The _Madre de Dios_
My father opened his eyes wide, and his mouth also, so that his pipe
clattered on the oaken floor and was broken into a score of
fragments.
"The _Madre de Dios_!" he exclaimed at length. "You speak truly--the
same _Madre de Dios_ concerning which Fergusson adventured himself
in the last reign?"
"The same, Captain Hammond. I have the secret under my thumb."
"You know where the wreck lies hidden?"
"Aye, but that matters little. The treasure is not in her, but lies
in a safe place."
Even I had heard the wonderful story of the Spanish treasure ship.
'Twas well known that in the last century Sir John Berkeley, during
his attack upon Porto Rico, had captured a Spanish caravel, the
_Madre de Dios_. On her he found pearls worth ten thousand ducats,
gold dust, ingots, and other treasure to the value of 400,000
pounds. Of this vast spoil Sir John shipped about one-half aboard
his own ship, sending the _Madre_ under convoy for England. The
caravel, overtaken by a furious north-easterly gale, was lost with
all hands amongst the islands of the Lesser Antilles, and although
expeditions innumerable had been sent out to discover the wreck,
none had met with success. If Captain Jeremy Miles was not deceiving
himself and us also, a king's ransom was almost within his grasp.
"Pardon me if I put it bluntly," said my father, "but if you know
where the treasure lies, why have you not recovered it ere now?"
"That I'll explain, methinks, to your satisfaction, though 'tis a
long story. Yet, to put it briefly, I was cast away on the island
where the treasure lieth in the year 1674. For two years I was cut
off from my fellow-men, till a Spanish barque took me off. It goes
without saying that I told the Dons naught concerning the treasure;
but on setting foot in England once more, I took steps to obtain
command of a vessel trading with the Indies. Yet ill fortune
thwarted my purpose."
"How so?"
"Head winds and pestilence. Then, though I was averse to sharing my
secret, I applied to my Lord Rochester to intercede with the King;
but, since I was only a plain merchant captain, and no King's
officer, my lord must needs flout me and deride my statement."
"My Lord Rochester had his own views on this matter, I take it,"
remarked my father. "There were no less than forty applications to
his late Majesty from would-be treasure seekers. Fergusson went and
failed; Captain Calcott did likewise, and now Phipps has been gone
these two years, spending the King's money and using his ships of
war, which might be more profitably employed elsewhere. Nay, I
cannot blame my Lord Rochester."
"But I do!" exclaimed Captain Miles vehemently. "Not for his
refusal, mark you, for he's the loser on't, but for his churlish
manner. 'Twas mainly for this reason that I set out to join
Monmouth's standard, for, had all been well, I am certain he would,
as a man of spirit and enterprise, have been willing to grant me aid
in the search."
"The Duke will need all his spirit and enterprise to save his neck
from the headsman's axe," replied my father. "But concerning this
matter?"
"I have a proposal to make, Captain Hammond. But ere we go farther,
'tis worth while laying hands on the chart."
"Aye," replied my father. "The sale is fixed for to-morrow, so I'll
to Lymington and secure the picture at all costs."
The subject was then dropped for the time, yet I did not fail to
notice that my sire was by no means in his usual spirits, but seemed
preoccupied, and inclined to irritability. Constance, too, noticed
the change.
"What doth he ponder over?" she asked. "Is there fresh trouble
coming upon us? Have they discovered aught of that affair on the
Lyndhurst Road?" and she gave a little shudder at the remembrance of
it.
"Nay," I replied. "That affair has, I hope, blown over. Something is
in the wind, nevertheless, for I doubt not that our father and
Captain Miles are engaging upon some profitable enterprise; it may
happen that a voyage to the West Indies will restore the fortunes of
our house."
"But will father have to go to sea again?" she asked anxiously.
"It may so happen," I replied.
"And you----?"
"I would I could," I rejoined earnestly, for 'twas my cherished
ambition to go to sea; yet I feared my father would withhold his
consent.
The next day my father and I rode into Lymington, and having left
our horses at the "Hart", we repaired to Jeremy's house.
It was a long, low-built, thatched-roofed building, standing at the
bottom of the steep High Street, and overlooking the muddy harbour
where the Lym stream joins the sea. The door and the frames of the
diamond-paned windows were painted a vivid green--possibly the work
of the energetic seaman; while above the porch was nailed an effigy
of a woman holding an arrow in her hand--the figurehead of one of
his former vessels.
Crowds of eager and curious townsfolk were gathered without the door
on which the sheriff's notice of the sale was affixed, while two
tip-staves, escorting a lean, pale-faced man, were trying to force
their way through the press of onlookers.
"'Tis the attorney for the Crown," whispered my father, pointing to
the white-faced man, who was evidently ill at ease. "'Tis fortunate
for him that he has a troop of horse within ear-shot, or I'll
warrant he would have a warm reception."
But even the presence of the soldiers, who were drawn up in an alley
leading to the quay, did not prevent volleys of rotten eggs and
street garbage being directed against the sheriff's representative,
till, the door being opened, he disappeared within, followed by the
incensed townsfolk. Jeremy was, as I have mentioned, a general
favourite in and around Lymington; and, besides, his rash
participation in the revolt was not unfavourably regarded by his
fellow-townsmen, who took this opportunity of expressing their
practical sympathy with the absent Captain.
By dint of much elbowing we succeeded in gaining admission to the
house, and, to my inexperienced eyes, the scene within was strange
and pathetically interesting, as preparations were made to dispose
of our friend's goods and chattels.
By threats, entreaties, and commands the sheriff's officer obtained
comparative quiet, and amidst the groans of his audience he read the
proclamation setting forth that the house and goods of Captain
Jeremy Miles, he having been declared a traitor to His Majesty King
James, were to be sold forthwith.
Thereupon one of the tip-staves produced a long wax candle having a
number of metal pegs stuck into it at regular intervals. This he
proceeded to light; the first lot was announced, and the highest
bid, ere the uppermost peg fell from the melted wax, secured the
submitted article.
In the excitement, as bidder after bidder was outbidden, even the
voices of the malcontents were hushed; while as peg after peg
dropped out and rebounded from the oaken table, the clang of the
hammer could scarce drown the angry remonstrances of the
disappointed would-be purchasers.
Thus the auction proceeded, and from room to room we went, watching
the disposal of the Captain's goods. One or two instruments of
navigation my father secured, though, as I knew he already possessed
similar ones, I guessed that they were for Jeremy's future use.
At length the parlour was reached, and between the heads of the
crowd and the low, raftered ceiling I caught a glimpse of the
fateful painting--a ship under all plain sail, set with a vivid blue
sea and a cloudless sky of an almost similar colour.
My father marked it likewise, for he straightened himself, and
coughed slightly once or twice to clear his throat.
"Lot Seventy-two. A painting by a worthy Neapolitan artist, Messer
Tito Cozzini, of--of--I cannot decipher the place--methinks it looks
like Foggia."
The taper was again applied to the candle, the feeble light
flickering dimly in the dusty, crowded room. No one seemed anxious
to possess the work of art, for my father, concealing his
impatience, had purposely withheld his bid. The metal peg began to
droop in its support of melting wax.
"A crown," said my father.