The Voodoo Gold Trail Read online

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  THE VOODOO GOLD TRAIL

  BY WALTER WALDEN

  Author of The Hidden Islands, Etc.

  BOSTON SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY PUBLISHERS

  COPYRIGHT, 1922 BY SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY (INCORPORATED)

  Printed in the United States of America

  THE MURRAY PRINTING COMPANY CAMBRIDGE, MASS.

  CONTENTS

  I WE GET INTERESTING NEWS

  II WE MEET WITH A SERIOUS REVERSE

  III WE SAIL ON A DIFFERENT QUEST

  IV WE PICK UP THE TRAIL

  V WE GAIN AN ALLY

  VI WE BREAK UP THE VOODOO CEREMONIAL

  VII A DISTRESS CALL GOES TO THE _PEARL_

  VIII THE VOODOO STRONGHOLD

  IX THE STAMPEDE

  X THE GOLD TRAIL AGAIN

  XI AT HIDE AND SEEK WITH THE ENEMY

  XII IN CAPTIVITY--THE MESSAGE

  XIII JULIAN'S NARRATIVE--THE SECRET MESSAGE

  XIV JULIAN CONTINUES THE NARRATIVE--NORRIS'S BIG GUN

  XV AN EXCHANGE OF PRISONS

  XVI THE ESCAPE

  XVII JULIAN'S STORY AGAIN--THE SEARCH FOR THE LOST COMRADES

  XVIII OUR BOAT IS SCUTTLED

  XIX WE STEAL A MARCH ON THE ENEMY

  XX THE MYSTERIOUS TRAIL

  XXI WE SEEK IN VAIN FOR A LOST TRAIL; AND DISCOVER A LONE MONKEY

  XXII THE ISLE IN CROW BAY

  XXIII WHAT THE WATER HID

  XXIV IN THE HIDDEN VALE--A NEW ACQUAINTANCE

  XXV WE CONSORT WITH A PICKPOCKET

  XXVI DOINGS ON THE LITTLE ISLE AGAIN

  XXVII THE GOLD-MINE

  XXVIII WE ARE TRAPPED--THE BATTLE

  XXIX HOW THE ENEMY PERISH, AND THE MONKEY DISCOVERS THE TREASURE

  XXX THE CACHE ON THE ISLE

  XXXI WE RUN THE GAUNTLET--HOME BOUND

  THE VOODOO GOLD TRAIL

  CHAPTER I

  WE GET INTERESTING NEWS

  It was on a tropic sea, and night, that I heard a little scrap of a talethat had in it that which was destined to preserve my life. The waningmoon had not yet risen; the stars were all out, the Milky Way more thancommonly near. The schooner's sails were barely drawing, and flappedidly at times. I leaned on the rail, listening to the purling of the seaagainst the vessel's side, and watching the phosphorescence where thewater broke. The bell had just sounded a double stroke--two bells. Nearby, the taciturn black fellow--who was our guide, and who alone (asshall appear) knew our course and destination--was in talk with Rufe,our black cook.

  Heretofore, this man--black he was, but having hair straight as anIndian's--had been steadfastly mum on the subject of his past; thismanifestly being but part and parcel of his policy to avoid any hint ofthe place to which he was piloting us. But now, I gathered, he wasreciting to Rufe an episode set in this far away land to the south; andI cocked my ear. He was telling of something that had happened in hisgrandfather's experience, who, as he said, was in the service of theking of that land. It was one day when this king was set upon by hisenemies, who came thundering on the doors; and the king employed thenarrator's grandfather to assist him in his escape. The king collectedhis jewels and much gold which he put in a bag, and set it on the backof his servant. Then he led the way to a dungeon in the palace. Set inthe thick rock wall of this dark cell was a shrine, a carvedCalvary--Christ on the cross and figures at the foot.

  "The king," the black narrator was saying, "horrify my gran'father, whenhe put his hand right on the Virgin, and pull that piece out. Then thesacrarium swing open, and there is one big hole, and the king push mygran'father through, and come after."

  And he went on to tell how the king had led on, groping down the stepsof this secret passage, and presently out into the forest; and how theytwo finally came to a fortress, and found safety.

  It is this circumstance that (for the very good reason indicated) standsmost forward, as I look back over the early days of that voyage. And youare to hear more of that.

  Sailing the seas in search of adventure was not altogether a new thingfor me. Nor was it to be quite a novelty--the drifting into mysteriousplaces, and the poking into hornets' nests. Indeed, my friend, Ray Reid,declared that it seemed like I was picked out to drag poor, inoffensiveyoung innocents (meaning himself) into all kinds of scrapes--and thatevery little while. But it was with neither a light heart nor anindifferent purpose that I, for one, set forth on this new enterprise,of which it has been given me to tell the tale. I had been orphaned ofmy dear mother two years before, when I was barely sixteen; and recentlymy father, who was a builder of houses, had variously suffered, inpocket and in health, and had journeyed far to the west, in the hope torecuperate both. And I lay awake nights, trying to hatch schemes forearning money, and that in considerable amount. It was mortgagesharassed us; one on our home, and more on other property.

  It was then there came the letter from Julian Lamartine, a good friend,far south in New Orleans, and in whose company my comrades and I hadsailed in a former voyage. He now proposed--in fact he had longplanned--another adventure. This time it was to seek certain gold fieldsin the tropics, his letter said, of which he had had some private news.The real mainspring of his enterprise, I allege, was to seek to makesome return to my comrades and myself for certain services we had

  rendered him on this former voyage. For it was on this occasion he cameinto his wealth; and he maintained he owed it all to us. Thus, it wasJulian Lamartine, who was finding the ship and all the equipment--inshort paying the whole shot.

  Most of our original crew were either scattered or hopelessly entangledin some employment or other, so that there remained only three to makethat journey from Illinois to the point of departure in the southland:Ray Reid, Robert Murtry, and myself (Wayne Scott, to give you my name).Two old friends met us in the station in New Orleans. They were Julianand our former sailing master, Jean Marat.

  "I am so ver' glad to see you once again," said Jean Marat, as with hisbeaming smile he took our hands. "We go some more an' fight theepirates, eh?" he continued.

  "Say now!" broke in Ray, "I want you to let me get my full growth beforeyou steer me among any more of that crew." Ray often told how he hadbeen scared out of two years' growth in a minute, that he never would beable to raise a moustache, and that the reason he hadn't lost his hairwas because he had had his hat on. I don't believe Ray ever knew what itwas to be really scared. An earthquake wouldn't disconcert him; he'dmake sport while the ground was shaking him off his feet.

  When greetings were over, Julian spoke up, "Madame Marat has insistedthat we take supper with her. The carriage is outside, and it's time wewere going."

  Madame Marat was the mother of Jean Marat. She was a handsome,sympathetic, motherly soul, and we had all sampled her cookery. When wewere bowling along behind the horses, Julian put his hand on my knee."Wayne," he said, "You ought to have seen how she took on when I toldher you had lost your mother. If it hadn't been winter she would havetaken the train next day, and gone to you. But she declared she wouldnever have lived to reach there in the cold."

  When we had climbed the stairs and gone into the little parlor, MadameMarat held forth her hands to me, "_Ah, mon chere!_" she said. And shehad me in her motherly clasp--only a mother knows how.

  Madame pushed us in, to a table steaming and savory with her Frenchthings, dishes she knew so well how to concoct. And there was grinningblack Rufe, who had been all his life in the service of JulianLamartine's family. An
d then, when the meal was well under way, and wehad all had our fill of comparing notes, Julian opened the business ofour projected voyage.

  "You probably noticed that I hadn't much to say in my letter regardingdetails," he said, "where we're going and so on. The fact is, I don'tknow."

  We showed our interest.

  "It was Rufe, here, that picked up the information," went on Julian."I'm going to let him tell you how it was. Rufe," he turned to the blackfellow, "tell the boys how you found the man."

  "Well," began Rufe, "you sees I got some kin living up Tchoupetoulasway, an' I hadn' been to see um fo' a right smart long time. So I goes.An' dere I meets up wid a niggah I ain't seed befo', whose name is Amos.He ben in town moh dan a week, an' he was low down sick--lef' by someship he been a' sailin' on. He's home way off some'ere, he don' saywhere. Well, I dopes him up on calomel and quinine, like ol' MistahLamartine use ter do, an' he soon gets well, an' he kinder tuck a shineto me. An' after a while he tells me how he an' a brother of hisn hasgot a gol' mine some'eres, an' as how his father discover dat gol' mine.Amos was a little pickaninny then, an' his father tells him as how he isgoin' to show him dat gol' mine when he gits big 'nuff. But when he tryto sell the gol' wat he take fum de mine, a ornery debbil of a white mangits in wid Amos' father in de mine, an' murder him. Amos say he know

  dat, 'cause he's father nebber come back, and dat white man, he jis' isswimmin' in gol' fum dat time on.

  "Amos plumb refuse to tell whar dat place is, 'cept hit on an islan'down South America way. But he say ef I got some sure 'nuff hones' folksdat'll go, he take 'em to dat island and divide up fair an' square, w'ende gol' mine is foun'. He say he an' his brother ain't nebber foun' demine, cause dat white man tol' 'em dat ef dey come nosin' roun' dey isgoin' to get shot. And Amos showed me in his leg where he once did gitshot."

  "Well say," broke in Ray, "did this Amos ever show you what kind ofstuff he burns in his pipe?"

  "Yes, perhaps he's just yarning," spoke up Robert, "so as to getsomebody to take him back home."

  Julian shook his head.

  "No," he said. "That's what I thought when Rufe first told me the story.But I've talked with him enough times to feel satisfied he's in earnest.He tells a straight story, so far as he will tell. And he refuses to saywhere the island is, but agrees to take us there."

  We all saw this black fellow, Amos, the next day, and we came toJulian's conviction of the fellow's truthfulness; though I will notavouch that our willingness to believe had not something to do with it.He was rather a taciturn, sober-featured being. His hair was not crinklylike the average negro, and his nose resembled an Indian's. Thoughilliterate, he showed intelligence, and he would add nothing to the talehe had told to Rufe, except that the islands of Cuba and Jamaica mightbe considered to lie in the path to this island of his nativity and ourgoal.