The Dead Ship’s Grave
FIFTEEN minutes of plodding against the soft resistance of water brought Hawk to a clearing in the forest of the sea, and he stood motionless for many seconds beneath the fronds of a dancing fern and studied what met his gaze. Excitement raced in his blood.
There, within fifty feet of him, lay the grotesque, bare ribs of a sailing vessel, reaching forlornly up to the light of the world it had left centuries before. There was something pitiful about the timbers, though there remained little more than a skeleton of the Spanish ship which had once been counted as the greatest in the mighty gold fleet.
Slightly dazed with the thrill of discovery, Hawk looked to his lines, adjusted his equilibrium valve, and then approached the ship. Under him was a hard surface of coral, pitted here and there with patches of yielding sand. His lead shoe struck something harder than coral and he stopped and turned the light down toward his feet.
He saw a brass cannon, dull and eaten by erosion; but even now, after centuries of immersion, a remnant of a coat of arms was still visible. To lift the gun in the world of light and air would have been impossible, but Hawk stooped now and, without seeming effort, turned the cannon on its side and knelt close to the brass. Letters were missing from the inscription below the shield, but Hawk was able to make out several letters which, when pieced and supplemented, spelled out Ciudad de Oro.
This, then, was the ship he had come to find, and somewhere near him lay gold to the amount of two million dollars. But Hawk was not thinking of the money just then. There was something about the pitiful skeleton which made him kneel motionless at her side, thinking about the gallant men who had trod her decks, of their hopes and dreams, their colorful swagger. Somewhere in the after part of those bones, toasts had been drunk to a long-dead king. Beautiful ladies had waited for the ship which had never returned, and had mourned the men whose lifeless bodies had lain here in the sea.
Hawk could see her now as she had been then. He could see the proud flag whipping above the white, emblazoned sails. He could fancy the glint of the sun on brass, and see the bone in the teeth of the galleon as it beat up through the Windward Passage, bound for Spain. He could almost hear the sickening crunch of her bows as they had struck the coral of a treacherous reef. He could see her drifting away while men tried to abandon her. And Hawk well knew the sound of a dying ship; the moaning and screeching of escaping air as the precious cargo turned traitor and brought the ship down to its grave.
Hawk shook himself, and with an effort brought his thoughts back to the present.
He got to his feet and walked up to the side of the ship, playing his lamp over the surviving cross ribs. Carefully he examined the position of the beams and was finally able to determine the position of the bow. Then he walked aft, cautious lest he plunge off into a hole, and paced the distance. Noting it, Hawk grasped a timber and sought the air valve with his other hand. The suit filled and puffed out. Gradually he felt the weight lessen against his feet until he was almost floating in watery space.
With a spring that carried him high in spite of the slow motion imposed upon him, he was able to snatch at the end of the beam and look down into the remains of the hull. Carefully separating his lines from fouling timber, he went over the side and drifted down into the blackness.
His feet touched hard metal objects, which proved to be cannons, bolts, pike heads, cutlass handles, chest locks, grappling hooks—in short, anything made of copper and brass which had survived its wood and iron mates. Stumbling and lurching, Hawk walked slowly aft and played his light about him until he saw that he stood where colorful quarters had once housed the chivalry of two worlds.
Confident, his excitement mounting with each passing instant, Hawk moved chunks of metal from his path and watched expectantly for the glint of gold bars or brass chests. But he was doomed to temporary disappointment by the discovery of gaping holes in the cross ribs, which hinted that the three tons or so of gold had long ago slipped through to the sandy floor.
Hawk stopped and scowled at the offending openings, then turned to make his way up over the side once more. He let himself down and noticed, for the first time, that he was dizzy and shaking—too long below, and deadly nitrogen was ready to bubble in his blood.
He shoved his chin against the buzzer plate. “Haul the lifeline tight and note its direction and length. I’m coming up.”
“It’s about time!” exclaimed the voice on the other end. “I’ve been listening to you mumble and grumble and swear and exclaim until I’m all wore out! Did you find the stuff?”
“No,” breathed Hawk. “No, I didn’t find it.” It was hard to realize that another world—one of ambition and greed—existed. It was quiet here. Quiet and peaceful, and wondrously beautiful. The forest under the sea…
“Hell!” Hawk snapped to himself. “I must be out on my feet!”