The Spanish Galleon / Being an account of a search for sunken treasure in the Caribbean Sea.

by Charles Sumner Seeley

When they came to the rocks all five stood looking down into the basin for some time, the Indians pointing now and then, and the captain and the negro holding conversation together. Then they all came down into the breakwater. One of the Indians began to prepare himself for a dive, greasing his body with oil from a bottle and plugging up his nose and ears, in the slow, methodical way that I had before observed, and with the same apparent reluctance. When he was ready he sat down on the sand with such an air of indifference and disinclination to proceed that I could not help smiling. Then the captain began to gesticulate and talk in a way that made it plain, though of course at that distance I could not hear a word, that he was cursing the poor Indian at a stormy rate. There seemed to be some sort of hitch or difficulty in affairs. The two other Indians came up to the captain and began to talk to him. From the distant pantomime I fancied they were endeavoring to convince him that the rock at the shore side would be a better place to work from than the low breakwater. But this the captain would not see. He presently went up to the seated Indian and pushed him on the shoulder; but the man only looked stolidly. The captain then threw off his coat, kicked off his shoes, and plunged into the basin. He evidently intended to swim to the wreck, and stand on the higher portions of it. It required only a few strokes for a powerful swimmer such as he would doubtless be.

But the unfortunate man never reached the galleon. After he had plunged in he was hidden from my view by the breakwater. My glass was levelled carefully on the scene, and the whole of it was in the field. I expected almost instantly to see his burly figure rising from the three or four feet of water that covered the poop of the galleon, but he did not appear. Not only did he fail to appear, but there arose immediately the greatest excitement among the others. The Indians began to throw up their arms and shout and to cast stones into the basin. The negro covered his face with his hand as though to shut out some fearful sight.

The meaning of all this did not penetrate to my mind at once. I could not understand the disappearance of the captain. But the conduct of the Indians, in their shouting and stone-throwing, led me presently to conjecture the real state of the case. It was the imprisoned shark. I now recollected that he lay in the basin like a sentinel guarding the galleon. The captain had been attacked by the fish, and probably killed. The conduct of his followers would soon determine this. Mr. Millward called up to me to know what the evident excitement meant. In a moment more I caught a glimpse of what seemed a blood stain on the surface of the pool, though of course I could not be sure; for while the glass brought the view up to an apparent distance of not over ten rods, still there was a certain glimmer due to the refraction of the light which made such a thing as a discoloration of the water an extremely difficult thing to see. But putting all together,—the disappearance of the captain, the fact that the shark was there, and finally the conduct of the remaining members of the party,—I felt morally certain that he had met his fate in a horrible death from the treacherous fish. If such was the case (and there seemed to be no escape from the conclusion) I felt sure there would be no further attempts made by the party to get at the wreck until they could get rid of the shark. I told my companions what I had seen and my conclusions drawn therefrom, and they agreed with the latter.

I came down on deck, as we could watch the doings of the party on the rocks quite well from there, though we could not see into the basin.

The three Indians and the negro were now gathered together in a group on the rock, evidently engaged in a consultation. Presently the negro started off down the beach toward Home Creek, and the Indians remained at the rock. We immediately concluded that he had gone to their camp to get a shark hook, or the gun, or some means of destroying the man-eater. I at once made up my mind that we did not want our sentinel destroyed, and that the only way to prevent it was to reach the camp ahead of the negro, and get possession of the shotgun and ammunition. There would be no one at Farm Cove now except possibly the Chinaman, who would be left there as a guard to the property. I recollected his propensity for knitting and sleeping, and thought it possible to catch him napping if I could arrive there before the negro. He would require over two hours to go, and would most likely sail back in the pearl-fishers’ sloop, and would then be in a position, with the gun, to make the neighborhood too warm for us. I determined to be beforehand with him if possible. I could do this by sailing down to Farm Cove in my boat, along the west coast, which would not take longer than an hour. The Chinaman, if he should be keeping a bright lookout, which was not very likely, would not be expecting anybody from the sea. The chances of success in the enterprise seemed more than even.

I explained the plan to Alice and her father, and the necessity that existed for speed and promptness in its execution. After much hesitation, particularly on Alice’s part, they finally agreed that the move was a proper and advisable one. I immediately cast loose the “Mohawk” and made sail, leaving the Millwards and their boat at anchor. As I parted from them I told Mr. Millward to keep a bright lookout, and if he should see the pearl-fishers’ sloop coming before my boat, to weigh anchor and stand to the north, and then make his way as best he could to Martinique, and assured him that I would follow in my own boat if I came to no harm. The wind was light, and had shifted so that I had it fairly on the port beam, and made satisfactory speed on the way. I would have at least a half-hour to spare before the negro could make the distance by land, the route he was taking, and probably an hour, unless he made more haste than I believed he felt occasion to do.

When I came nearly opposite the cove I bore up close-hauled and headed fairly for the sloop, which lay moored at the mouth of the little stream, and came boldly in. If the Chinaman should be at the tent the intervening foliage would prevent him from seeing me, and if he was on board the sloop, which was not likely, I would soon see him. When I drew up alongside the sloop, keeping the sails full to prevent their flapping in the slight breeze, I found it deserted, and immediately made fast leaving my sails hoisted ready for a rapid retreat if it should be required. Now the greatest caution became necessary. If the Chinaman was at the camp I must see him before he saw me. Moreover, I conceived that there was no time to spare even if I had a full hour before me.

From my previous visits and observations the lay of the land was perfectly familiar to me. The best way to reach the tent would be to follow up the creek, where I would be screened from view by the oleanders that grew on its banks. This would necessitate swimming for a few rods just at the mouth, and I felt a little nervous at the recollection of the recent shark episode, but rightly concluded that the sharks could not be very plentiful hereabouts, or the diving could not have been carried on. Without delay I slipped gently over the side into the water and swam in until my feet found bottom. It grew rapidly shallow now until the water was soon only ankle-deep in the little narrow rivulet. Cautiously advancing I soon came to a point where the tent was visible. The gun and ammunition hung in their old place, but no Chinaman could be seen. The stream took a bend here, and by following it completely round I could gain a spot within a couple of rods of the tent. This I safely reached and looked around again for the Chinaman, but he was not to be seen. I then waited, watched, and listened for fully five minutes, but could get no trace or sign of him. The gun was so near that I then made up my mind to make a bold dash for it. If I could get hold of the gun I did not care for the Chinaman. With this intent I started on a run straight for the tent before me.

I had not taken three steps before my foot came down exactly upon the celestial lying flat on his back asleep in the grass. I must have knocked the wind out of him completely, as my foot backed up by my whole weight struck him fairly in the pit of the stomach. He squirmed and struggled up to a sitting posture, but did not cry out nor make any effort to stop me. Indeed, I believe the fellow could not have cried out to save his life after the foul blow he had received in the diaphragm.

I turned to look at him as I ran on, but did not pause until I had the weapon in my hands, a cartridge in both barrels, and the belt of ammunition buckled around my waist. I was now master of the situation, as I supposed. I looked around the tent to see if there were any other firearms, but could see none. My back was momentarily turned towards the prostrate foe, when a curious whistling sound caught my ear, and instinctively I wheeled quickly around just in time to escape a knife which he had thrown at my back with all the dexterity of a juggler. Instantly I covered him with the gun, and there never was a Chinaman nearer death, who lived to tell it, than this yellow scoundrel at that moment. My finger was on the trigger, when he threw himself face down flat on the grass with his arms stretched toward me, the palms together. It was not worth while nor did I want to kill him, I reflected in a moment, and moreover I did not care to fire the gun, for there was no telling how near the negro might be. So, keeping an eye upon him as long as I could see him lying there, I hurried down to the boats. Just as I reached the place where they were moored I caught a glimpse of the light-blue blouse of the Chinaman as he ran swiftly up the path toward the top of the cliffs.