The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

the soil in the money-hole is different from that of the rest of the island, being sand and gravel; whereas the rest of the island, as I told you, is blue clay. It’s just as if a hole was dug in the blue clay, and then filled in with sand and gravel brought from somewhere else. Well, how do you think they get over this?”

      Again the landlord looked inquiringly at the two boys.

      Again the two boys gave it up.

      “Why,” said the landlord, “they get over it in the usual fashion. They say it isn’t a fact that the island is blue clay, but that there’s streaks and patches of gravel all over it, and the two men hit upon a place where the soil was sandy and gravelly. That’s the way they get over that point; and I’d like to ask any man if that’s fair; if that’s honest; if that’s decent. Yet that’s the way they talk—when they can go to the island, and see wherever fresh holes have been dug, the blue clay is turned up. But when I point out that, they say, ‘O, that’s because the holes are all dug on that one side of the island where the blue clay is.’

      “Then, again, there’s the drain,” continued the landlord. “Now, if any one thing is an established fact, next to the buried money—it’s Kidd’s drain. It’s been broken into time after time. It’s flooded hole after hole. Yet, in the face of this, they say that there isn’t any drain at all; that there’s merely some loose soil on the island, or some subterranean passage, made by nature, through which the sea water passes, and that the bottom of the so-called money-hole has been connected with this. Some say, that as the island is small, the sea water trickles through the soil, in some places, all the way across. So, of course, these men, shutting their eyes obstinately to hard facts, laugh at the very idea of a drain. And that’s the sort of objections that we have to meet!” concluded the landlord, with a snort of contempt.

      “Is any one working on Oak Island now?” asked Bart, after a pause.

      “Well, no, not just now. There isn’t a soul on the island. Since the last company gave up, no one has touched the works—except, occasionally, some visitors. Everything is standing there—the pumps, the hoisting tackle, and all that. You’ll see the holes all about; and the money-hole can easily be known, for it is a hollow in the ground, shaped like a bowl, close by the largest pump, with a deep hole beside it, full of water; for, unfortunately, they struck the drain too soon, and of course the water rushed upon them.”

      At this point the landlord recollected some business that he had to attend to, and rising to his feet, he slowly sauntered away.

      CHAPTER IX.

      The landlord’s story had produced a very profound impression upon the minds of the boys, and the reiterated emphasis which he placed upon the treasure supposed to be buried there did not fail to kindle their imaginations to a wonderful degree. But together with this excitement, and astonishment at the magnitude of the supposed treasure, there were also other feelings, which latter tended to repel them as much as the former tended to attract them. These feelings consisted of discouragement and disappointment, at learning the insuperable difficulties that lay in the way, and at hearing the story of repeated failures. Efforts had been made, as they now knew, far greater than any which were possible to their feeble arms; and in every case the money-diggers, whether digging in person or by deputy, had failed utterly and miserably, each one only learning of some new difficulty which necessitated still more arduous toils.

      As the landlord strolled off, Bart and Pat moved away also up the hill towards the back part of the town; and here they sat on a secluded grassy slope, looking down into the back bay, whose blue waters lay at their feet.

      “Sure an it’s a great thing entirely, so it is,” said Pat, “an that’s all about it.”

      “I hadn’t any idea,” said Bart, “that people knew so much about it. I didn’t imagine that anybody had tried to dig there.”

      “Sure an it’s natural enough for them to do that same, if they thought there was money in it.”

      “Of course it was, an that’s the very thing we haven’t been taking into account.”

      “Faith, an that same’s true for you, thin; niver a bit did we take it into account. Haven’t we been making a wonderful secret of it, when all the wurruld knows it like A, B, C.”

      “Yes, and what’s worse, at this very moment they are sending out agents in all directions, all over the province, I dare say, to try to get people to take stock in the new mining company. Why, every body must know all about Oak Island. I don’t see how we never heard of it before.”

      “Deed, thin, an I think they must have kept it all to thimselves here in Chester, so I do, or else we’d have heard some talk about it at school, so we would; an if there’s any talk about it now through the country, it’s something new entirely, so it is, and is the doin of this new company, sure.”

      “I don’t see what we can do,” said Bart, in a dejected tone; “we can’t do a single thing.”

      “Sure, thin,” said Pat, “but it’s meself that’s been thinkin different; an I don’t know now but what the chances for us are better thin they were before.”

      “Chances for us better? What in the world do you mean by that?” asked Bart, in surprise.

      “Sure an it’s plain enough. Ye see that treasure was a hundred feet an more under ground, an so it was clane beyond anything that we could do. But these companies have been a workin, an a diggin, an a pumpin, an a borin holes all about, an we’ve got that much of the work done.”

      “Yes, but what good’ll that do us? These holes weren’t any good to the companies. They couldn’t get to the money-hole, after all.”

      “Yis, but sure an may be they didn’t go to work the right way.”

      “O, I dare say they did all that could be done; and I don’t see how anybody could do any more, except they get a steam engine, the way they’re going to do.”

      “O, sure an that’s all very well; but still, whin the holes are already bored, the hardest of the work’s done; an a handy boy might be more use than a stame ingin, so he might. Sure an I’d like to see meself at the bottom of one of thim pits that’s nearest to the money-hole. I’d make a grab for the trisure, so I would.”

      “Pooh, nonsense! What could you do?”

      “Sure I’d make a dash for it. There’s nothin like tryin. Nothin venture, nothin have. I’ve got a notion that a body might make a bit of a tunnel in under there, an git at the money-box. At any rate it’s worth tryin for, so it is.”

      “A tunnel!” exclaimed Bart. “I never thought of that. Do you really think that you could do it?”

      “Why not?” said Pat. “Sure I’ve seen it done. All ye’ve got to do is to lave an archway, an there it is. It’ll howld till doomsday. A tunnel is it? Sure I’d like to see meself down there with a bit of a pick, an I’d soon have the tunnel. An besides, it’s only blue clay I’d have to work in.”

      “So it is,” said Bart, in great excitement. “He said blue clay. It’s only in the money-hole where the sand and gravel are.”

      “An blue clay,” said Pat, “to my mind, is as aisy cuttin as chalk or chaise. It’s like cuttin into butther, so it is. Why, there’s nothin in the wide wurruld to hender you an me from goin down there an tunnelin through the blue clay from the nearest pit straight into the money-hole.”

      “But what can we do about the water rushing in?” asked Bart.

      “Sure an we can only try,” said Pat. “If we can’t kape the water out, we’ll give up. But we may work along so as to kape clear of the water.”

      “But can we do that?” asked Bart.

      “Do it?” said Pat. “Sure an what’s to hender us?”

      “The other workmen couldn’t, you know,” said Bart.

      “I don’t