Not room left to swing a kitten. Contrived an elaborate
arrangement of ropes and spikes to keep it in place in a heavy sea.
In the afternoon began moving the gold. It's the deuce of a job.
February 15. Been hard at it for three days. Most of the gold
moved. Have to think too of provisions and water for the trip. I
am making rather a liberal allowance, in case of being blown out of
my course by a tropical gale.
February 16. On board the _Island Queen_. Have moved my traps
from the hut and am sleeping on the sloop. Want to be near the
gold. "Where the treasure is, there will the heart be also," and
in this case the body as well. To-morrow I have only to bring the
last of the gold aboard--a trifling matter--and then go out with
the ebb. I would have got all the bags on board to-day, but I
noticed a worn stretch in the cable holding the sloop and stopped
to repair it. I can't have the sloop going on the rocks in case a
blow comes up to-night. There are only about a load and a half of
bags left in the cave.
A queer notion seized me to-day about the crucifix, when I was
bringing it from the cave. It seemed to float into my brain--I
can't say from what quarter--_that I had better leave the crucifix
for Bill_. It wasn't more than he had a right to, really--and
there is no virtue in a cross-bones to make a man sleep well.
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