It was perhaps a foot square, and weighed so much that Seth and I took turns in lugging it along the beach towards the boat. Upon arriving there, I wrapped the box in a piece of tarpaulin, that the men might not see what it was, and placed it in the boat. We saw nothing of our crew, but the sight of nearly a dozen immense water-melons laid on the beach proved that they had not been idle. “Great Scott! I s’pose they’d bring melons for a week if I didn’t yell ‘Belay!’” ejaculated Seth; “how many do they think the boat can hold? I’ve got to hunt them up, for Captain Spencer wants no time wasted.” He disappeared, and I occupied myself in devouring the box with my eyes, and speculating as to its contents. What fabulous wealth in gold and jewels was hidden away in that dull casket? Millions, possibly. In what century had it been buried? Through what scores and scores of years had this little islet been the hiding-place of the ancient box I now looked on? All other eyes that had beheld it must have long since mouldered into dust. While absorbed in these reflections relating to the past, I was rudely recalled to the present by a crashing in the underbrush, and Seth Hawkins, with our men, appeared, running towards the boat. “Lay aboard lively there, Mr. Spencer!” cried the mate. Much alarmed, I tumbled in, and he followed a moment later. The men, a Scandinavian and a negro, were about to put some of the melons into the boat, when Seth cried, “Drop ’em, and pile in here, you sons of sea-cooks!” They obeyed, and shoved off the boat, though greatly bewildered at leaving the island without the very fruit we had ostensibly come after. The oars were plied vigorously, and when about a ship’s length from the beach, I espied a catamaran {79} coming around the north end of the islet. The truth burst upon us. “We are followed!” I exclaimed. Seth nodded. “Why? Did the Governor not give us permission to land?” “That’s true; but those dark-skinned devils that saw the spade and pick-axe like enough told him, and he’s bound to see what we’re up to. If they overhaul this boat, and see that box of yours, and find we’ve got no melons, there’ll be trouble. I’d have brought off a few, but they’d weigh the boat down too much. These Brazilians have no use for Americans, anyhow.” Our situation was certainly unpleasant. We were nearly a mile from the brig, and the catamaran was not over half that distance astern of us, and running dead before the wind, which was freshening. I was beginning to wonder what Ralph could be doing, for he actually seemed to be going away from us, when the mate cried out: “Look! the brig’s in stays! the Captain’s putting her about, so as to fetch us on the starboard tack. Hurray!”