“Diable!” gasped Alaroze. “I think all the fiends are closed inside!”
When the air had cleared sufficiently they all peered down the open hatchway, to discover a wide flight of stairs leading down into the hold of the ship. There was now no longer any doubt but what it was the phantom galleon, for it was built on a magnificent scale. They realized that had it not been burned the rear of the galleon would never have been covered up, for the rear of the Spanish ships were composed of high after-deck houses, but this ship had been burned and only the deck, which had been below the water, had remained.
“The hold must be full of water and sand,” Terry commented.
Jim swung his feet over the edge of the deck and gingerly felt the step below. “Full of sand, yes, but not of water. The sand will be wet, though. Now be careful on these stairs.”
The stairs were solid and safe, but they did not go far. Originally the ship had run aground and filled with water, and in time the sand had filled up the hold of the galleon. A space of about six feet only was open, and in this space the foul air had been held. The three companions found a bed of moist sand cutting off any further progress.
“If there is any gold in this ship, it is below the sand,” Alaroze said in Spanish.
“Yes, senor,” nodded Jim. “I think we had better not walk on this sand for fear of falling into some pit. If we ever sank in this wet stuff, that would be the end of us.”
“It surely would,” remarked Terry. “What is this sticking up out of the sand? A piece of brass?”
It was a dull strip of brass, but when Jim scraped the sand from it they found that it was long and finally discovered that it was the edge of a brass-bound chest.
“Oh, somebody’s trunk!” said Terry, indifferently.