A HORRIBLE TASK.
Two days elapsed before the schooner was again well under the lee of Sandy Key, and preparations were made to land as soon as it grew dusk.
It was a soft, calm evening, and the sea looked solemn and desolate as the sun went down in a bank of clouds. A good look-out had been kept, but there was no sign of sail upon the wide spread sea, while the solemnity of the hour seemed to have influenced the men, who had gathered some inkling of their commander's intentions.
"Whisht! Don't talk about it," said Dinny to one questioner. "Sure, it's a whim of the skipper's, and if he likes to take his brother and bury him a bit more dacently at the shelter, who has a better right?"
"Are you going?"
"And is it me? They wouldn't ask me."
Just at the same time a conversation was going on in the fore-part of the vessel, where the captain had been standing for some time with Bart.
"Nay, nay, my lad," the latter whispered; "not this time."
"Have you got all ready?"
"Ay. Just as you said."
"Then, an hour after sundown, we'll go."
Bart tightened up his lips and looked more obstinate than he had ever before looked in his life.
"What is it?" said the captain, sharply.
"I was a-thinking," said Bart, shortly.
"Well--of what?"
"I was a-thinking that you've just been made captain, and that the crew's with you, and that you're going to chuck it away."
"What do you mean, Bart?"
"I mean captain, as so sure as you give the lieutenant another chance he'll take it, and the lads, like Dinny and Dick, mayn't have the chance to get Mazzard drunk and come to your help."
"You do nothing but doubt your officer," said the captain, angrily.
"More do you," retorted Bart.
The captain started, and then turned angrily away; but Bart followed him.
"You're skipper, and I'll do aught you like; but so sure as you leave this here ship there'll be a row, and you won't be able to go again, for you won't come back."
The captain took a turn up and down, and then stopped opposite Bart.
"I'll take your advice, Bart," he said, "though it goes very much against the grain. Take Dinny with you, and do this for me as if I were helping you all the time."
"Ay; you may trust me."
"I do trust you, Bart, heartily. Remember this: Abel and I were always together as children and companions; to the last I loved my brother, Bart."
Bart listened to the simply-uttered words, to which their tone and the solemn time gave a peculiar pathos; and for a few moments there was silence.
"I know," he said, softly. "And in my rough way I loved Abel Dell as a brother. Don't you think because I say nought that I don't feel it."
"I know you too well, Bart. Go and do this for me; I will stay aboard.
I'm captain now, since fate so wills it, and the men shall find that I am their head."
"Hah!" ejaculated Bart, raising his hand, but dropping it again and drawing back. "That's how I like to hear you speak, captain. Trust me, it shall be done."
An hour later the men stood aloof as Bart and Dinny lowered a long deal case into the boat and, as soon as the rope was cast off, hoisted the little sail and ran for the sandy cove where the boat had landed before.
They were provided with a lantern, and this they kept shrouded in a boat-cloak originally the property of the Spanish captain of a vessel that had been taken.
The precaution was needless, for nothing was within sight; and they landed and drew up the boat upon the sand, where the phosphorescent water rippled softly, and then the long chest was lifted out, and Bart bore it toward the cocoa-nut grove.
"Well," said Dinny, following close behind, "I did say that I wouldn't do such work as this; but it's for the captain, and maybe some day I shall be wanting such a job done for me."
Bart set down the case and Dinny the lantern beneath the cocoa-nut trees close by the levelled patch of shore; and then, with the dull light shining through the horn panes upon the sand, the two men stood in the midst of the faint halo listening to the soft whispering of the tide among the shingle, and the more distant boom of the surf.
"It's an unked job," said Bart at last. "But, poor lad, it's the skipper's wish. A lovely spot for a man to be put to rest."
Dinny did not speak for a few moments. Then with an effort--
"Let's get it done, me lad. I niver belaved in annything worse than the good people, and the phooka, and the banshee, of coorse; but it makes a man's flesh seem to crape over his bones to come body-snatching, as ye may call it, on a dark night like this."
They both stood hesitating and shrinking from their task for a few minutes longer, and then Bart stooped down and began to sweep back the sand.
"It's laid light over him, Dinny, my lad," he said. "Just sweep it away, and we can lift him into his coffin."
"But--"
"He's wrapped in a canvas for his winding sheet, lad. Sweep away the sand there from his feet."
Dinny bent down and was in the act of scooping away the dry sand when he uttered a yell and darted away, followed by Bart, who was somewhat unnerved by his weird task, and who did not recover himself till they reached the boat.
"Here, what is it?" cried Bart, recovering himself, and grasping Dinny by the arm, feeling indignant now at his own cowardice. "Are you afraid of a dead man?"
"No; but he isn't dead!" panted Dinny.
"What?"
"As soon as I touched him I felt him move!"
"Dinny, you're a fool!" cried Bart, in an exasperated tone of voice. "I wish he was alive, poor lad!"
"I tell you," cried Dinny, catching his arm, "he moved in his grave--I felt it plain!"
"Come back!" said Bart, fiercely.