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“Gentlemen, they did not. They were intoxicated–mad with liquor. They took arms and a knapsack of food to each man,–they spoke of an inland retreat to which they were going,–but the treasure from the passenger-ship–the bars of gold and the bags of diamonds–they forgot. They transferred it from their sinking vessel when sober, but when intoxicated they remembered food and left it behind. Gentlemen, there is untold wealth in the hull out there which your fire has sunk. It is, verily, the root of all evil; let us hope that it remains at the bottom of the sea.”

“Bars of gold–bags of diamonds!” said Mr. Duncan. “Come on board, Mr. Todd; we’ll see what the captain thinks.”

At dinner in the brig’s cabin that evening–as a prelude to which Mr. Todd said grace–his account of the wealth spread out on Captain Swarth’s cabin table after the taking of the passenger-ship was something to arouse interest in a less worldly man than Captain Bunce. Virgin gold–in bars, ingots, bricks, and dust–from the Morro Velho mines of Brazil was there, piled up on the table until the legs had given way and launched the glittering mass to the floor. Diamonds uncut, uncounted, of untold value,–a three years’ product of the whole Chapada district,–some as large as walnuts, had been spread out and tossed about like marbles by those lawless men, then boxed up with the gold and stowed among the cargo under the main-hatch. Again Mr. Todd expressed the hope that Providence would see fit to let this treasure remain where the pirates had left it, no longer to tempt man to kill and steal. But Captain Bunce and his officers thought differently. Glances, then tentative comments, were exchanged, and in five minutes they were of one mind, even including Mr. Todd; for it may not be needless to state that the treasure and the passenger-ship existed only in his imagination.

Pending the return of the boats the brig’s anchor had been dropped about two hundred yards from the bark; now canvas was furled, and at eight bells all hands were mustered aft to hear what was in store. Captain Bunce stated the case succinctly; they were homeward bound and under general orders until they reported to the admiral at Plymouth. Treasure was within their reach, apportionable, when obtained, as prize-money. It was useless to pursue the pirates into the Brazilian jungle; but they would need to be watchful and ready for surprise at any moment, either while at work raising the bark or at night; for though they had brought out the two boats in which the pirates had escaped, they could find other means of attack, should they dare or care to make it. The English sailors cheered. Mr. Todd begged to say a few words, and enjoined them not to allow the love of lucre to tempt their minds from the duty they owed to their God, their country, and their captain, which was also applauded and forgotten in a moment. Then, leaving a double-anchor watch, provided with blue fire and strict instructions, on deck, the crew turned in to dream of an affluent future, and Mr. Todd was shown to a comfortable state-room. He removed his coat and vest, closed the door and dead-light, filled and lighted his black pipe, and rolled into the berth with a seaman’s sigh of contentment.

“That was a good dinner,” he murmured, after he had filled the room with smoke–“a good dinner. Nothing on earth is too good for a sky-pilot. I’d go back to the business when I’ve made my pile, if it wasn’t so all-fired hard on the throat; and then the trustees, with their eternal kicking on economy, and the sisters, and the donation-parties–yah, to h—-l with ’em! Wonder if this brig ever carried a chaplain? Wonder how Bill and the boys are making out? Fine brig, this,–‘leven knots on a bow-line, I’ll bet,–fine state-room, good grub, nothin’ to do but save souls and preach the Word on Sunday. Guess I’ll strike the fat–duffer–for the–job–in–the–morn—-” The rest of the sentence merged into a snore, and Mr. Todd slept through the night in the fumes of tobacco, which so permeated his very being that Captain Bunce remarked it at breakfast. “Smoke, Captain Bunce? I smoke? Not I,” he answered warmly; “but, you see, those ungodly men compelled me to clean all their pipes,–forty foul pipes,–and I do not doubt that some nicotine has lodged on my clothing.” Whereupon Captain Bunce told of a chaplain he had once sailed with whose clothing smelled so vilely that he himself had framed a petition to the admiral for his transfer to another ship and station. And the little story had the effect on Mr. Todd of causing him mentally to vow that he’d “ship with no man who didn’t allow smoking,” and openly aver that no sincere, consistent Christian clergyman would be satisfied to stultify himself and waste his energies in the comfort and ease of a naval chaplaincy, and that a chaplain who would smoke should be discredited and forced out of the profession. But later, when Captain Bunce and his officers lighted fat cigars, and he learned that the aforesaid chaplain had merely been a careless devotee of pipe and pigtail twist, Mr. Todd’s feelings may be imagined (by a smoker); but he had committed himself against tobacco and must suffer.