Leonard Lindsay ;

by Angus B. Reach

The crew were now all in a hubbub, for they comprehended, more or leas, that there was the wreck of an ancient galleon upon the reef, and they knew that silver and gold are metals which brine rusts not.

‘I suppose,’ quoth the dwarf, ‘that you will give me a fair share of the booty when we get it?’

This they all proclaimed that they were very ready to do, and one or two of the more eager shook hands with the dwarf, who assumed a very sour smile.

‘Now, then,’ quoth the captain, when the tumult was a little abated, ‘tell us somewhat more about this, and rely upon it we will deal justly by you. Who and what are you?’

‘Why,’ quoth the dwarf, ‘my story is of the shortest; my name is Paul Bedloe, and I was born beneath the Peel of Douglas, in the Isle of Man; my father owning a small craft, which plied to Liverpool—a village on the Lancaster coast—I was brought up a sailor, but I liked better to write and cipher than to handle ropes and furl sails; and having, also, a great liking for geography and astronomy, I became a very good navigator, and going to London, settled at Limehouse, where I kept a school for teaching seamen the art of navigation. Growing somewhat tired of this business, however, I went several voyages to these seas with a captain who had been my scholar; and afterwards, returning to Europe, I wandered through many countries, taking great delight in Spain, where I found several interesting accounts left by the first discoverers of America of their voyages. One day, in the shop of a Jew in Cadiz, I discovered the book which you, sir’—turning to me—‘doubtless, found in my chest. One leaf of that work had a very particular interest for me, and from the time I first saw it, I have kept it carefully on my person.’

With that the Manxman produced the missing page from his bosom.

‘By the help of this,’ continued he, ‘I found out how the treasure-ship, Santa Fè, had been stranded upon an exceeding great shoal, and how a storm soon coming on, she had sunk in middling deep water, between two ledges of rock. The ship’s company having deserted her in boats, these were speedily swallowed up in the storm, save that one in which Vincente y Tormes sailed, and which survived the tempest, although it was driven far to leeward. The wind then taking off, a calm followed, during which all the seamen in the boat, with only the exception of Vincente y Tormes, perished miserably of hunger and thirst. He was himself nigh dead, when a caravel descried and picked him up; ultimately conveying him to Spain, where he settled, and went no more to sea. You may judge,’ continued Paul Bedloe, ‘whether I have not given a fair account of the missing page;’ and, handing the document to me, he continued as follows:—

‘On reading what I have now stated to you, it occurred to me that, in all the maps and charts which I had seen, no mention had ever been made of any such shoals as that upon which the “Santa Fè” was wrecked, and I concluded that no ship had ever fallen in with them, save those which, like the Porto Bello galleon, had never returned to tell the tale. Hence, I concluded, that it was very possible that some fragments of the wreck might yet remain undisturbed, containing boundless wealth. With much ado, and by spending nearly all which I possessed in bribes, I got access to the documents in the archives of the Minister of Marine of Spain, and there I found the loss of the “Santa Fè” fully confirmed. She had sailed from Porto Bello, and had never been heard of again. This entry, mark you, was before the date of Vincente’s publication, while he, not having appeared to contemplate the possibility of recovering the foundered wealth, took no steps, and communicated with no one on the subject. After this, I carefully examined Vincente’s narrative, and compared with it the records of many voyages from Porto Bello and Carthagena to Hispaniola and Porto Rico, so that, at length, I satisfied myself that the shoals in question must, if they existed at all, be within a circle of fifty miles in diameter. I next communicated with a brother of mine in Bristol, touching the matter, and informing him that I intended to proceed to the West Indies in search of the shoals, and the wreck of the “Santa Fè,” conjured him, in case he heard from me again, to have a ship ready fitted out, to sail for the longitude and latitude which I would send him. I embarked at Cadiz, and landed in Porto Rico, which island I suspected of being almost right to windward of the shoals. Here I made acquaintance with a Welsh seaman, to whom I partly communicated my projects; and with the help of a negro and two Indians, very faithful attached fellows, we constructed a great “Piragua,” victualled her very well, and put off to sea. We cruised for a month with no success, and then were forced to run for the Samballas Islands, off Darien, for more provisions. Putting to sea again, after a three weeks’ voyage, we hit upon the spot we sought for. The weather was then exceeding calm, and we could see the bottom in the very deepest parts of the reef, so that on the eighth day of our search, we actually descried the remains of a great ship, wedged between two rocks, about five fathoms under water. Our Indians were brave divers, and speedily brought up pieces of carved wood, and two or three old-fashioned swords, which satisfied me that we had hit upon the wreck of an ancient Spanish vessel; for when we scoured the blades, we could read on them the word “Bilboa.” At length, after tearing a great deal of the wreck to pieces, the divers reported that they had come to many large chests, with great clamps of rusted iron; and one of these being wrenched open, a small ingot was seen lying just beneath the lid, which we soon found to be virgin silver. On this, I stopped further proceedings, and wrote a letter to my brother in cipher, such as we had agreed upon to use. This letter, my comrades in the “Piragua” started away with, designing to make Jamaica, and send it home by an English ship; while I, having an ample amount of provisions, and having found great basins in the rocks, which the rain filled with fresh water, determined to remain, until the “Piragua” returned from Jamaica, to watch over my treasure, and to study the best means of recovering it. In case of accident to the “Piragua,” I had a canoe, with which, in moderate weather, I was not afraid of reaching the land. I had been here just two months and three days, when, on waking one morning, I saw your schooner. Such, gentlemen, is my story from first to last.’

You may be sure that there was great acclamation at these tidings of a ship-load of riches falling, as it were, into our mouths; but Captain Jem, who appeared to have his doubts of Mr. Bedloe, ordered his person, his chest, and hammock to be very strictly searched. Everything found, however, confirmed the story. There were several books upon navigation, and an old diary in which were entered divers sums in dollars, reals, and maravedis, which appeared to have been expended upon the Spanish officials at the office of marine. Besides this, the draught of a letter, addressed to Master Richard Bedloe, near the church of St. Mary, Redcliffe, in Bristol, corroborated a great portion of the dwarf-pilot’s story; so that, upon the whole, we began to believe him firmly. The ingot, he told us, the Welshman had taken to Jamaica to be assayed.

By the time that all these particulars had been ascertained, the day was almost at an end, and it was determined that, with the dawn next morning, both the boats should start to the wreck, provided with due tackle, and having the Indians, who are excellent divers, aboard. Paul Bedloe’s hammock was swung in the great cabin, and a watch placed over him all night: but he appeared to sleep soundly, and to be but little affected by the probable downfall of his golden hopes. Indeed, so much was I struck with this, and so composed was the dwarf in confessing the whole matter to us, part of which must at all events be true, that I came to the conclusion that, despite of all his pretended candour and frankness, the fellow intended to play us a slippery trick after all; so that, confiding my suspicions to my comrades, Mr. Bedloe was informed that, five minutes after he had given any symptom of treachery, he would be dangling from the sprit of the mainsail. To this intimation, the only answer he vouchsafed was the old shrug of the shoulders.