The Treasure of the "San Philipo"

by Percy F. Westerman

For'ard everything was battened down, but the main companion hatch was left slightly open to admit fresh air to the cabin, and as sea after sea swept over our decks I could hear the ponderous blows of the masses of solid water as they flung themselves against the stout framework of the hatchway, on the lee side of which the watch on deck sheltered themselves as much as possible from the fury of the storm.

Slowly the hours passed; yet, although long after sunrise, the thick black clouds made the atmosphere so dark that it was impossible to see much farther than the length of the yacht, while flash after flash of lightning momentarily pierced the sombre gloom.

At the height of the storm the dreadful cry arose, "The anchors are coming home!" And this proved only too true, for our ground tackle was slowly dragging over the sandy bottom of the lagoon, and four hundred yards astern was the coral beach, on which the breakers would smash the "Fortuna" into matchwood in less than five minutes.

At the first alarm I rushed on deck, and, holding on like grim death to a belaying pin, I remained, washed by several successive seas, most of the crew doing likewise and grimly awaiting the end.

Suddenly there was a tremendous shock, as if the vessel had struck, and in the glare of a vivid flash we perceived that bearing down on us was a huge wave the like of which I had never seen before, and want never to see again. Fifty feet in height, the steep, unbroken mass rushed towards the "Fortuna," and, expecting her to be wrenched from her cables and buried beneath tons of green seas, we tightened our grip and gazed with feelings akin to panic on the approaching wave.

Above the roar of the oncoming water I heard my father shout, "Down below, all of you! It's our only chance!" and I was conscious of being dragged to the shelter of the companion, down which a scurrying stampede took place to gain a doubtful shelter.

The next instant the "Fortuna" seemed to literally stand upon end; we were all hurled, a struggling mass of humanity, against the after bulkhead, which to all intents and purposes became the floor. Then, after hours, as it seemed, of sickening suspense, during which we were in doubt as to whether the vessel still floated or was being borne down to the bottom of the lagoon, the "Fortuna" pitched forward till we were in danger of being thrown to the other end of the saloon, while on deck we could hear the ominous crash of broken wood and the sound of water pouring through the scuppers. Then, except for a slight roll, the yacht became as steady as if at anchor in a landlocked harbour.

With an exclamation of astonishment the bos'n dashed up the companion, and, without waiting to slide back the hatch, eeled himself through the narrow opening and gained the deck, the rest of us following closely.

A scene of confusion met our eyes. The mizzen-mast, broken off close to the deck, lay over our starboard quarter; part of the rail on the port bow was torn away, and the gig, wrenched from its strong lashings, was wedged against the fore side of the companion, with several of its planks stove in. But the cause of the bos'n's astonishment was the fact that right ahead of the "Fortuna," and less than two hundred yards away, was an enormous ledge of rock, some twenty to forty feet in height, stretching in front of us like a stone wall, its extremities lost in the semi-gloom, forming a natural breakwater.

Although the storm still raged furiously, and the showers of spray rose beyond the rock and fell like hissing rain right over us, the yacht lay under the lee of the newly formed barrier, fretting at her cables, which were now rubbing under her fore-foot.