There were several stacks of something covered with sheets of canvas. I lifted one-silver bars. I hefted the nearest. Not less than thirty pounds. Stepping back, I judged the sizes of the piles.
Eight … perhaps ten tons of silver!
The silver was neatly piled, with cross-beams of oak to hold it in place so the cargo would not shift. Beyond, in a smaller cabin or locker, was what I hoped to find: not one chest, but three. I tested the weight. Heavy … very heavy, yet I was a strong man, and such weights had once been common enough for me.
One by one I carried them into the main hold, then closed the door and locked it once again.
Back on deck, I rigged tackle over the hold and hoisted the boxes, one at a time, to the deck. Then I lowered them into the boat. Although the boat could carry twenty men and their gear, she was well down in the water when I loosed my painter and shoved off.
I saw the name on the galleon’s stern—San Juan de Dios.
My heart was beating heavily, and I was perspiring, but not from the work I had done. I had no need to examine the chests. I knew what was in them.
If I could only get away with what I had here beside me, there need never again be hunger, thirst, or cold.
I would have my fortune…
6
Holding as close to the shore as was practical, I rowed the heavily laden boat westward. Along the shores were great stands of cypress and swamp gum festooned with Spanish moss. Behind the clumps of trees in some places lay swamp or shrub bogs covered with evergreens, all low-growing.
Somewhere I had to find solid ground, or a river leading inland, up which I might take my cargo. Now that I had a boat loaded with supplies and wealth, I was a worried man, for fear that I might come upon Indians or even pirates, many of whom haunted these shores, lying in wait for Spanish vessels.
As I moved, I kept alert for whatever might come, yet a part of my mind worried over yet another question. There had been but little water in the ship’s hold that I could see, and not much damage that was visible—surely not enough damage to cause the passengers to abandon ship in such a quiet sound. Something or somebody must have frightened them. There could be but one reason I could think of: They wanted the ship’s treasure. If such was the case, then I could expect them to come searching for the ship … and soon.
The wind was rising, yet I hesitated to hoist my sail. With the sail I could move faster and easier, but my boat would be more visible.
I worked the boat among some small islands, most of which were strips of sand and mud covered with low growth. Many of these, I suspected, would be temporary, to be flooded out by the next big Atlantic storm, with heavy rain or snow. Yet now they offered concealment, and a sort of backwater where I might feel safe a moment.
My eye caught a break in the end of an islet near me. I moved up around the end of the island to see that it was cleft from the end almost to the middle. The cleft was walled to the water’s edge by a thick growth of willows and swamp gum. Deliberately, I trailed one oar and pulled on the other, turning the bow of my boat into the cleft.
The green walls closed about me. Catching at branches, I eased the boat to a stop before it hit into the mud at the bank, then I made it fast to a small tree. Now, unless someone came right past the end of the islet, I was hidden, lost to the world. Filling a shot pouch and powder horn, I checked the loads on another pistol and a musket, and stepped ashore.
Now to find a place to hide my fortune, if such a place could be had. Hidden well, and above high-water level.
Catching hold of a slim tree, I swung myself ashore. The islet was no more than a hundred yards long, perhaps less, and like its neighbors it was covered with low brush and small trees. Near the upper end of the islet there was a mass of driftwood, a tangle of roots, branches, and bark that had floated down the river and piled up here. Several of the logs offered a convenient bridge to the next little islet and from there it might not be difficult to get ashore.
I returned to the boat and found bread and cheese, enough to make a meal. Slipping a few squares of ship’s biscuit into my shirt, I crossed to the neighboring islet, then waded through the shallow water to the shore.
For an hour I walked steadily inland or what I believed was inland, for with the number of water courses, streams, and swamps, it was impossible to be sure. Yet finally I came to higher ground and a thick stand of cedar giving way to pine. Turning to look back, I found only a few steps from me an edge of the forest with a view of the sound from which I had come. At first I saw nothing, and then I did … the ship was moving!
She had somehow worked herself free of her position and the wind and tide were moving her inland toward the shore. Slowly, gracefully she moved. She was down in the water, all right, but not very much, and the tide, coupled with the rising wind, was moving her along. I watched her, thinking of those tons of silver, yet I had no way of moving them.
Still …
Watching her, my eyes caught something else, something closer to me. I shifted my gaze. Had I been mistaken? There was nothing. Yet even as I turned away my eyes caught the movement again.
A moment I waited, looking. Faint … yes, it was smoke. Only a suggestion, and it was some distance off, perhaps two or three miles, but there was smoke.
Savages? Perhaps. And perhaps, too, it was my former Spanish acquaintances. My excitement caused me to consider. After all, what were they to me? Had they not left me, abandoning me to my fate?
They were no business of mine. None at all. What I imagined was a mystery about Guadalupe Romana was nothing to be concerned about. She was to be married. She was probably looking forward to it with some excitement, even though she did not know the man. And she had protectors … of a sort.
Yet I could not completely convince myself. Suddenly I became aware that I was walking, I was already headed toward that smoke.
“Feet,” I said aloud, “you lead me to trouble. For as surely as I go back to them, there will be strife.”
Yet, when I stopped to think of it, when had I not known trouble? And was not struggle the law of growth?
It took me more than an hour to get close to the smoke, though it was little more than a mile away.
The camp was on high ground among the pines, and I could see their fire a good hundred yards before I was expecting it. They were less than careful, which did not surprise me, but they had company, which did.
I paused behind some brush and looked them over carefully. At the distance I could only make out the fire, some smoke, and several more people than I had expected to see. I had started to approach closer for a better look when I heard, close by me, a faint chink of metal on metal.
Instantly, I was immobile, my hand on my sword. The brush was thick, so I squatted to peer through the stems where there might be fewer leaves.
I found myself looking into a pair of squinting brown eyes belonging to a man who was crouching not six feet from me.
“Captain Tatton Chantry,” I said, “and may I be of service?”
He blinked. He had the advantage of me, for his blade was in his hand. “That you may,” he replied grimly. “I’d like to know who the bloody hell you are and what you think you’re doing?”
“Merely a passing wayfarer,” I replied cheerfully, “left ashore by the ship the Good Catherine when we were attacked by Indians. And you?”
“The Catherine was a ship, y’ say, and not a woman? ‘Twould not be the first time a man had been left high and dry by a woman.”
“It was indeed a ship, and carrying all I owned it was. Gone now, and here I stand.”
“And here you squat, y’ should say, because that’s what you’re a-doin’. I am wondering if your story’s a true one.”