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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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Title from "The Adelaide Chronicle," Adelaide, South Australia"
On a sun-drenched stretch of the Florida coast, young pineapple planter Kit Hedley and the woman he loves, Joyce, face a heartbreaking parting that seems destined to end their dreams of a future together. Determined to make the most of their final day, they set sail on a fishing trip that turns into a breathtaking adventure when a giant manta ray drags their boat far out toward a lonely island as a tropical storm gathers overhead. Battling wind, sea, and danger, the pair find themselves swept into a thrilling chain of events that leads to a discovery beyond their wildest imaginings.
BLUE sky, azure sea, a beach of snowy sand stretching in one straight line for mile upon mile, and broken only by the narrow mouth of the San Juan Inlet, the scene was a study in brilliant blue and white.
The low roar of the surf on the Florida Reef filled the sun-drenched air, and mingled with the harsh crying of the gulls, while the warm breeze off the Atlantic was crisp with brine.
Nature was in her most perfect mood, yet if Kit Hedley noticed the beauties around him it was only sub-consciously. All his faculties were centred on the narrow path dropping to the beach, at the foot of which he stood.
This path was cut through an impenetrable tangle of dull green palmetto scrub, and presently a girl appeared at the top of the bluff, a slender, dainty little figure with clear, brown skin and red-brown eyes which matched to perfection her red-gold hair. In her dress of khaki-colored linen, her white Panama hat, and tiny buckskin shoes, the picture she made was one most charming and satisfying to any man's eyes.
"Joyce!" exclaimed Kit, and started forward.
Then the look of eager anticipation died from his sun-tanned face.
"Why—why—what is the matter?" he asked in sudden dismay.
She came straight to him and gave him both her slim hands. Her face, usually so full of life and joy, was very grave.
"Tell me, Joyce," he said softly.
She stood looking up into the strong, kindly face which she had come to love so well. Her eyes were misty with unshed tears.
"This is our last day, Kit," she answered with a little choke in her voice.
"Our last day!" Kit's tone was utterly incredulous. "Impossible! Only yesterday you told me that you were here for another month."
"And this morning father announced that we were leaving for Lake Worth to-morrow."
Kit stood quite still. His lips were tightly set, and there was a curiously-strained look in his grey eyes. It was evident that the blow was a very heavy and unexpected one.
"It's my fault, Joyce," he said at last. "It's all my fault."
"Nonsense, Kit! How can you say such a thing?"
"Because it is true, dearest. Your father doesn't want you to marry a poor devil of a pineapple planter. He has other views for you.
"He has never said anything of the sort," protested Joyce. "He has never said one word against you, Kit."
"Because he is too wise, my darling. Also because it is not necessary. He has only to take you away, and he knows very well that I cannot follow. No, his plan is the wisest and safest."
The despair in his tone cut Joyce to the heart.
"But, Kit, you are doing well," she urged. "You told me you were."
"Well for a planter, Joyce. I am clearing expenses and making a living. But what is that to a man like your father? It will be years, at the best, before I can keep a wife as he would expect you to be kept.
"You mean you are going to give me up?" said Joyce faintly.
His grasp on her hands tightened.
"Give you up!" he repeated, and his voice thrilled her. "Give you up! Joyce, I'll never give you up so long as I live. I have loved you from the first minute I set eyes on you. Whether I marry you or not I will never marry anyone else. I swear it."
He stooped as he spoke and kissed her, and Joyce felt that there was something different in that kiss from any other he had ever given her, something almost sacramental. She caught her breath and for the moment could not speak.
When at last she looked up into his face, her lips were quivering.
"Kit, father may take me away, but he cannot prevent us from loving one another. I, too, will wait for you until you are able to come for me. I promise, Kit."
What could Kit do but take her in his arms, and there the two young things stood on that vast, bare, blinding bench, clinging to one another, so divided between the happiness of the moment and the misery of to-morrow that they hardly knew how to bear it.
At last Joyce drew away.
"Kit," she said softly, "we still have to-day."
Kit straightened himself and drew a long breath.
"You are right, Joyce," he answered, with a brave attempt at cheerfulness, "we still have to-day. Shall we take the boat?"
"Yes, Kit, let us take the boat. There is nothing like the sea. It helps one to forget."
Kit's own craft, a stout little centre-board cat-boat, lay snugly berthed in the inlet. They walked round to it and were soon afloat. The breeze filled the one big sail; she lay over and went rushing out through the twinkling wavelets towards the reef.
A shoal of mullet came flashing out of the clear blue water, chased by some bigger fish, and for some moments the whole surface boiled under their leaping rushes.
Joyce clapped her hands.
"Let us fish, Kit. Let us catch some mullet and try for channel bass."
Mullet are good bait for any big fish. Kit anchored, got out lines, and within a half an hour they had as many as they could possibly want. Then Kit put up a rod and, baiting a large hook with a small mullet, moved near to a gap in the reef, which seemed a likely spot for bass.
Joyce held the rod, Kit lit his pipe and lay back, with his hands clasped behind his head. The surf boomed upon the reef, the soft breeze tempered the scorching sun: it was all delightfully quiet and peaceful.
"I wish this could last for ever," said Joyce presently. "Why can't people be happy, Kit?"
"Because the world is over-civilised, girlie," replied Kit rather bitterly; "because nothing counts nowadays but money."
"I'm afraid you are right, Kit," said Joyce after a little pause. "What a pity you and I were not born in some other age."
"Which for choice?" asked Kit.
"Oh, I don't know. Two or three hundred years ago, when a man could fit out a ship, and go and help himself to all he wanted."
"Turn buccaneer, you mean," said Kit with a smile. "Well, dear, I'd turn anything if I could make money enough to marry you. But one's only chance nowadays is to do someone down on the Stock Exchange or organise a Trust."
"Or find a treasure," suggested Joyce. "There must be lots of treasure buried in the islands all round the Florida coast."
"There are certainly stories enough about them," said Kit. "Almost every year people come down, hunting them. But I never heard of one being found. Did you?"
"No," Joyce answered. "I can't say I ever did. But," she added sagely, "I expect, if they have done so, they kept it to themselves."
Kit sat up and pointed to a tiny dot against the shimmering blue of the Atlantic.
"Do you see that, Joyce? That's Shark Key, where Josiah Teague—the 'Tiger of the Keys' they called him—is believed to have buried a whole ship-load of coin. I don't suppose there's an inch of it that hadn't been dug over by treasure-hunters, but nothing has been found, not so much as a single—"
But Joyce was not listening. She was leaning over the side of the boat.
"Look!" she said in a startled tone. "Oh, Kit, what is that?"
The water close under the reef was mirror-like in its calmness and, though 40 feet deep, so crystal clear that the white sand and tall coral heads at the bottom were plainly visible. And over these corals, perhaps half-way between them and the surface, was passing a vast black shadow almost rectangular in shape, and resembling nothing so much as a turbot the size of a dining-room carpet.
Kit's eyes brightened.
"A manta, Joyce. A manta—and the biggest I've ever set eyes on."
"A manta? What is that?"
"A fish, dearest. It's the great ray. Sea devil some people call it.
"By Jove, we'd have some fun if we could get hold of him," he added, with his eyes fixed eagerly on the monster that glided so silently beneath the boat.
"He's coming up. He's rising!" declared Joyce breathlessly.
Kit sprang to his feet, and began hurriedly getting in the anchor. The manta, apparently undisturbed by the rattle of the chain, swam slowly onwards, yet plainly rising all the time.
"Shall we try it," said Kit as he got the anchor aboard. "Shall we try it, Joyce? It's a bit risky. A beast as big as that!"
"Oh, do, Kit. Do let us try it."
Joyce's face was alive with excitement light and small as she was, she was a sportswoman, every inch of her. As she spoke, she got an oar out over the stern and began to scull, sending the boat steadily in pursuit of the giant ray.
Kit stooped and disengaged the grain from its place under the thwarts. This was a ten-foot pole of yellow pine to the end of which was socketed a double-pronged steel spear, the prongs barbed like fish-hooks. Attached to the spear was a quantity of stout manila cord about as thick as clothesline, carefully coiled in a small tub.
"Quickly, Kit. He's coming to the surface," said Joyce breathlessly.
Kit stepped forward in the bow. He had shed his coat, his shirt-sleeves were turned up, and the muscles rippled on his bare brown arm as he poised the grain high in air.
The manta turned, heading straight for the opening in the reef, and at that moment Kit hurled the quivering pole with all his force at the glimmering black shadow.
With a slight thud the steel went home, and the pole leaped from its socket.
"Got him!" cried Kit, as he snatched up the floating pole. Then before he could regain his seat came a jerk which flung him backwards into the bottom of the boat, and the line began to leap madly from the tub.
Kit struggled up and braked the rope, and the cat-boat spinning round, went shooting out through the reef gap as though towed by a destroyer.
"Now we're in for it!" cried Kit, but Joyce skilfully wielding the steering oar, only laughed jubilantly.
In the twinkling of an eye the reef was passed, and the cat-boat, with her bows almost buried, was rushing through the long swells outside.
Suddenly a great black pointed wing appeared above the blue, and for a moment the tremendous strain slackened.
"He's going to jump!" cried Kit, and as he spoke the monstrous fish shot clean out of the water. Up he went to a height of at least six feet, and seemed to hang poised there with the sea water streaming off him, his great fins winnowing the air like the wings of a bird, and his curious long spindly tail straight out behind him.
Then, with a crash, like a cannon shot, he dropped back, sending up a great spout of spray, and causing waves which, although he was full two hundred feet away, made the boat rock as though caught in the wash of a liner.
The line tightened with a jerk which, had it not been best manila, must have snapped it, and slightly changing his course the sea devil was off again at undiminished speed.
"He is making straight for Shark Key," cried Joyce, wiping the spray from her eyes and hair.
Kit looked a little uneasy. Away over the land black thunder clouds were forming, and although seawards the sky was serenely blue as ever, he knew with what speed and fury storms sweep up the Gulf Stream.
He pointed to the clouds.
"What do you think, Joyce?" I'll cut if you say so."
"Not for worlds!" cried Joyce, her eyes shining. "No, Kit, don't dream of it. We must have him, whatever happens."
The mad race went on minute by minute the Florida coast faded while Shark Key grew from a mere indistinguishable dot to a long low hue of yellow sand.
At the end of half an hour Kit judged that they had travelled fully seven miles, and still the monster kept up the same amazing pace. He seemed absolutely tireless.
Kit glanced back towards the mainland.
"Joyce, the storm Is working up. We ought to cut," he said.
"No!—please not," begged Joyce. "The storm is moving south, and even if it does come, we can run for shelter behind Shark Key. Let us hold on a little longer. The manta must tire soon."
"I told you so," she added a moment later. "He's slackening."
She was right. The spouts of water at the bow were not so tall, their giant steed was slowing up.
"If I could only lance him!" muttered Kit, and set to hauling on the rope. At first the brute spurted afresh, but the strain had begun to tell, and yard by yard he got in the rope until at last the bow was almost over the monstrous sea beast.
"Here is the spear," said Joyce in Kit's ear.
Kit brushed the streaming perspiration from his face with the sleeve of his shirt and took the weapon from her. She had fitted a lance in the socket.
Without losing a moment Kit drove it down with all his force into the body of the great ray, and a gush of crimson stained the waves.
"That's done the trick!" he cried, then the fish turned so suddenly that the bow was nearly dragged under, and as if stung to new life surged away at a right angle to its former course.
"Bale! Bale!" cried Kit, snatching up a tin. The bottom boards were afloat, the boat had a foot of water in it.
They both baled desperately, and it was not until they had the last of the water out that Kit had time to look round again.
What he saw frightened him. More than half the sky was hidden by a veil of inky vapor, while the breeze had switched clean round and was coming in strong puffs off the land.
Worse, the manta's new course had drawn them clear of Shark Key and they were driving past its northern end straight out to sea.
"We must cut," he said with sharp decision, and quickly drew his knife.
Before the keen blade touched the rope, round went the manta again, heading due south.
"Not yet! Not yet!" cried Joyce. "He is taking us straight for the island."
Kit paused. At that moment the sun went out as though a curtain had been drawn across it, the sea turned leaden, and with a moaning sound a heavy gust came tearing across the water.
Kit stood over the rope, knife in hand, ready to cut the instant the ray turned again. It would be foolish to do so yet, for the brute was dragging them towards the Key at a speed far greater than oar or sail, and it was now too late to dream of making the mainland.
The wind increased, the sea got up rapidly, and the tops of the short waves began to break dangerously over the flying boat.
But the long low tail of the sand bank came nearer every moment; the manta was driving straight into the shallow water on the eastern side.
The boat was rapidly filling. She sagged heavily under the weight of water which rolled to and fro inside her. Joyce baled hard, but her efforts were of little use. Kit's heart beat hard. It was a question of minutes—seconds only, perhaps—whether they gained the shelter before she sank.
The surf was breaking in white fountains on the tail of the reef. They drove straight into a great curling wave and for an ugly moment Kit thought it was all over. Then like magic they were through and past, and into water which, by comparison, was pond-like in its calmness.
"Hurray!" cried Kit, and as he shouted the water ahead parted and out of a whirlpool of foam the manta rose once more, his white underside gleaming ghost-like in the gathering gloom.
It was his last effort. Down he came with a thunderous crash, flinging the foam far and wide, and lay wallowing on the surface. Kit snatched up the lance, and as a blaze of lightning illuminated the darkness sent the keen blade home into the undulating mass. Twice more he lanced the giant, then its struggles ceased, and springing for the oats he pulled desperately for the shore.
"Just in time!" he gasped as the keel grounded on the hard sand. "Just in time, Joyce!"
He was right. With a scream like a hundred steam whistles, the storm broke in all its fury, and the blast which swept upon them was so charged with driven sand and rain they could hardy stand against it.
It was all they could do to drag the boat out on to the beach; then the line anchoring the dead manta was secured to the lance which was driven deep into the sand above high-water mark.
The storm grew worse every minute. The thunder was deafening, the dark sky was ablaze with crooked lightning, and the rain fell in torrents.
Kit saw, with sudden dismay, that Joyce was shivering.
"This won't do, dear. You'll catch your death. We must find shelter of some sort."
"I wish we could," said Joyce forlornly. "But what can we do unless we dig a hole in the sand?"
"The bluff," replied Kit. He had to bawl to make himself heard. "We can find some hole to tuck ourselves away in."
Slipping his arm around her waist, he half-led, half-carried her through the drenching downpour to the steep sand bluff at the back of the beach, and hurried along under lee of it, looking for some hollow where they might take refuge.
"Here we are!" said Kit suddenly, pointing to a great, raw-edged gap in the bluff. "The very place! Look, the bank hangs right over. Get in under here, Joyce, and we shall be as snug as possible."
This was somewhat of an exaggeration, but at any rate the overhang gave them sort of shelter.
"What a queer place!" said Joyce, glancing round wonderingly. "It looks as if some giant had been at work with pick and shovel."
"A water-spout, most likely," Kit replied. "You often see them stalking across the Gulf Stream. If one happened to burst over the Key it would sweep everything down with it."
"Well, it has done us a good turn anyhow," smiled Joyce. "This rain is no joke."
"It's too heavy to last long. That's one comfort," said Kit, as he watched little waterfalls pouring down the steep sides of the gap, cutting the soft earth in deep runnels.
"You're not so cold now, darling?" he added tenderly.
''No, I'm all right now," she answered, and fell silent.
"Kit," she said presently. "It has been a good day, hasn't it?"
"It's not over yet," replied Kit stoutly, though his heart ached.
"I wish it could last for ever," said Joyce in a low voice.
"What—like this?" Kit answered, trying his best to speak lightly.
"Yes, even like this," cried Joyce, with sudden passion.
Kit's arm tightened around her.
"Kit," she went on. "You said the storm was too fierce to last. Do you know that I have the same sort of feeling about our troubles. Somehow or other they will blow away like the clouds, and happiness will come to us like the sunshine."
Kit stooped and kissed her. His heart was too full for words.
And then—then, as if by magic, the rain ceased and the darkness began to lift. With the swiftness only possible in tropical latitudes, the dark clouds broke and a shaft of warm sunshine struck downwards, brilliantly illuminating the cleft in which they had sheltered.
"It's a good omen," cried Joyce, as she sprang to her feet. "Oh, isn't it beautiful, Kit? look at the little waterfalls. They are like ribands of gold."
Kit followed her out of the cleft and walked towards the mouth of the little gorge to see if the boat was still safe.
A cry from Joyce made him turn sharply.
"Kit, what is that?" she exclaimed, pointing towards the bank of the ravine. "It looks—it looks like a shutter or a little door."
Kit looked and saw the object she referred to. But to him it hid either the appearance of one end of a wooden box or chest. All of a sudden he found himself shaking all over, then, without a word, he made a dash up the far bank.
The wet sand broke away in masses under him, but clawing like a squirrel he reached the square panel and grasped it with both hands. As he did so his foothold gave and for a moment he hung suspended by his fingers.
"Be careful, Kit!" cried Joyce, and at that moment the object to which Kit clung burst clean away from the cliff, and he and it together came down in an avalanche of sand.
"Oh, Kit, are you hurt?" exclaimed Joyce, running forward.
Before she could reach the spot Kit was on his feet again and stood staring down at the ground. The expression on his face frightened her.
"Kit, what is it?" she asked faintly.
He shook his head.
"That's just what I want to know, Joyce. I wish you'd come here and tell me whether I'm dreaming or if this stuff is really gold."
She darted up, then stopped and stood with her hands pressed tightly to her breast, hardly daring to breathe. For the box had broken in its fall, and Kit was standing literally ankle-deep in coin—coin which, though somewhat dulled and tarnished by age and damp, yet showed unmistakably the yellow gleam of gold.
Kit stooped and slowly picked up a handful of the heavy coins and weighed them in his hand.
"It's gold, all right, Joyce," he said at last.
"It's gold, Kit," she answered breathlessly. "It's Teague's Treasure, and you—you have found it."
"No, Joyce, it was you who found it," he said.
She stamped her small foot.
"Nonsense! I didn't know what it was and I couldn't have reached it anyhow."
"But you saw it first," persisted Kit.
Joyce's eyes flashed, the suddenly her expression changed, and she burst into laughter.
"You silly boy, what does it matter? Aren't we going to share it?"
Kit dropped his gold and caught her in his arms.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.