Drowned Gold/Chapter 23

HASTENED after him to the little compartment, equipping myself as I ran with the deafeners for my ears and the ponderous eye-pieces, and then, for a long time, stood looking at the sight before me. True enough, there lay the Esperanza, resting at the bottom of the declivity, and at the foot of the scar which she had made in her downward progress. She was tilted at such an angle that her whole side was plainly visible. The great hole amidships, torn by the torpedo that had sunk her, was exposed, and her plates were jagged and bent inward around its edges. Even as I looked, a number of deep-sea fish, looking monstrous and goggle-eyed, swam hastily out of her engine-room, and off into the depths, as if blinded by the glare of light fixed upon them. Aside from the wound that had brought her to death, the Esperanza seemed almost uninjured. There was but a slight coating of sea-deposit visible on her hull, and where she rested there was no sea-growth to wave and twist about her like a sub-ocean funeral shroud. At that moment was born the wild, almost frantic hope of salvaging not only the gold, but the ship herself, and something of the same thought must have been in Jimmy's mind, for he swung the searchlight slowly across her from stem to stern, giving an ample opportunity for inspection. It seemed certain that her keel was intact and uninjured. If that proved true, it might be possible to bring her to the surface, were it not for the great depth, and whether or not that would prove an insurmountable obstacle remained to be seen. One thing, however, was obvious, that only by bringing her to the surface could we reach the gold. The absurdity of all this speculation was realized when I remembered our position, for it was still a matter of anxiety and uncertainty whether we should be able to raise ourselves to the surface and save our own lives, which, for the time being, was assuredly of more importance than the salvaging of the Esperanza, or the treasure aboard her. Twisted Jimmy Martin, too, seemed to recall this, for he cut off his lights, dropped from his little platform, and we removed the deafeners and glasses, and met each other's eyes.



"Now for it," he said grimly.

"Yes," I answered. "We shall know within the next few minutes just about how desperate an effort is before us to climb back up. Do you realize that we are standing at sixty-two fathoms' depth, probably the greatest depth ever before attained by any living human being?"

For answer he turned and pointed to the gauges in front of him.

"Realize it? Good Lord, man! I have been shivering in a cold sweat up there on that platform every second of time since the gauge dropped below fifty-five. But she has not sprung a leak anywhere, has she?"

"Nothing reported," I answered, as together we turned and passed through the engine-room, where the men, unaware of our actual achievement, but evidently in suspense, stood waiting for orders.

I gave them commands, heard the first heavy throbbing of the pumps, and the roaring of the dynamos, and for an instant feared the worst. Then, with almost stately ease, the Hector's dials began to show ascent, the hydroplanes cut the water, and at a long angle we swept serenely upward out of the depths. The feat was accomplished with such ease that I could have shouted with exultation; for now I knew that the craft was not only the most powerful, but the most adept, of its kind in the entire world. We were, for the time being, absolute masters of everything on all the floors of all the seas at such depths. We were the salvage kings of the world. Fortunes beyond computation were actually within our reach. As we almost leapt above the surface of the water and opened the conning-tower and ventilator conduits, I again thought with overwhelming gratitude of Monsieur Périgord, that kindly old man who had put such possibilities within our reach, and could I at that moment have flashed him a message across the Atlantic, telling him of our success, I would have given five hundred dollars for such ability. I could picture to myself his gratification when a message reached him, for I felt how keenly interested he was in our endeavor, an endeavor which he had fathered and made possible for us.

We made most exact observations as to the location of the wreck, not caring to leave a tell-tale buoy to arouse comment and speculation, if by chance any ship came across it, and then, running light, turned toward Martinique, that lay, blue, beautiful, and bathed in sunlight, on the eastern horizon.

It was too late in the afternoon to begin operations on that day, and I took advantage of the remaining hours of daylight to make my way to that little village in which dwelt the friendly old cable officer, who had been of such splendid assistance to me, and who had actually accomplished the ambition of Monsieur Périgord. I was much disappointed when a strange face confronted me through the wicket. Monsieur le capitaine Fournier had been gone for some weeks. He, too, had been homesick for France, like that other exile, and his longings had been gratified. I secured his address from his successor before I wrote the following cablegram:

The cable officer started perfunctorily to check the message, and then his eyes opened wide, and he smiled up at me.

"Pardon me, monsieur," he said, "but is that the Périgord who lived so long in Maracaibo?"

Wondering somewhat at his curiosity, I replied in the affirmative.

"A most remarkable career, monsieur," he went on. "I have but to-day received newspapers telling of his arrival in France. Doubtless you would be interested in reading them. I have finished them from top to bottom, including the advertisements, and if you wish, you may have them."

I did wish them, and did accept them, and, impatient to read the news they contained, repaired to the little hotel where Jimmy and I had stopped, and where I was to meet him before our return to the Hector. We sat in our old private corner of the garden, and I read to him aloud, translating as I progressed, what had happened to our benefactor.

Monsieur Périgord, as became such a remarkable figure, and one who had made such a liberal sacrifice for France, had been given a welcome in the whole-hearted and generous French style upon his arrival. He had been publicly decorated by the President in person. It appeared that not only through me had he tried to ship gold to France, but that he had also contributed enormous sums during the entire course of the war in an anonymous way through his bankers, and that the President of France, having learned that he was the donor, had gleefully betrayed him and told of his generosity. I had not even dreamed of the extent of his affluence, for the paper stated that altogether he had given the enormous sum of one hundred million francs to the cause of France, not including the treasure which I had attempted to convey, and which was the first and only gift given openly in his own name. The paper stated that he had retired, considerably exhausted by the extravagance of the public reception, and public honors, to one of his châteaux that had been restored to him, where he was now in seclusion and peace. Another paper stated, with not too much delicacy, that Monsieur Périgord, like so many others in France, had completely impoverished himself by his patriotic gifts, and was now far from being even a moderately rich man.

When I read this last and concluding paragraph, both Jimmy and I found ourselves looking at each other with staring eyes.

"Well, what do you think of that, Tom? That poor old cuss gave us about the last dollar he had," declared Jimmy, in an awe-stricken mumble. "He knew he was broke at the time he made arrangements for the money, and was giving us the last of his wad on a blind chance that we would make good, and also because he was so big-hearted he was bound to show us he appreciated what you had done for him—just like a man who is dying passes over his pocket-knife and his watch to the friend who has stuck by him."

"Jimmy, it's up to you and me to make good," I said. "He is going to need us now more than he ever did in his life before, and somehow I have an idea that he did not at all depend upon us, and thought we were a pair of dreamers; so if we can help him out after he has broken himself for his country, and for us, we will play the score even or know the reason why."

"Aye! That we will!" exclaimed Twisted Jimmy, as if ratifying an agreement.

And it was with this determination imbuing both of us that on the following day the Hector led the way out of the cove, followed by the squat, ugly, dingy Sea-Gull, pulling an anything-but-beautiful barge and the pontoons that made our salvage equipment complete. I still recall most vividly that morning scene. It is some years since then, but I can still feel upon my face the soft landward breeze, the sight of high mountains, upreared and frowning behind us, the receding tropical growths and greens of the shore, the blue of the sea and the restless uplift of its surface, as we ploughed through it toward our destination. I remember that, standing on the tiny bridge of the submarine and keeping constant note of our speed and the tale of the compass, my exhilaration was subdued by a grave thought that after all we had but commenced our task, and that failure would be more bitter than ever if luck went against us. I almost regretted having sent such an exuberant message to Monsieur Périgord, in the quietude of his beloved France, for I knew that if that paragraph in the newspaper was true, and I was convinced it was, his hopes, like our own, were centred solely upon our success.

We were, after all, but explorers in an unknown field, for never yet in all the history of the seas had man been able to resurrect from its greater depths any of his treasures lost, save under the most propitious circumstances. Its floors, below fifty fathoms' depth, were laden with the accumulation of the centuries. Aye, this is true. A Spaniard had conquered the Incas of Peru, and wrested from them more than eight hundred million dollars' worth of gold, to have it in turn wrested from him by these same Caribbean waves and laid away in the inviolate treasure chests of the seas, together with the bones of those who, having tortured others, came, tortured themselves, to unapproachable graves. And grim was the guard these dead men kept over their ill-gotten treasure in the black sea-caverns beneath us. Dead men and gold removed from the reach of the living as if to teach the feebly strutting, striving conquistador of earth the futility of battling with an enemy whose face could not be so much as scarred by the prows of his ships.

We came to a halt near where we judged the Esperanza lay, but not quite above it, taking advantage of our knowledge to bring the barge to anchorage on the high edge of the shoal, and, determined to waste no time, brought the assembled force to work. There was much to do in those preliminaries. None but one who has worked in a wreckage outfit has much conception of the careful preparations that are requisite to even a less formidable task than ours. The handling of huge steel cylinders that must be submerged, the adjustment of the enormous pumps which must eventually drive the water from these and force air into them when once they are fixed to the wreck, the swinging of huge cranes, the handling of powerful donkey engines, and the thousand and one little details, upon any single one of which either success or failure depends, are exigencies which a layman does not appreciate. It would seem to the unthinking man that nothing could be more simple in shallow water than to lower a diver over the edge of a boat and when he grappled the wreck, hoist him aboard and haul away. A landsman does not stop to consider that the rise of a ground swell, or even the slightest sea, makes the seizure of the wreck almost an impossibility, for in the water at even a depth where all is still and serene the great hooks move up and down under the lift and fall of wave buoyancy most tantalizingly. Once the irons are fastened to a wreck in shallow waters, there is the constant danger that wave pressure alone will hoist her up, then bring her thumping down upon the bottom to her disintegration. It is for this reason that so few submarines are ever salvaged, save in the calmest of seas. Nature herself is, and will always remain, the most formidable opponent to the wrecker.

When our surface preparations had been made, the Hector again lowered herself, this time with complete confidence, to begin her share of the work. The first time when we attained that enormous depth, Twisted Jimmy and I had gone down in quivering fear, held in leash only by desperation. Familiarity does breed contempt, for on the second submergence to the sea floor, we descended with nothing more than a tensity brought about by a slight uncertainty, and on the third time we descended boldly. The Hector had proved competent. There was no danger that we could see, and we became accustomed to abnormal conditions.

We became mere workmen, Jimmy and I, down there at the bottom, drilling holes here and there through which to thrust interior locking eye-bolts, to which we expected to fasten our huge steel cylinders until buoyancy aided surface strength to lift the Esperanza from her sea-bed. We learned to manipulate the Hector in those great depths until we could poise her in position at will. We lived in a strange atmosphere of our own. Engrossed in our work, and forgetting that we were the first men to attempt such a task, we had forgotten the vicissitudes of the elements themselves on that third day, when, after successfully attaching one of the huge steel cylinders to the Esperanza, we came to the surface to rest for the night, and were told by the chief officer aboard the tug that his barometer was beginning to show signs of unrest, and ours speedily confirmed it. We were actually astonished when we looked up that evening, expecting sunlight, to find a sky overcast, and flying streamers of warning clouds, wind-driven in the upper spaces, scurrying northward as if to escape a tempest.

By the time we had finished our anxious evening meal, it became certain that safety demanded that we should run for it. As yet the surface of the sea was undisturbed, but had taken on an almost sinister oiliness, as if breathing deeply to gain strength for an onslaught. Despite the terrifying indications about us, had we been in more northern waters we should have hung on a while longer; but in the tropics even the barometer becomes unstable, and there are scarcely ever two storms that give similar indications when impending. I began to fear that we were in the very center of a hurricane that was forming around us, and that would, when under way, become cyclonic. We therefore lost no time in getting the barge anchors up, and the men aboard her began making hurried preparations for safety. We were still confident that with anything at all like good fortune, the tug would have time to tow her convoy into one of the harbors of Martinique. We discussed the advisability, however, of taking a spare line aboard the Hector, but concluded that we might retard rather than hasten the tow, which was, after all, a comparatively light burden for the Sea-Gull. For an hour we ran abreast of her as she progressed toward safety, throwing a huge column of smoke into the stillness of the air above her, and proving to us that Rogers was sparing no effort for speed. The Hector, in the meantime, was taking chances and running light, but with everything in readiness for a quick closing of ventilators and conning-tower hatch in case of emergency. This preparation was not wasted; for the storm fell upon us with scarcely a moment's warning. We had no time to waste when it burst. In the few minutes granted us to look through the periscope, we saw that the tug had altered her course and was heading toward the storm, apparently intent on working by a long angle for the port we had made after the sinking of the Esperanza. We knew now that whatever our desire to assist her, we could be of no service, and already were warned of our own danger by the terrific rolling and straining of the Hector.

A submarine on the surface in a storm suffers even more, owing to her build, than the average liner; for the pitch and toss is given a sickening quality of instability that a true surface boat does not possess. The plunging is not unlike the heavy dive and slow recovery of a battleship in distress. Again, a submarine is but an enormous mass of machinery, a large proportion of which is of a rather delicate nature, and therefore her only resource in a storm is to submerge.

For a few minutes, while we struggled to keep sight of the tug-boat and her wallowing tow behind, we aboard the Hector were hurled to and fro, and "batted" sideways, clinging with might and main to anything to keep from falling, and then, as we hastily submerged to escape possible destruction, we came suddenly into that astonishing change that can be felt aboard a submarine only under such circumstances. At twenty feet depth the rolling and pitching was appreciably less, and at forty-five feet, to which level we came before stopping, it was as if toe had passed into a world of motionless stillness. In almost any ordinary storm a submergence of thirty feet brings a submersible boat into comparative calm, incredible as this may seem to one who witnesses the enormous lift and fall of waters upon the surface. We stopped all engines, and for an hour and a half rested there, vastly concerned regarding the weather the Sea-Gull might be making toward her destination, and then decided to learn, if possible, whether the hurricane had been of but short duration or threatened to be prolonged. We accordingly emptied some of the water from our ballast tanks and started upward; but even at a depth of thirty feet we were aware by the motion of the boat that above us the seas were still engulfed in a fury, and were compelled once more to submerge. We were now certain that in no event could we be of any assistance to the tug, and that our own safety depended upon maintaining such depth as would prevent us from injury. Also we knew that by this time the night above would be as black as a storm can ever accomplish. We exercised such patience as we could, set the customary watches, and went to sleep.

At seven o'clock of the following morning we again tried to emerge and again became aware that the tempest was unabated. Throughout that trying day, at intervals, we made further attempts; but always to find them useless, and so were forced to pass a second night submerged.

It was nearly noon of the following day when, despite the rolling of the sea, we came to the surface. The storm had passed with all that surprising swiftness of change with which so many tropical hurricanes are accompanied, and the sun was shining hot and white above us. The sea had abated, save for the long after-swells, and gave promise to subside entirely within a few hours. The glass itself indicated clearing weather, and we were able to renew our air supply, although not without an occasional wetting through the open hatches together with some discomfort, from the motion. Nowhere upon the surface of the sea was there anything in sight; so, hoping fervently that the tug with her tow had preceded us safely to the harbor toward which she had been heading when last seen, we ourselves struggled in that direction.

With our air replenished, we ran submerged under the power of our motors and by dead reckoning, until the time we were forced to travel on the surface, and then arose to find ourselves but a mile or so distant from the harbor entrance. Fortunately for us, the storm had come up from the south-southeast. Hence the moment we were clear of the headlands of the little bay, we were in undisturbed water and could emerge completely. For the first time in days we were able to come out on deck and look around.

The whole of the tiny harbor lay open before us, and was absolutely untenanted.