I, however, do lean back and say something.
"I have placed my hand on the Santa Magdalena today, but I cannot get inside her." I tell them of my explorations. "Does anyone have any ideas?"
Silence.
"We could place a charge," says Tink, far down on the table.
"Hmm," says Dr. Sebastian. "There is a problem with that—how to keep the fuse dry on the way down."
"And we could just blow everything all over the place and then not find anything," I answer.
"There's no way to rig an underwater lantern so she could see her way into the hull?" asks Tilly.
"No, there is not."
"You said the wood was soft, Jacky," says Davy. "Perhaps we could go at her that way."
"Yes," I say, grasping on to the thread of his idea. "Maybe we can peel her like an orange."
"Hmmm..." muses Captain Hudson. "Yes. We could rig up a grappling hook on a very stout line, then lower it down, and our intrepid mermaid here could attach the hook to various parts of the wreck and we could take a strain on the rope and pull the sunken ship apart—exposing its innards, as it were."
"And the very much stronger capstan on the Dolphin will serve much better than our puny winch," says Davy, and all concur. I think Davy secretly enjoys having a familiar conversation with a Post Captain of His Majesty's Royal Navy.
Careful, Davy, remember you are still a member of that service.
"What about that pirate Jimenez hanging about?" says Jaimy.
"Ah, well, he already knows what we are up to, so no sense in hiding," I say. "But if we ever start bringing up anything of value, we might try to keep that out of his sight."
Agreement all around.
And so it is decided. That is what we shall do. Of course, I had already come up with this idea, on the way up in the bell's last dive, but sometimes it's best that you let the males think it was their plan from the start. It's easier that way.
Back into my clammy swimsuit—note to self: Get another one of these made, and one that doesn't crawl up the crack of my bum—then it's back on deck and into the bell. Before I duck under, I notice a coil of thick rope on the Dolphin's deck, rope that ends in a three-pronged grappling hook. All right, down we go again.
Reaching the bottom, I see the grappling hook has come down with me, lying off to the left, waiting. Well, it will not have to wait long, for I know exactly what I am going to do—which is to give those above a taste of gold.
I slip out of the bell and take the grappling rope in hand. There is not enough slack in it for my purpose, so I give it a sharp tug and more line comes slowly tumbling down. I pick up the grappling hook and clasp it to my chest, to head off for the mainmast. The hook does not weigh nearly as much down here as it does in the air, which is good, else I would not be able to do this.
Back to the bell for a breath—'cause this is hard work—then it's back out again. This time I take up the hook and wrap the line three or four times around the base of the mast—sorry, Jesus—and then fasten the hook to its own lead line. There. All secure. Let's go up.
When the bell breaks the surface, I am out in an instant and over to the deck of the Dolphin. There are twelve men standing at their posts around the capstan wheel, each with a thick wooden spar in their hand, which is inserted into a slot on the head of the capstan winch. This capstan is capable of lifting a very stubborn five-hundred-pound anchor off the bottom of the sea; let's see what it can do here.
"All right, lads, put your backs to it!"
And they do, trudging around in a circle till the slack is taken up, and then they are brought to a stop.
Grunting, they put more force into it, but the capstan still does not turn.
I run over and get next to a likely cove and lend my puny strength to his, and I lift my voice.
As I was a-goin' round Cape Horn,
GO DOWN, you blood-red roses, GO DOWN!
I wished to the Lord, I'd never been born!
GO DOWN, you blood-red roses, GO DOWN!
It's an old capstan chantey, designed to make the grueling work of lifting anchors and raising heavy sails go easier, and the men immediately take it up, coming down hard on the GO DOWN! parts with both voice and muscles.
Oh, you pinks and posies,
GO DOWN, you blood-red roses, GO DOWN!
I push hard on the oaken bar, next to the rough seaman, who I am sure will recount this to his children should he survive to have any. "Push, Jacky," he says, then laughs, and we push with all our might. Push!
Just one more pull and that'll do, boys,
GO DOWN, you blood-red roses, GO DOWN!
And we're just the boys to pull her through!
GO DOWN, you blood-red roses, GO DOWN!
I lean on the damned stick, pushing with all my might, and then, suddenly, I feel it let go. There is a shout from the sailors on the wheel as they run around the capstan. I let go and run to the side.
The taut line comes streaming out of the water, all eyes fastened upon it, fathom after fathom, and then, suddenly, the mainmast of the Santa Magdalena comes breaking through the surface, and there, with the silt of the sea washed off ... is Jesus, glowing in agony on the cross. A roar goes out from all of the throats on both the ships.
Gold!
Chapter 34
After the joy of seeing the golden crucifix come up into the air, we settle into the serious business of salvage. I go back down and so does the grappling hook.
I swim over to the Santa Magdalena and ask for forgiveness for the ripping out of her mainmast, which left a gaping hole in her deck but still gives no access to her lower spaces. None that I could use, anyway. However, I do see where I must hook the grapples for the next pull—the edge of the main cargo hatch—and it is there that I attach it. Giving the hook line several jerks, I dart back out of the way as the slack is taken up and the hook takes hold.
I get back into the bell and watch from a window. The grappling rope quivers with the tension of the pull, but finally the hatch top lifts and falls over the side of the ship, neatly out of the way.
Big breath, slip out, and swim over the now-open hatch.
That's more like it.
The Magdalena's gun deck lies beneath me. Plainly, it was the officers' mess. There is a long table, over on its side, and ghostly chairs scattered about. My poor Emerald must look a lot like this, lying as she does on the bottom of the Atlantic, I think sadly. But enough of that—push on, girl.
There are the butt ends of the big cannons and more hatchways leading down into darkness. Hmmmmm ... That would be the Captain's cabin right there. It makes sense that he would keep his precious cargo near him and all in one place, so it could be easily guarded against pilferage. It would be a powerful temptation, as I imagine the common Spanish seaman is no better paid than ours.
Let's see what that holds. I put the hook to the upper edge of the Captain's hatchway and give the signal. The boys upstairs do their work and the whole front of the cabin comes off, as well as the roof. The rotten wood hangs in the hooks for a moment and then falls apart.
Back for a breath to let the dust settle and then back to the Captain's cabin. There is a table, chairs, a bed with the springs rotted out, crumbling shelves, spilled plates. I pick one up and look at it—it is gold but it is not the treasure.
I return to the bell and give the return rope a tug and settle in—got to go back up to get some more fresh air. What a bother...
"Well, there's proof we're in the right spot," says Dr. Sebastian, who is examining the plate I had brought up. "Look at this."
I've got a towel around me and am slurping from the hot mug of tea that Higgins has kindly brought me, and I look at where the Doctor is pointing. Around the outer edge of the plate is inscribed La Santa Magdalena, Siempre lista.
Well, almost always prepared, I think.
Much jubilation all around.
Well, that proves it to them, but I already knew, deep in my soul, that it was she we were diving on, so I turn to more practical matters.
"John Thomas. Finn. This time let's lower the net swag bag as well. One tug on that line will mean take a tension on the grappling line and pull for all you're worth. Two tugs will mean slack off. Three tugs will mean pull up the swag bag. Everybody got that? Good. Let's go back down."
With the new signals I am better able to control the tearing apart of the Magdalena. Now I put the hooks to the underdeck of the Captain's cabin, and give a tug on the line, and the deck is lifted off. This yields nothing but an empty storeroom below—probably the Captain's own stores, the victuals long ago devoured by the denizens of the deep. I slack off the hooks and wait for the dust to settle. When it does, I see some bottles and I take two and put them in the net bag—maybe the wine'll still be good. Worth a try. Some four-decades-old fine Spanish amontillado? Yum. Back for a good, deep breath.
And so it goes—put the hooks on, tear away at the wreck, slack the hooks, wait for the silt to settle, check on the progress, and it's back into the bell for another breath. Repeat the process, then make the trip back up every half hour or so, and then head back down again. I like working on the Magdalena because the possibility of success is wildly exciting, but the trips back up in the bell are becoming tedious.
I'm three decks down in the after section of the ship when I see it—a heavy door studded with metal bolts, with a thick chain drawn across it and secured with a large padlock. On the deck in front are two skulls and the remnants of weaponry—guards, perhaps, who stayed at their post till the end? We shall see.
I give two tugs on the net bag line to get some slack in the hook's line and then slip the grapples under the chain. One tug to signal those above to take a strain and then back to the bell to catch a breath.
From inside the bell, I see the door being lifted up and away. I nip back out to give the bag line a tug so that they'll let the door sink to the ocean floor—no sense hauling up a useless slab of wood and chain. Then I float back over the wreck, and...
Oh, my God...
I gasp and get a mouthful of salt for my astonishment. There is so much gold that it spills out the now open doorway. I kick down and peer into the vault—there are casks upon casks of golden coins, some of which have fallen apart, their contents spilling onto the deck. There are chests that contain who knows what splendor. There are golden crosses and chalices and stacks and stacks of ingots and ... oh, Lord, riches untold!
I have found the treasure of the Santa Magdalena!
I must go tell them! I dart down and pick up a gold coin for proof and stuff it down the front of my suit top and race back to the bell. I'm about to go under, but I'm so excited that I just can't do it, I just can't! Not the slow old bell, not now!
I look up at the hulls of the ships hanging above me and think, It ain't so far, girl, and it'll be a helluva lot quicker! Go!
And I do it.
I give my fins a flip and race for the surface, my legs pumping as fast as I can. Oh, wait till they hear!
It's funny, I'm thinkin' as I go up, air keeps bubbling out of my lungs. I let out a lungful and then clamp my lips shut, but my chest just fills back up again and I let that out and it happens again. No, it's not just funny, it's hilarious! It's magic!
That's it! I must have been turned into a real mermaid! Oh, this is just like flying! I don't need any stupid bell. I could live down here forever! Go up? Nay, I think I'll go right back down to the bottom and play with the cute little fishies ... no, wait ... I'll go get Jaimy, and we'll both go down together and live happily ever after in that beautiful place with the waving fans and ... Oh, this is all just so glorious! Ha-ha! I could just burst with happiness! I feel so good all over, every inch of me tingles with utter joy!