His easy, friendly manner gave me confidence and in the stifling heat of that cabin I told them the whole story, from the time I went to stay on “The Bridge of Orchy” until the moment I came aboard the “Sally McGrew.” This time I left out nothing.
There was a momentary silence as I finished. Then Sir Brian murmured, “It’s incredible. If it weren’t for that newspaper story, I’d say you’d got a wonderfully fertile imagination.” He shook his head and laughed. “You’ve got to hand it to the boy, Captain Legett. It’s the most amazing story I ever heard.” He shook his head again and tapped at his teeth with the top of his gold pencil.
There was a long silence, which was broken by the captain saying, “It’s also a dangerous story, Sir Brian. And the boy’s a dangerous cargo. We’ll wait for a homeward-bound British ship and put him aboard. Meantime, the map goes into my safe.”
Sir Brian didn’t say anything for a moment. And when he did speak, it was not to the captain, but to me. “So you promised Kean you’d get this log of Irwin’s and send it to the Admiralty?”
“Yes,” I said.
“And what about the treasure?”
“How do you mean, sir?”
“Well, he was right, you know. You can’t get at the one without the other. You’ll just take the treasure in your stride, eh?” His gray eyes were laughing at me. “What it is to be young, when a promise is worth more than a cave-full of pirate loot!” Then in a more serious tone. “When do you propose to redeem your promise? When are you planning to go to Cocos Island?”
“I—I don’t know,” I said.
“You’re going into the Navy. You’ll go where you’re told then. You’ll spend your whole life thinking about Cocos Island and never go there. And at this moment you’re lying within three hundred miles of the place. Probably this is the nearest you’ll ever get to it. This may be your one chance.”
“What are you getting at, Sir Brian?” demanded the captain.
Sir Brian waved him aside and turned to me. “Suppose I offered you a ship and a crew—suppose we sailed for Cocos Island here and now, would you agree to split whatever we find three ways: a third to the captain and crew, a third to the company, and a third—”
“Sir Brian!” The captain’s voice had an ominous boom. “I must remind you that I am the master of the ‘Sally McGrew.’ My sailing orders are for Valparaiso. And that’s where I’m going.”
Sir Brian looked across at him. “And I’d remind you, Captain Legett, that I represent the owners.”
The captain swung his swivel chair round so that he faced Sir Brian. His face was set and hard. “This line has been running ships to the western seaboard of South America for over fifty years, Sir Brian,” he said slowly. “You’re a newcomer to the company. We have a fine record and I don’t think the chairman or the other directors would approve of anything which might put that record in jeopardy.”
Sir Brian nodded. He was not in the least put out by the older man’s words. “I understand your point of view, Captain Legett.” He paused, tapping at his teeth. The gold pencil flashed in the sunlight that streamed through a gap in the curtained porthole. 66You’ve been with the company twenty-two years,” he said quietly. “You’ll be wanting a pension soon.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
Sir Brian smiled. “Only this: if things don’t improve, you’ll get no pension. To put it bluntly, the company is on the rocks. We made good profits during the war. But we lost a lot of ships and the profits have been eaten up by replacements at high cost. Foreign competition is hitting us badly.” He paused, smiling quietly to himself. “Why do you think I’ve become a director? An office in the City is not in my line. No. I joined the board because they wanted to open up new business while they still had the resources to do it. They’ve given me a free hand—a completely free hand, Captain Legett. If you don’t believe me, send a cable.”
Captain Legett hesitated. “I’ll take your word for that,” he said quietly. “But I’m sailing for Valparaiso as per my orders.”
“You’ll sail where I tell you,” Sir Brian answered sharply. Then he turned to me. “Well?” he said. “What do you say?”
I didn’t know what to answer. I thought of my guardian pocketing the rubbing I’d taken and saying: “This goes into the bank until you’re twenty-one. Perhaps by then you’ll know what you’re up to.” But by twenty-one I’d be a naval officer. As Sir Brian said, I might never get a chance like this again. And I remembered Kean coughing blood as he said, “You don’t believe me.”
“Well?”
I looked up at Sir Brian. Then I put my hand into my pocket and pulled out the map. I handed it to him without a word.
He took it across to the captain’s desk. “Now, Captain Legett,” he said, “we’ll base our decision on this. Ever seen a copy of the map Keating left?”
“Yes,” answered the captain. “There’s no sailor who’s knocked around this part of the world as long as I have that hasn’t.”
“So have I,” Sir Brian said. He unfolded the map and spread it carefully on the desk in front of the captain. They stared at it for a long time without saying anything. And now that the prospect of sailing to Cocos Island had been dangled before my eyes, excitement struggled with fear. Excitement won. And in a moment I was on tenterhooks lest Sir Brian should decide against it. At length he said, “The map I saw gave the whole island. The directions were vague, based on the high-water mark of a creek where a stream runs into a bay and a gap in the hills that is no longer visible because of the jungle. The bay isn’t stated. Some treasure seekers have favored Chatham Bay, others Wafer Bay. And the stream itself isn’t clearly indicated. Apparently there are a number of streams.” He jabbed at the map with his pencil. “As far as I know, there’s never been a map in existence like this one.” His voice was quiet, yet there was a strange, suppressed excitement about the way he spoke. “Look. The whole map is of Wafer Bay. The western end is shown in detail. Bearings are given on actual landmarks, landmarks that exist today. The trouble in the past has been that so many of the directions, whether faked or real, were based on trees or streams. Cocos is a semitropical island covered with dense jungle. That sort of landmark changes. And no map I’ve ever heard of was dated later than about 1870. This is dated 1944.” He turned to me. “Is this map accurate?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“You’re quite certain?”
I nodded.
“But you drew it from memory?”
“Yes,” I answered. “But I did it right after I had given my guardian the original. That’s exactly the same as the rubbing. I’m certain of it. I’d memorized every detail.”
“Fair enough. And you agree to a three-way split between the company, the crew, and yourself? I should tell you that at the present price of gold this treasure is worth several millions—more than enough for everybody. Are you game?”
“I—I don’t know,” I said, suddenly feeling out of my depth. “My guardian said—”
But he cut me short. “Your guardian’s not here. This is a decision you’ve got to make for yourself. Of course, we’ll see that Irwin’s log is sent to the Admiralty as Kean wanted,” he added.
“All right,” I said.
He turned to the captain. “What about you, Captain Legett?” .
“I’m putting the boy aboard a homeward-bound freighter and sailing direct for Valparaiso, unless I have orders to the contrary.”
“Then on behalf of the company I order you to sail for Cocos Island,” Sir Brian said quietly.
“What about those tractors? They’re due for delivery on the sixteenth.”
“We’re two days ahead of schedule. Two days should be enough to find out whether this treasure exists or not.”
The captain stared for a moment at Sir Brian. I thought he was going to refuse. But all he said was, “I’ll need those orders in writing.”
“Of course.” Sir Brian picked up a sheet of paper and began writing.
When he had finished he handed the paper to the captain.
Captain Legett glanced at it, then folded it carefully and put it in his wallet. “Sir Brian,” he said, speaking slowly, “I want it clearly understood that I am carrying out your orders under protest. Mr. Andrews, you’ll please to remember that should you be asked when we get back to England.” He shook his head slowly. “I know as well as you do the situation in which the company now finds itself. You’re a young man, Sir Brian. And war is a reckless school that abandons traditions and makes men opportunists. Maybe I’m getting old. But I’ve been through two wars. And I know one thing that never changes—human nature. If we sail for Cocos Island there’ll be trouble, mark my words.”
“There’ll be trouble if you don’t. You said so yourself,”
Sir Brian answered. “The only way to counter this talk of treasure among the crew is to take them there and let them see for themselves.”
“You think that I’ve only got to tell them that a threeway split has been agreed and that settles it.” He shook his head sadly. “If that map leads us to the cave—” He paused and then said, “ ‘As coals are to burning coals, and wood to fire; so is a contentious man to kindle strife.’ Wait till they’ve seen the glitter of gold. And if you find nothing—” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll make course for Cocos Island if you insist, Sir Brian, but the responsibility is yours.”
“I quite understand,” Sir Brian answered. “Perhaps you’ll be good enough to tell the men.”
“Later. Later, Sir Brian. The less time they have to brood on the matter the better. But we’ll bring the officers into it right away. I never keep anything from my officers. Send the chief and the other two engineers up to my cabin, boy—and Sparks, too. Mr. Andrews. Relieve Saunders on the bridge.” But as I turned to go, he stopped me. “A word before the four of us leave this cabin. No one is to say a thing about this to the men until I’ve talked to them. Rumor is a dangerous thing. And I’m warning you all that this trip isn’t a school outing. Treasure never is. I’ll ask you all to keep your eyes peeled. And from now on the three of us will go armed. Any gossip you pick up from the cook, boy, or from any of the crew—come straight to me with it. Understand?” He nodded for me to go.
I ran down to the engine room and then up to the wireless room. Sparks was reading a book when I went in. He gave me a friendly grin. “Well, what’s die news, Johnny?” he said cheerily.
“The captain wants to see you,” I said. The blue eyes of the cat stared at me from the day bunk.
He got to his feet. “What’s it about?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said quickly.
He laughed. “You don’t know? And you’ve been in his cabin with the first mate and Sir Brian for the last hour? Come, what’s it all about?”
“He has something to tell you,” I said.
His eyebrows lifted. But all he said was, “Stay here, Johnny. I’d like a word with you when I get back.” And he went out, closing the door behind him.
I hesitated, glancing at the cat. Then I sat down in the chair and stared at the transmission key. My hands toyed with it, playing at tapping out Morse. He was away some time. But at last I heard his feet on the deck outside. His face was tense and set as he entered, but his eyes seemed to be laughing at something. He waved me to remain where I was and, pushing the cat out of the way, seated his big bulk on the bunk. “So it’s heigh-ho for Cocos Island, eh?” And he laughed at my surprise. “You see, I have the captain’s confidence.” And he chuckled softly. “A three-way split—you, the owners, and captain and all. With the emphasis on the captain. Trust the righteous to take to the devil at the first opportunity. Know what I think, Johnny? I think there’ll be trouble.”
“That’s what the captain said,” I told him.
“Did he, now.” And again there was that trace of Irish in his voice as he chuckled to himself. He suddenly got up and clapped me on the shoulder. “Well, it hasn’t taken you long to get an expedition sailing for Cocos, has it now?” He struck his dummy hand against the palm of the other. “It’s a honey, it is indeed. All the equipment we need, even tractors, and a ship to take the stuff off with.” And he lay back on the bunk and roared with laughter. “All honest and aboveboard, too.” He sat up and wiped the tears from his eyes. “And you agreed to it, eh? You gave him the map. What did he say now? Did he quote the Bible at you?”
“Yes—that is, I think it was the Bible,” I answered. “He said something about there being treasure in the house of the righteous and trouble in the revenues of the wicked.”
“Sanctimonious old devil! If I know anything about Captain Legett, it’s little the crew will see of the treasure or the officers either. You want to see that he doesn’t gyp you of your share, Johnny.”
“Sir Brian said there was plenty for all of us,” I answered. “Millions and millions. Is that true, Mr. Jennings? What is this treasure? How did it get there?”
“Depends which treasure,” he said. “There’s more than one on Cocos Island. Did it say on the map what treasure it was?”
“No. It just said: ‘Here you will find the treasure.’ ”
“Well, if it’s Captain Mary Thompson’s treasure, then there will be plenty. But if it’s one of Benito Bonito’s caches—well, we’ll just have to see. His men are supposed to have cached their share on the island, too. And there were others before the ‘Ralampago’ went there.”
“What’s the island like?” I asked. “Have you ever been there?”
“Once,” he said slowly.
“Searching for treasure?”
He nodded and began to stroke the cat with his dummy hand.
“Tell me what it’s like?” I asked. “Did you find anything?”
“No,” He was gazing out of the porthole. For’ard from the bridge came the ring of the engine-room telegraph and a moment later the ship vibrated to the thrust of the propellers. We were on our way. I jumped up and gazed out. I was beside myself with excitement. We were on our way to Cocos Island—to a real treasure island. “Please,” I said, turning to Sparks, “tell me about Cocos Island and how the treasure got there.”
“Cocos Island,” he said slowly, as though he saw it all in a dream. “Cocos Island is hell.” His eyes stared at me with a feverish, hungry look. “You’ll have your fill of Cocos Island before you’ve finished, my boy.” He got up suddenly and fell to pacing up and down the narrow space.
“Is it a big island?” I asked. “Are there many people on it?”
“Many people!” He laughed. “There were some settlers once, but they’ve gone. There’s only ghosts there now— ghosts of the greedy ones that are dead and gone. The island’s alive with people who’ve come there in search of gold. And it’s little they’ve got in exchange for their lives. It’s a rotten, haunted place. You feel it the moment you land. You see it in the carvings on the rocks. Ships’ names —Ship ‘Indianchief’ of New London, 1848; Ship Uncas,’ H. C. Bunker, Falmouth, 1833—there are dozens of them.
I can see them now. And the sign on that rock—‘Look Y as you goe for ye I. Coco.’ Land crabs and white ants and jungle, basalt cliffs that fall sheer into the water and a long, rolling swell that comes thundering in on the beaches. That’s Cocos Island. And it rains. Lord, how it rains!”
“But the treasure,” I said. “What about the treasure?”
“The treasure.” He chuckled. “You’re as bad as the rest of ’em, Johnny. All right, I’ll tell you about the treasure. It’s quite a story in itself.” He sat down on the bunk again. “Captain Mary Thompson’s treasure. That’s the one that everybody hopes to dig up when they sail for Cocos Island. And it was cached there comparatively recently, as late as 1821. It was when Bolivar was clearing the conquistadors out of South America. He and his armies were marching into Peru, marching on Lima, the capital. The Spaniards knew it was the end. They had gathered all the wealth of the city into the fortress. Not only was there all the fabulous treasure they’d looted from the Incas
, but the riches of Lima’s cathedral, too—and by all accounts that was the wealthiest church men ever built.”
His eyes glittered in the shadows as he reached for a cigarette and lit it. “This Captain Mary Thompson happened to be lying in Callao harbor at the time in the ‘Mary Dier,’ a Bristol brig. The long and the short of it was that the Spaniards commissioned him to run the treasure to a place of safety for them. Thompson agreed and that same night it was carried down to Callao by mule and put aboard the brig. Thompson cut his cables then and slipped out of the harbor. The next thing that happens is that the ‘Mary Dier’ hoists the Jolly Roger and makes course for the old pirate haunt of Cocos Island. And that’s where Thompson buries the treasure—eleven boatloads of it; bullion, gold, and coins; precious stones; and all the chalices, croziers, and altar ornaments of Lima cathedral. According to accounts, there’s two life-size images of the Virgin Mary in solid gold. Think of the value of that today!” He got up suddenly as though he couldn’t bear just to sit there thinking about it. “Well, that’s the story,” he said. “And it all happened less than a hundred and thirty years ago.”
“But what about Captain Thompson?” I asked. “What happened to him?”
“Nobody knows exactly,” he answered. “There are all sorts of versions. The best of them is that, with all home ports barred to him after his piratical act, he and his crew went on the account and looted their way up and down the Pacific until they were captured by a Peruvian man-of-war. The crew were all hanged, but Thompson and two others were spared on the understanding that they would take the Peruvian ship to the place where they’d cached the treasure. Instead they took them to the Galapagos Islands and there escaped. According to this account, Thompson said nothing about the treasure until he lay dying twenty years later. I don’t believe that. A man as resourceful and daring as Thompson would have found some means of getting back to Cocos Island in twenty years. There’s even uncertainty about Thompson’s death, some saying he died in England, others that he died in Nova Scotia. All that’s known for certain is that in 1841 a Newfoundland fisherman named Keating had in his possession a map giving the location of the treasure, and in June of that year he and a Captain Boag reached Cocos Island in the brig ‘Edgcombe’ —the first treasure-seeking expedition to visit the island.”
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