‘Yes, Blue Peter, I do believe you,’ replied Captain Jem; ‘and if the prisoner here be dealing falsely with us, on his own head be the peril.’
This was the first time that the Captain had called Bedloe the ‘prisoner,’ and the little man started at the phrase, very perceptibly, but he only said—
‘I tell you what my Indians told me; and one of them brought up an ingot of silver to prove that his words were true.’
I was, meanwhile, musing whether I should not try a dive myself. I remembered that I had been tolerably expert at the exercise, when a boy, and so, stripping and buckling a hand-lead to my loins, as I had seen the Indians do to aid their descent, I plunged overboard into the tepid sea, and grasping the rope, found that I descended rapidly and easily, and that the water was so transparent, that I saw above me the keels of the boats, and below me the form of the cast-away ship, as clearly as though I gazed upon them through the gloaming of a Scottish summer’s evening. It was a curious sensation, that of clinging to the rope in the mid sea, with the water like a mass of thick green air, wavering and gurgling about me, and the indistinctly-seen forms of fishes gliding hither and thither, like little opaque phantoms,—and as strange was the feeling when I placed my foot, as though my body had no weight, upon the slimy deck, and felt the feathery sea-weed rise upwards at the pressure, and cling and wave about my legs. All this, of course, passed in a moment, and in the next I had descended through the after-hatchway, and steadying myself with my feet upon the lump of pig-iron, I had time to cast a hurried, but observant glance around me. A considerable portion of the deck had been torn away, or broken up, by the fall of the pig-iron, and down the aperture came a dull greenish light, showing the dim outline of great ribs of wood, and masses of timber-work, bulged and broken, with fragments of the rock projecting, here and there, through the crushed and splintered masses. Around me lay piled up rotting casks, and the fragments of bulkheads, and the smouldering remains of furniture. I saw the holes where doors had led from cabin to cabin, sea-weed came waving through them. Shell-fish clung in clusters to what had been the rudder-case, and to rusty iron-work, which as I moved, upon the rotting wood and hemp, hurt my feet. Sprawling along the wreck, and rousing slimy fish from their lurking-places, I made my way to where I saw the sheen of glimmering metal, and presently I clutched what was the brass box of a compass. Then throwing off my leaden sinker, I burst my way out of a quarter-gallery window, and rose rapidly to the surface, almost spent for want of air,—holding the compass above my head. It was a minute after I had breathed, before the loud ringing in my ears enabled me to hear the shouts of my comrades. They had seen the glimmer of the metal as I rose, and very naturally took the brass for gold; but they were soon undeceived, and after I had been hauled on board, and had time to examine my prize, I undeceived them still further, for I saw a name and a date upon the implement.
‘So, comrades,’ I exclaimed, ‘the little man is playing us false. The Santa Fè must have been lost before the year 1507, and upon this compass case is written, “Ericson. Amsterdam, 1645.”’
At this, there was a loud shout of wrath, and the seamen turned in fury to the dwarf; but he preserved a wonderful boldness,—all the nervous agitation was gone, and though he was pale, neither hand nor lip quivered.
‘This is not the wreck of the Santa Fè,’ thundered Captain Jem, ‘and we were dolts to take it for such. Timber must have mouldered away in half the time this vile dwarf would have us believe that the ship beneath us had lain under water. But take care,’ and the captain turned to Bedloe and shook him soundly,—‘take care how you trifle with us, or, as you seem so fond of this wreck, by God, you shall lay your stunted bones in it.’
Paul Bedloe seemed prepared for this burst, for he said very calmly—‘I have told you what I know, and if you are deceived, it is because I was beguiled myself. The Indians spoke falsely.’
‘And the ingot—the silver ingot!’ shouted half a dozen of the men.
‘That I saw with my own eyes brought up from the water,’ replied Bedloe; ‘and he who recovered it said that there was much more where that came from.’