The Santini Vendetta

by Christopher Fox

  “Check damage below,” barked Schmid to a nearby crew member.

  “Aye, aye sir,” he responded as he disappeared down the hatch. He first saw significant water below decks but soon realized this came from the damaged water barrel hit by the cannon ball. Surveying the port side of the hull below the water line, he observed some buckled planking and water seeping through the fractured joints. He determined that the seepage could easily be handled by constant use of the pumps, but they would need to put into a port soon for repairs. He reported to the Captain his findings and a pumping crew was dispatched immediately.

  They continued through the treacherous reefs for fifteen more minutes without further incident, then the waters became darker and they were clear and free of the underwater hazards. Looking back at the galleon they saw that it had already turned away to manoeuvre around the reef— they were home free—for now.

  * * * *

  Four weeks earlier, Schmid was in Lima, Peru, where he was a well-known and respected trader in the region. At the time, Peru was at war with Chile, and the Chilean revolutionary, José de San Martin, was advancing on Lima. The Spanish Viceroy realized he had better remove the stores of gold and silver under his command. Officials of the more than 50 Spanish churches in the city came to a decision about their ecclesiastical riches, which included a solid-gold, gem-encrusted, life-size image of the Virgin Mary, cradling Jesus. Figuring that hiding this wealth anywhere near Lima would be foolish, the Viceroy entrusted it to Captain Schmid. The Viceroy’s plan was to have Schmid sail around for several months, with the treasure stowed aboard his schooner, until the political situation improved. Big Mistake. A load of such great value—estimated by Spanish officials at the time to be worth between $12 and $60 million—proved too great a temptation for Schmid and his crew. Once out of sight of land, they cut the throats of the Viceroy’s appointed guards, tossed their bodies overboard, and made haste to Cocos. Schmid, upon arrival in Cocos, assembled several of his most trusted men and devised a plan for the treasure.

  Sending men ashore in longboats, they collected supplies of coconuts and fresh water, along with other fruits and vegetables for the next leg of their journey. While most of the crew was ashore, Schmid, with the assistance of an elite group of three crewmen, emptied the chests of treasure and placed it in the captain’s cabin, unbeknownst to the rest of the crew. They then loaded the empty chests with cannon balls and placed them in one of the longboats. One of the elite crew proceeded ashore with Schmid on a ruse to bury the treasure on the island and to return for it later. This accounts for the many rumours about the ‘Lost Loot of Lima’ being buried somewhere on the island, but to date has never been found. The life-size statue was difficult to conceal, so they left it in the captain’s cabin, with no attempt to fake burying it ashore.

  When the cannon ball hit the stern quarters, two of the elite crew guarding the treasure were killed. Only one other person, the first mate, now knew that the treasure, including the statue, was lying on the ocean floor. In the excitement eluding their followers, neither the Captain, nor the first mate, had an opportunity to fix a position on where the spoils were. They guessed that with the colour of the water, and the fact that the bottom was visible, the treasure lay between 15 and 25 metres below the surface just outside Chatham Bay.

  “We’ll have to set sail for the nearest port where we can affect repairs,” Schmid said.

  “That would be San Francisco on the Californian coast,” said the first mate.

  “News of our piracy may have reached America by now.” Schmid said. “We’d have to be cautious about who we talk to when we reach port. We can’t use any of the commercial ports of course because of the navy and shore police presence. I know of a small shipyard just south of San Francisco with enough depth to handle the draft of the Black Witch. They also have a marine railway to hoist her out of the water for repairs. I’ve dealt with the proprietor before and know that for a few pieces of gold he will keep quiet.”

  The first mate unrolled a chart of the Californian coast around San Francisco. Schmid pointed out the location of the shipyard.

  “We’ll anchor offshore here,” the first mate said, “behind this point, and take the longboat into the shipyard. According to the charts, there will be a quarter moon when we arrive. We could bring the ship in under cover of darkness—let’s hope for clear skies.”

  “Once there,” Schmid interjected, “we’ll replace the ship’s name with another name—how about ‘Taurus’?”

  The first mate nodded in agreement. It now remained to convince the crew of the importance of keeping a low profile. A story was therefore contrived in order that each would give the same account of their experiences at sea in the local beer houses and brothels.

  “Once repairs are completed, we will return to Cocos and search for the treasure,” Schmid said, looking around to check that no-one was within earshot. The crew, of course, thought that it was buried on the island. They would be keen enough to return for their promised share. They wouldn’t find out until they reached Cocos that the treasure was lost overboard, and that in order to retrieve it, they would have to search the seabed. At that time, it would be explained to them that the ruse to bury it ashore was for security reasons, in case anyone jumped ship and arranged their own retrieval plans.

  They reached the Californian coast and sailed up to the point where they planned to anchor. They had only a few hours to wait until dark and Schmid went ashore to make the arrangements for the repairs. As suspected, he was able to make a deal with the owner of the shipyard and payment would be made in gold. He returned to the ship and arranged a detail of oarsmen in two longboats to tow the ship into harbour under clear skies and a bright moon. The boats bobbed in the swells caused by the westerly winds as backs strained against the oars. When close to the railway hoist, they fastened the mooring lines to the dock. It would be impossible to position the ship on the rail dollies without daylight. Several carriages were arranged for the crew to take them into town—they had not been ashore for several weeks.

  It took two weeks to replace the damaged hull and repair the rear quarterdeck and Captain’s quarters. During this time, Schmid planned his methods for retrieving the treasure from the seabed 20 metres below the surface. Free diving without breathing apparatus was limited to about 10 metres, and little time was available for staying on the bottom. Unfortunately, deep-sea diving techniques were not abundant in 1821, although references to breathing apparatus in diving go back to Aristotle, in the fourth century BC. The first practical aid, a watertight leather case holding about 60 cu. ft. of air was invented in England in 1810, and was used by the British Navy. Schmid made a trip into San Francisco and decided he would cash in some favours with his Navy friends. Several British ships were there and he was pleased to learn that his long-time friend and former first mate Dave Paterson, now Captain, was there with the frigate H.M.S. Devonshire. Schmid relayed the story of the Lima incident, but told him that it was pirates attacking him rather than the Spanish. He confided in him regarding some treasure being lost overboard, but admitted that it was only a small casket, and the rest was buried on the island. He asked about the breathing apparatus and learned that all British Navy ships were now equipped with them. Paterson would have to come up with a plausible excuse for ‘losing’ four units, but Schmid will likely have them returned before an inventory was taken. They bade each other farewell and Paterson wished Schmid luck with his search.

  Schmid paid for the repairs with several gold pieces worth way more than the cost of repairs, and gave the shipyard owner a further ‘tip’ for his discretion. Surprisingly, the story of his escapades in Peru had not yet reached this part of America, although it would not take long before it did, and he was anxious to depart as soon as possible. His trip back to Cocos would take about 20 days, depending on winds, and he was a little concerned that he was approaching the time of year that served up some very unpleasant weather in that area. He estimat
ed that he could spend up to 4 weeks searching for the treasure, and it could only be done when the seas were calm. Six days into the journey, a violent storm swept in from the west Pacific.

  Schmid could read weather better than any maritimer, and he was concerned with the look of the front that was descending upon them. The winds were increasing now and he ordered sails to be furled. He retained some head-sails on the mizzen in order to maintain steerage and had ready a drogue, which would be let out the stern to act as a sea anchor to keep the ship bow-on to the winds in heavy seas. As the seas worsened and wind increased, he reduced sails to a minimum to maintain headway and let out the drogue. The helmsman was lashed to the wheel and fought to keep the vessel head-on to the winds, although with no apparent forward motion, the rudder was of little use, and the sea anchor was all that was keeping the bow into the wind. For several hours, the Taurus was pummelled by the raging storm. Swells approached 20 metres in height. The tops of them whisked away by the gale-force winds, driving the spray horizontally. The vessel would climb a wave, pivot on the crest, and crash down into the trough. The whole ship shuddered as the bowsprit and front decks became completely submerged. For a few seconds, the weight of water on the decks held the bow low in the water until it could spill over the sides, only to repeat the process with the next wave. The wind was now howling as it steadily increased in speed to over 100 knots. The top of the main mast snapped just below the crow’s nest, and crashed down onto the deck, narrowly missing the helmsman. Crew immediately appeared on deck with safety tethers and proceeded to cut away the rigging, hauling the splintered remains of the mast overboard. As quickly as the crew appeared, they disappeared below decks again to the safety of the cabins.

  The winds eventually subsided after 6 hours and the seas steadied to a gradual swell. “We’re in the eye of the typhoon,” Schmid said to the first mate, “and the winds will start up again soon. Batten down any loose items and cut away all damaged rigging.” The first mate barked orders and crew swarmed on the decks.

  “Anything unnecessary is to be thrown overboard to lessen weight. The remaining rigging is to be thoroughly checked and tightened.” Several cannon balls were rolling around the decks.

  “Stack those balls back on the monkeys,” the first mate shouted to one of the young crew. A puzzled expression appeared on his face.

  “What’s a monkey?”

  “The brass rack the bloody cannon balls are stacked on,” was the first mate’s agitated reply.

  “Oh!” he said. “I didn’t know it was called a monkey.”

  “You never heard the expression ‘cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, you see, the cannon balls are made of iron, right? The racks now, they’re made of brass and are called ‘monkeys’. When it gets real bloody cold the brass sort’a shrinks. You know?” He made a gesture with his hands to illustrate the shrinking. “The cannon balls then fall off.”

  “Oh!” the boy said, pleased with his new-found knowledge.

  The expression does not, as many people imagine, refer to a metallic primate who has suffered an involuntary orchidectomy.

  Below-decks were checked for soundness in the bulkheads and hull. It was during this check that a crew member reported seepage along one of the hull plates that was replaced during repairs. Schmid and his first mate crawled below the lower deck into the bilge with their lanterns to inspect the breach. There was water building up in the bilge and they could see that it was seeping through one of the joints of new lumber, which was obviously not properly treated or sealed.

  “Better get that repaired,” Schmid told the first mate.

  “Yes sir!” he replied. “We have some hemp and tar that will patch it. I’m not concerned about the repair in normal seas, but with the typhoon it will exert a lot of pressure on the plates when she crashes down into the troughs.”

  Schmid rubbed his chin in thought. “Remove one of the mainsails and drape it under the front of the bow. It won’t stop the pressure from opening up the joint, but it will slow down the seepage. Also, prepare some braces to wedge against the hull plates. That will at least prevent the buckling in the heavy seas.”

  “Aye, Aye, Sir,” he concurred and made his way to the hatch. Schmid stayed a few moments while he checked for more leaks and then returned to the hatch. As he made his way to the main deck he generally took note of everything below decks. He emerged into brilliant sunshine and watched as several men were already hacking away the rigging on the mainsail. It was hard to believe that the weather was going to return to the typhoon-force winds again, only this time in the opposite direction. The centre was about 80 kilometres wide and he predicted that this close to the tropics, the storm would be moving slowly towards mainland America. He estimated eight – ten hours of calm. With the help of his sextant, he determined that he was about 100 km off course, but the reversed direction of the winds on the other side of the typhoon should bring him closer to his original course—if they survive the storm.

  They enjoyed calm weather for almost 12 hours before the winds and seas picked up again. The problem now was that it was night time and pitch black. They set the drogue and headed into the wind—it was going to be a long night. Within an hour the winds were again at full force and the seas were rising. The merciless surf again buffeted the Taurus as she rose to the top of each swell and plummeted down into the trough, only to bury her bow into the following crest. For three hours the hull plates withstood the pressure of each plunge, and the makeshift mainsail cover stayed in place. It was the unexpected that spelled doom for the Taurus and her crew. During one of the plunges into a trough, the line securing the drogue snapped, denying her of any means to stay head-on into the wind. The next crest raised her, the wind catching her full force and turning her side on to the seas, where she broached. She slid sideways down into the trough and the following crest rolled her over onto her side. She began to right herself when the next wave crashed into her side, completely inverting her. Defiantly, she tried to right herself again, but she had taken on too much water now and down in the stern. Successive waves mercilessly rolled her over onto her side until she could not right herself again. The sea became littered with debris, and sailors trying in vain to cling to any flotsam they could find. The Taurus, a.k.a. Black Witch, gave up the gallant fight to stay afloat and quickly sank below the surface, descending slowly to the ocean floor two miles below in the region of the east Pacific Rise, taking with her everyone who knew the true location of the buried treasure.

  Two

  Cocos Island. December, 2016

  The phantom shape of the giant manta ray cast an eerie shadow over the corals as it effortlessly glided through the crystal turquoise waters. The brilliant sun piercing the calm surface created a mottled and ever changing pattern on the ocean floor. Schools of fish in a variety of sizes and types paraded through the waters in a kaleidoscope of colours, darting this way and that, feeding on a diet of abundant plankton and suspended edibles. Sea anemones, anchored to the coral, waved their tentacles at the passing array of sea life, in the hope of attracting and snaring their own meal.

  Kyle knew it was going to be good. Visibility was 20 – 30 metres with negligible current. A school of hammerheads immediately swam into view high above, lazily gliding through the water in search of food. There must have been as many as a hundred as they filled a quadrant of the sky and temporarily blocked the sun. This would not be the time to be low on air and have to surface, although hammerheads seem to be disturbed by the bubbles expelled from breathing apparatus—good thing.

  As his bubbles ascended, true to form they turned and vanished. A school of barber fish followed the predators, anxiously waiting for a chance to pick parasites off their skin. Stern-faced blue-spotted jacks swerved at him, perhaps attracted by his bubbles while beyond him, four-foot almaco jacks flashed past.

  Kyle turned to his left. There above him hovered a
cloud of Jordan's snapper, with a pack of whitetips patrolling the mid-water near him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Jenny pointing at one of the sharks. It was a blacktip, the first he’d seen, and it had a nasty wound behind its right pectoral. Kyle could clearly see the fresh half-moon jaw marks left by what must have been a large shark.

  Again he half-saw Jenny gesturing and pivoted. A Pacific manta ray was coming straight at him. This most graceful of rays, with its white belly and dark gray/black back, flapped its enormous pectoral fins in slow motion, a condor of the deep resembling a giant Portobello mushroom. Three remoras suction-gripped its expansive flesh. Two cephalic fins on either side of its mouth cavity guided food into its mouth as it swirled through a cloud of plankton. Upon seeing Kyle’s bubbles, or maybe for reasons all its own, the ray banked left about 5 metres away from him. That's when he saw another hammerhead school high above it.

  When the ray and the hammerheads had both faded into the blue, Kyle looked beneath him to make sure he wasn't about to step in a thicket of sea urchins. There, right beneath his belly, lay the open mouth of a moray eel. The animal; its spotted green body blending in perfectly with the barnacle-stippled coral, lay stretched full-length as if on a coral divan, with a sea cucumber seeming to form a cozy pillow beneath its head. The eel could have sunk its teeth into Kyle’s navel without straining its neck. But it just lay there, its toothy jaws agape, watching him with eyes like blue marbles.

  He checked his air and determined he had plenty left, then looked up and saw a marbled ray pass him not a metre away. Beyond it, he was surprised to see a pair of hammerheads quite close by—big, heavy-set animals. Like the rest of their kind, they veered away in the presence of his bubbles. Refocusing his eyes, he noticed tiny convict tangs spawning an arm's reach away. Every half minute or so, a cluster of the fish would start quivering with apparent excitement and then rocket towards the surface, u-turning after 3 or 4 metres and leaving behind a cloud of whiteness. When he glanced up again, the manta ray was sweeping back through. This time, he swam after it, rising to fin alongside it with Jenny for half a minute before returning to his perch on the coral head.