, and shouting to the horse-boy to “crack on sail an’ blow the sticks out o’ her!” Which resulted in the lad laying his cudgel repeatedly and forcibly across the hindquarters of the animal, which again resulted in the beast changing its walk to a kind of absurd amble, which in its turn resulted in the sled bounding and bumping along down the atrociously paved street, dignified by the name High Street Alley, so that the last the group around the doorway of the Tunbelly saw, was the broad heavy figure of Cap’n Danblasten jolting and rolling on the top of his great chests, and trying to take aim at the horse-boy with one of his big brass-bound pistols, the while he bellowed to the lad to shorten sail, and likewise be damned, as before.
And so they went rattling and banging round the corner, out of sight, the clatter and crashing of the heavy sled punctuated twice by the reports of the cap’n’s pistols; after which he was content to hold on, and curse the boy, horse, sled, the landlord of the Tunbelly, and the road, all with equal violence, until in a minute the lad had once more got the horse controlled to a walk, and was cursing back pluckily at the cap’n for loosing off his pistols at him. And this way they came presently to a little house in the lower end of the alley, where the boy stopped the sled and his cursing all in the same moment, and pointed with his horse-cudgel to the door of the little house, meaning that they had come to the place.
At this, Cap’n Danblasten got down lumberingly from the tops of his big chests; and suddenly, before the boy knew his intention, he had caught him by the collar of his rough jacket and hoist him bodily from the ground; whereupon the lad, full as ever of his strange pluck, set-to to curse him again (so well he might, being half-strangled) and to striking at him with the horse-cudgel. Immediately, the captain plucked the cudgel from him, and then, setting the lad’s feet to the road again, he hauled forth a great handful of gold-pieces, which he crammed forcibly down the back of the boy’s neck, shaking with queer, noiseless laughter all the while.
“A good plucked un, Dieu! A good plucked un!” he said, and loosed the lad suddenly, applying one of his big sea-boots with indelicate dexterity to intimate that he had no further need of his services. Whereupon the lad, who had ceased now to curse, ran off down the alley a little way, and commenced to shake himself, until all the gold had come through; after which he gathered it up, and calling to his horse, mounted the sled, and away so fast as the brute could go.
Meanwhile, Cap’n Danblasten was pounding at the door of the house, and shouting lustily the name of Nancy Drigg, outside the door of Nancy Gaddley (Garbitt); until presently a startled feminine face came out of a lattice above, and, seeing him, she screamed suddenly: “Dan! Da-an!” And withdrew hurriedly from sight.
“What do you want?” she asked presently, from within the room, and not showing herself.
“Open!” shouted the cap’n, “afore I has the door down. I’m coom to board wi’ ye, Nance. Open! I say!” And he commenced to kick at the door with his great sea-boots.
“Husht now, Dan! You’ve the drink in you, or you’d no think to shame a lone woman in this fashion. Husht now, an’ I’ll coom down and let ‘ee in.”
Whereupon the cap’n ceased from his kicking, and turned round to survey the various heads that had been thrust from the casements of the alley about, to discover the cause of the disturbance.
“Bon quart! Bon quart!” he called, at first good humouredly; but changing his tone, as he saw they still continued to stare at him. “Bon quart! Bon quart!!” he roared angrily, and aimed with one of his discharged pistols at the head of the nearest. The flint snapped harmlessly, and the head dodged back; but the captain hauled a fresh weapon from the skirts of his long coat, and seeing that he was still spied upon from a window higher up, he let drive in sound earnest, and very near ended the life of the onlooker; after which the alley might have held only the dead, for all of the living that displayed themselves to his view. He turned again, and commenced to kick upon the door, shouting.
And in the same instant, it was opened by Nancy, hurriedly wrapped about with her quilt.
“Husht now! Husht now, Dan, an’ coom in sober-like,” she said, “or ‘tis only the outside of the door I’ll have to ‘ee.”
The cap’n stepped inside, and turned on her:
“Nice wumman, ye, Nancy Drigg, to splice that blandered bunch of shakin’s, Jimmy Garbitt. An’ seven ye’ve had to him; an’ not a man in the lot; an’ little wonder; ye that could not wait for y’r own man to come home wi’ the fortun’ I promis’d ye; but must take a top-o-my-thumb to bed-mate. Shame on ye for a poor sperreted wench; an’ me this moment wi’ the half o’ oor silver penny to my knife-chain, that we broke all them years gone; an’ never a throat I cut, but I ses: ‘there be another gold piece to my Nancy. An’ you to go brood-mare to that blandered—’”
“Husht, Dan!” said Nancy, at last; not loudly, but with surprising firmness. “You be proper an’ decent ways wi’ me, Dan, an’ good care I’ll take of’ee, an’ put up wi’ ‘ee, so well as I may, fr owd sake’s sake. But no word at poor Jimmy, an’ nowt to trouble my maids, or out ye go to the sharks o’ Geddley, an’ clean they’ll pluck ye, as well ye know.”
“An’ well they fear me, an’ well can I mind my own helium!” said the captain warmly; yet unmistakably more civil in his manner, for he felt that if Nancy Garbitt would take him in, then at least he need fear no “traitors in the camp,” as the saying goes.
“I’m troubled wi’ a sick pain in th’ heart, Nancy, an’ can’t last long,” he said, after a little pause. “Will I pay ye a gold piece every week-ending, or will I pay ye nothin’, an’ you have the will of me when I go below?”
“I’ll trade on no man’s death, Dan; an’ least on yours,” said Nancy. “Pay me the guinea-piece each week, an’ well I’ll do by ‘ee as you know, Dan. An’ do ‘ee be easy with drinkin’ an’ ill-livin’, an’ many a year you’m boun’ to live yet.”
And so it was arranged.
“An’ you keep the seven — brats out o’ my course—!” said the cap’n. “Dan!” said Nancy.
“Pardieu, Nance! No ill to it! No ill to it!” apologised Cap’n Danblasten. “You’re pretty-lookin’ yet, wi’ the sperret that’s in ye, Nance,” he concluded. At which complement Nance’s eyes softened a little, so that it was like enough she had still in a corner of her heart a gentle-feeling towards this uncouth sea-dog of a man, who had been her lover in her youth.
And this way came, and settled, and presently died, Captain Dan Danblasten, and with his death there arose the seven-year mystery of die treasure, which to this day may be read in the Records of the Parish of Geddley, by John Stockman, 1797.
And regarding the length of life still coming to him, Cap’n Danblasten was right; for he lived no more than some eighteen or nineteen months (date uncertain) after the arrangement mentioned above. And these are the concluding details of his life:
For some months he lived quietly enough with Nancy Garbitt, paying her regularly, and amenable to her tongue, even in his most fantastic fits of humour, whether bred of drink, or of his state of health. Eventually, however, his little room was broken into one dark night, whilst he slept. But the cap’n proved conclusively that he was well able to defend both life and fortune; for he used his pistols, and—later—his cutlass, to such effect that when the raiders drew off, there lay three dead and one wounded on the floor of his room, whose groans so irritated Cap’n Danblasten that he went over to him, and picking up one of their overturned lanterns from the floor, passed his cutlass twice or thrice through him, to quieten him, remarking as he did so: “I knew I’d ha’ to fix ‘ee, tunbelly, afore I was done wi’ ye.” (For he recognised the landlord’s corporation, despite the masks which he and all the robbers had worn.) “An’ here’s luck—an’ you’m sure goin’ easy.” And he jabbed him, conscientiously, for the last time.
The direct result of this raid was that Captain Danblasten resolved to build himself a house that would make him and his treasure secure in future from an attack of this sort. To this end, he had masons by coach from a great distance—as distances were counted great on those days—and acting as his own architect, he planned out a strange great house in the form of a ship, in masonry, with a double tier of iron-barred windows in place of ports, and three narrow towers, like modern lighthouses, to take the place of masts, with stairs inside, so that they could be used for lookout posts. There was one great door in the stern, which was hung on pintles, from the sternpost, like a huge and somewhat abnormally-shaped rudder. Somewhere below this ship-house, there was built a strong room: though this was not known until later; for as soon as the masons had done their work, they were sent back to their own towns, and in this way the secrets of the house were hidden from the men of Geddley. It may be as well to say here that this peculiar house, minus its three towers, which had long since been removed, was to be seen almost intact, as late as 1874. It had become built in, ‘bow-and-stern’ into a terrace of houses which still form what is known as Big Fortune Terrace, and was then an inn, run by one Thomas Walker, under the name of The Stone Ship Inn. . . . “Very much in!” used to be the local and extraordinary witty joke, according to the New Records of Geddley, which we owe to Richard Stetson, a citizen, I imagine, of that same quaint seaport.
To revert to Cap’n Dan Danblasten, as I have said, he “concluded” his house, and “shipped back” his masons to their varied and distant homes; by this means hiding from the men of Geddley all possible details concerning the construction of his stronghold.
Presently, he removed, with his two great chests of treasure, to his new house, and thereafter very little of his doings appear to have been worthy of remark; for, saving an odd walk down to Nancy Garbitt’s little cot, or a still rarer visit to the Tunbelly (now under the care of a new landlord), Cap’n Danblasten, sir, as he was latterly always addressed, appeared but little beyond his own great rudder-door.
After his removal, he still continued to pay Nancy her guinea per week, and often assured her that when he died, she should own the whole of his treasure.
And presently, as I have intimated, he died. And certain grave lawyers, if that be the right term, came all the way from Bristol to read his will; which was quaint, but simple. The whole of his wealth he left to Nancy Garbitt and her seven daughters; the one condition being that they must first find it; one day in each year being allowed only for the search; and if they had no success within and including seven years from his death, then the whole of the treasure, when found, must be handed over entire to a certain person named in the codicil to the will, which was not to be read, save in the event of the gold not being found within the said seven years.
As may be imagined, the sensation which this will provoked was profound, not only within the Parish of Geddley, but throughout the whole county, and beyond. Eventually, certain of the masons who had assisted in the building of the Stone Ship House heard of the will, and sent word that there was a specially built strong room under the foundations of the house, very cunningly hidden, and under it, again, there was a sealed vault. For a remuneration, one of their number would come by coach, and assist the locating of the place. This, of course, increased the excitement and general interest; but it was not until the twenty-seventh day of September of that year, that the search might be made, between the hours of sunrise and sunset; the Stone Ship House being occupied, meanwhile, by the lawyers’ caretakers, and seals liberally spread about.
On September 26th, the mason arrived, accompanied by two of his fellows—the three of them being hired by Nancy Garbitt to act as expert searchers on their behalf. For, very wisely, she had steadfastly refused the enormous amount of “free” aid that had been tendered by the men of Geddley, collectively and singly from day to day.
The 27th dawned; the anniversary, had Nancy but remembered, of that day, so many years gone, when she and young Dan had broken their silver penny. Surely the date was significant!
Nancy Garbitt and her seven daughters and the men of Geddley stood near the door of the Stone Ship House, with the three masons. As the sun rose into sight, the lawyer knocked on the door, and the caretakers opened and stood back for Nancy, her daughters and the three masons to enter. But the men of Geddley had to remain outside, and there waiting, many of them remained the whole of that livelong day, if we are to believe the worthy John Stockman.
Within the house, the masons went confidently to work; but at the end of a short time, had to acknowledge themselves bewildered. There had been surely other masons to work, since they had been sent away; or else the grim old sea-dog himself had turned mason in those last months of his life; for no signs of the hidden entrance to the strong room could they discover.
At this, after some little discussion, it was resolved to break down through the stone-built floor, direct into the strong room, which the masons asserted to be immediately below a certain point which they had ascertained by measurements. Yet, the evening of that day found them labouring, still lacking the whereabouts of the strong room. And presently sunset had put an end to the search for a year; and Nancy Garbitt and her seven daughters had to return treasureless to their small cot in the alley.
The second and the third and the fourth years, Nancy and her daughters returned, likewise lacking in treasure; but in the fifth year, it was evident to Nancy and her maidens that they had come upon signs of the long lost strong room. Yet the sunset of the “day of grace” cut short their delving, before they could prove their belief.
Followed a year of tense excitement and conjecture, in which Nancy could have married off her daughters to the pick of the men of Geddley; for to every sanguine male it was apparent that the treasure was almost in sight.
Some suggestion there was of carrying the Stone Ship House by assault, and prosecuting the search to its inevitable end without further ridiculous delay; but this Nancy would not listen to. Moreover, the strength of the building, and the constant presence of the armed legal guardians thereof forbad any hope of success along these lines.
In the sixth year Nancy Garbitt died, just before sunset on the day of the search. Her death was possibly due, in part at least, to the long continued excitement, and the nearing of the hour when the search must be delayed for another whole year. Her death ended the search for that time; though a portion of the actual built-in door of the strong room itself had been uncovered. Yet, already, as I have said, it had been close to the time when the search must cease.
When the twenty-seventh day of September in the seventh year arrived, the men of Geddley made a holiday, and accompanied the seven Misses Garbitts with a band to the door of the Stone Ship House. By midday the door of the long-shut strong room was uncovered, and a key the lawyer produced was found to fit. The door was unlocked, and the seven maidens rushed in—to emptiness.
Yet, after the first moment of despair, someone remembered the sealed vault which lay under the strong room. A search was made, and the covering stone found; but it proved an intractable stone, and sunset was nigh before it was removed. A candle was lowered into the vault and a small chest discovered; otherwise the vault was as empty as the strong room.
The box was brought out into the light and broken open. Inside was found nothing but the half of a broken silver penny.
At that moment, watch in hand, the lawyer decreed that the hour of sunset had arrived, and motioned for silence where was already the silence of despair. He drew from his pocket the package that held the codicil, broke the seal, and proceeded to read to the seven maidens its contents. They were brief and startling and extraordinary in the revelation of the perversity of the old sea-dog’s warped and odd nature. The codicil revealed that the gold for which they had so long searched was still left to Nancy; but that it lay under the stone flags of their own living-room, where the captain had buried it at nights, all the long years gone when he had lived at Nancy’s, storing the removed earth in the chests in place of the gold.
“Seven children have you had, Nancy Drigg, to that top-o’-my-thumb, Jimmy Garbitt,” the codicil concluded, “and seven years shall you wait—you that could not wait!”
That is all. The money went to the children of Nancy Garbitt; for by the whimsy of Fate, the woman for whose reproval all this had been planned was never to learn, and the bitter taunt of the broken silver penny was never to reach its mark; for Nancy, as you know, was dead. And so ended the seven years’ search. And likewise this history of the strange and persistent love affair of Captain Dan Danblasten, sea-dog and pirate.