“That’s true,’ agreed Dan. ‘I suppose I have brought rather a few dictionaries with me – French, Cornish, Welsh – and Spanish of course.’
Emma ruffled his hair affectionately. 'That’s our Dan,’ she said. ‘Right, come on everybody, let’s go back downstairs and give Dan some peace while he tries to translate that strange old journal.’
That was tactful of Emma – she knew Dan would not want an audience and be pressured into any kind of instant result. Dan glanced up gratefully as he saw the others troop downstairs. Emma was right, he needed peace and quiet to tackle it.
At first he stared at the graceful handwriting with some dismay, bordering on panic. His Spanish wasn’t anywhere near the standard of his French and trying to read this was different from crystal clear typewritten text. He took a sip of coffee and began on page one. Rather than worrying about the words he didn’t know, he decided to simply try to attune himself to the patterns and cadences of the sentences and the handwriting style. Once he was sure which letters were which, it would become easier.
Slowly, with his mind focussed and the only distractions the roar of the sea and the mewing of gulls, Dan found himself transported back to 1780. It was clearly a diary with regular, dated entries and plenty of references to the weather and sea conditions. It was likely to belong to a captain or senior officer on a Spanish vessel but where was it sailing and who and what was on board?
Dan discovered, to his excitement, references to places along the Devon and Cornish coasts. It occurred to him that he would be better off reading some of the journal entries towards the end, as well as the beginning, since that would give him some clue as to what ultimately happened. One place name caught his eye in the final, dramatic entry – Gunwalloe Cove – that was the bay here, surely! He began to read.
Ayer por la noche, ocurrió el desastre – Last night disaster struck.
Una terrible tormenta estalló y se lanzó contra las rocas feroces. Se oyó el ruido más horrible de la división de madera. Todos los hombres a bordo fueron arrojados al mar agitado – A terrible storm blew up and we were hurled onto fierce rocks. There was the most horrendous sound of wood splitting. All men on board were thrown into the raging sea.
Dan’s heart began to beat faster as he came upon references to ‘el tesoro’ – treasure. Further on, cientos de lingotes de oro y incontables cientos de monedas de oro y plata – hundreds of ingots of gold and countless hundreds of gold and silver coins – se perdió por la borda – were lost overboard.
With the occasional help of his dictionary, Dan continued reading, his fingers trembling as he wrote down the English translation.
‘I managed to scramble to safety in Gunwalloe Cove and there I sheltered until dawn broke.
‘I can only assume that all my seafaring colleagues were lost, for I saw no sign of life the following morning, only corpses floating in the water and thrown onto the shore. I had nothing save a few personal possessions. A few things I managed to salvage from the water, including a chest of gold ingots and several handfuls of coins washed up by the tide.
‘For fear that the local people would seize them, I resolved to hide my goods as best I could. I found a passageway seemingly leading beneath the sea bed and hauled what I could carry down there until I came upon two great caves, the one furthest off was possessed of a natural rock shelf near its roof and there I deposited the gold bullion and that which was of most value. The remaining items I placed in the other cave, nearer to the shore, in the hope that anyone finding them would have no cognizance that the valuable treasure lay beyond.
‘My mission to protect what I can is complete, and I will now return to the shore and await my fate at the hands of the local habitants. I can but pray to Almighty God that they will show mercy. Signed this day, October 25, in the year of our Lord, 1780.
Felipe Sanchez Vargas
Captain
Providencia
Dan stared at the translated entry in disbelief. He read it then re-read it. It was hard to take in. How utterly astonishing. That was the final entry and it looked as if the captain knew that it would probably be. What then had become of Captain Felipe Sanchez Vargas? Had the local people, possibly the ancestors of the villagers they strolled past only yesterday, shown him mercy as he had hoped?
Dan pondered his fate and that of his salvaged treasure. There could be little doubt that much of it lay scattered across the ocean floor. Clearly Felipe had been able to save some of it, prior to the inevitable arrival of the opportunistic hordes of locals, no doubt rubbing their coarse hands with glee at having another lucrative washed-up cargo to pick over.
Almost certainly, the hidden treasure had been spirited away long ago, possibly by Felipe himself, since he clearly planned to return for it. Had he been unable to, then the locals would have discovered it. These days, no doubt, that tunnel under the sea bed would undoubtedly have been blocked up, probably many years ago.
Dan took another slurp of his coffee – it had gone cold. He glanced at his watch. He had been up in the lamp room for 45 minutes. It was time to report back to the others. Dan went over to the window facing the shore and looked down at the rocks below. The storm still raged and huge foaming grey breakers pounded furiously against the island, as if willing it to sink. What must it have been like on board the Providencia? Where was Providence then, when those poor sailors needed divine intervention?
Right at that moment, in Dan’s mind, it was 1780 once again, and the screeching of gulls sounded to him like the anguished cries of drowning men.
A hand rubbed his shoulder. He span round in fright. It was Emma.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump,’ she said, looking concerned. ‘I thought you could do with another coffee. I’ve put it down for you on the table.’
‘I was miles away,’ replied Dan, ‘thinking about that poor ship which went down and the men who must have drowned on her.’
‘Which ship?’ asked Emma.
‘The Providencia. Sorry, I’m not making myself clear,’ mumbled Dan. ‘The old diary – it was written by the ship’s captain. I’ve managed to read a few bits and translate the last entry. It looks like nearly all on board perished. The captain, Felipe Sanchez Vargas, survived the initial sinking but heaven only knows what happened to him. It’s an absorbing read, but sad too.’
‘You’re a sensitive thing aren’t you?’ said Emma, rubbing his shoulder. ‘I like that in you, that you can care about what happened to those sailors even though it was so long ago.’
‘It doesn’t make it any less tragic, does it?’ pointed out Dan. ‘Somehow it brings it home to you when you read something like this written by the captain of the doomed ship in his own handwriting and his own language. It’s no longer history but real.’
Emma nodded and spotted what looked like tears in his eyes and a quavering note in his throat. She gave him a hug and said, spontaneously, ‘I do like you, you know, and I’m glad you like me, it was good that you told me last night.’
Dan did not reply straightaway, his mind was still trying to shift gear from the 1700s back to the 21st century. ‘But you don’t like me – that way – do you? You can’t because . . . we both know why,’ he replied slowly, in a soft monotone. ‘I mean, look at me, I’m the puny classroom nerd compared to a hunk like John.’
Emma hesitated and her pallid cheeks coloured slightly. ‘You are a good looking chap too, you know, in a more subtle way. Anyway, it’s not just about looks but personality and you have a lovely personality. Many girls would die to be on your arm.’
‘You’re not one of them,’ he replied, ruefully.
‘Listen, we can’t always have what we want in life. I fancy John but he’s got no interest in me and you fancy me and I . . .’ She paused and her voice trailed away.
‘Don’t worry, I think I can guess how that sentence was due to end,’ said Dan. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m glad to count you as a good friend and that means a lot to me.’
�
��And to me too,’ said Emma and the look in her eyes lifted Dan’s heart.
‘Emma, can I ask you something? You know you said, last night, that if I had asked you out in the past you might have gone on a date with me, is there any chance you might still? I know that your thoughts are elsewhere but would you consider a date with me?’
‘We’ll see, ok? It’s not something I want to consider while we are together on holiday especially with my head all over the place. You’re charming and kind and sensitive and – like me – vulnerable and insecure at times. I sometimes feel like putting my arms round you and protecting you. I don’t know whether I see you as anything more than that.’
‘Emma,’ said Dan, interrupting, ‘I don’t want you to be my mum, or to bandage my finger when I cut it. I want you as a woman, as a lover.’
‘You want to go to bed with me, is that what you are saying?’ replied Emma, curtly.
‘I want you in so many ways. I want you by my side, I’d love to take you out for romantic meals and that sort of thing. Romantic walks down country lanes, anything, everything that couples do together. I know that sounds trite to but that’s how I feel.’
‘That’s nice Dan, honestly it is,’ said Emma, reddening slightly at his effusiveness. ‘Let’s see how things unfold, ok. I know you like me now, and I know that I like the fact that you like me, if that makes sense. That’s all I can say for now.’
Dan opened his mouth to reply when he heard voices and footsteps coming up the staircase.
‘We couldn’t stand the suspense any longer,’ said John, smiling. ‘Dan, have you managed to get anywhere with that old diary? Please tell me it recounts the tale of some creaking old Spanish galleon laden with gold and silver that got wrecked off the Cornish coast, and that it holds the key to where the treasure remains hidden to this day. Because it is written in a foreign language, its secret has never been discovered.’
‘You know John, sometimes I think you must have psychic powers,’ replied Dan, startled.
John looked at him in surprise. He had been joking of course.
‘Everyone sit down and I’ll talk you through what I’ve learnt,’ said Dan. ‘I haven’t been able to translate much of it, of course, because it’s far too long and it is such a slow process but I’ve got the crucial last couple of entries.’
The others looked at Dan expectantly.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘that was actually quite a good guess by John, although I’m sure any treasure is long gone. This diary was from a Spanish vessel, I don’t know whether one would call it a galleon, but it would have been quite a large and important ship and it was in these waters in 1780. The diary was written by the ship’s captain and traces the voyage from San Sebastian, a port on the northern coast of Spain, up the Bay of Biscay, and round the Cornish coast.
‘It looks to me like the Providencia – that was the name of the ship – might have been heading for the English Channel perhaps or one of the ports along the south coast. Anyway, a storm blew up and she got into difficulties close to here, I would guess on the rocks we can see from where we are.
‘She foundered with the loss of nearly everyone on board. The captain, however, survived and continued to write diary entries after the ship went down. He recalls how he attempted to salvage what he could before the locals got to plunder the wreck. It would appear that the Providencia was laden with numerous valuable items including several tons of gold bullion and gold and silver coins.
‘Now I would guess from what I read that much of it ended up in Davy Jones’s locker but the captain did manage to rescue some of it, including a chest of gold bullion. He found and scooped up many dozens of gold and silver coins and placed them into the chest. He came upon an old tunnel leading beneath the sea bed along which he hauled the chest and other belongings. The captain encountered two caves, one of which had a kind of semi-hidden recess containing a natural shelf and this was where he hid the most valuable belongings, including the salvaged treasure.
‘Obviously it has no doubt long since been plundered along with everything else and in any case, I would guess that the tunnel has been blocked up like the others.’
The others listened open-mouthed.
‘I know I said it as a daft joke,’ said John, ‘but is there any chance that this cargo was never found and that its secret lay undiscovered because the only clue to its whereabouts was this old Spanish notebook and no-one has ever translated it – until we came along?’
‘Who knows?’ said Dan. ‘I would say it is certainly possible that no-one has bothered to try to decipher this notebook and if they did, the chances are they would have started at the beginning, made some headway and never got any further. I only found out what I did by turning to the end. Certainly, stranger things have happened. The diary might well have been scooped up with other miscellaneous possessions and ended up gathering dust in the lighthouse cellar, to be completely forgotten about.
‘That doesn’t alter the fact that countless years and decades have passed when anyone could have wandered along that tunnel and come across it – in which case, they would have had no need to translate the diary.’
‘We shouldn’t get too carried away, I suppose,’ said John, thoughtfully. ‘After all, as you say, the discovery of that treasure only required a simple exploration of the tunnels and the caves they led to, albeit the Spanish captain appears to have found a good natural hiding place.’
‘Yes and you’re also assuming that the captain himself didn’t come back for it, presumably that was his intention,’ pointed out Emma.
‘Who knows what happened to him,’ said Dan, rubbing his chin. ‘I wouldn’t necessarily fancy his chances as a Spaniard and Catholic at the mercy of local Protestant people in this sort of locality in the 1780s. Most likely he and any other survivor would have been taken prisoner – or suffered a worse fate. Felipe certainly didn’t carry on his diary, did he? Perhaps this and other possessions were seized from him and have stayed in the local area ever since.’
‘So where do we go from here?’ asked Emma. ‘Is there any chance we could try to find that passageway?’
Louise, who knew the area far better than the others, was sceptical. ‘We could try,’ she said, ‘but the difficulty would be working out exactly which passageway he meant. Even if we do discover it, my guess is that it will have been well and truly blocked up. To my knowledge the network of tunnels to and from Gunwalloe Cove were closed off many decades ago. In any case, there’s not much hope of us getting ashore today, I’m afraid.’
Louise was right. A magnificent storm continued to rage. The four looked up from the antique notebook in front of them to gaze out at it.
‘It’s whipping into a ferocious gale now,’ said Louise. ‘It does that round here, you get the most violent weather conditions then, suddenly, it goes calm again. Imagine being on board ship in that!’
It didn’t bear thinking about, and needless to say, no boats were out at sea – a clear sign that crossings were not to be attempted.
‘It’s a shame, I am itching to get into those coves again and see if there is any chance of finding that tunnel,’ said John, ‘even though I know it is unlikely we will even find trace of it, let alone be able to walk along it.’
The others agreed, it would have been fun to try. Somehow, a day mooching around the lighthouse reading books and drinking coffee now seemed dull by comparison.
‘Look,’ said Dan. ‘We could spend some useful time trying to work out where that tunnel might start from, doing some intelligent guesswork, and that would make it easier. I don’t suppose we have a map of the coast do we, Louise, or some nautical charts for the area round here?’
Louise thought hard. ‘We could have a good search around,’ she said. ‘There might be something. I still haven’t fully explored this lighthouse.’
‘Hang on,’ said Emma, suddenly. ‘What about the architectural plans for the lighthouse that we found in that bundle of papers in the cellar? That showed the topog
raphy of Wreckers’ Island and the nearby coastline.’
Dan hadn’t thought of that. He had been so engrossed in the Spanish captain’s diary he had forgotten about the drawings and diagrams relating to the lighthouse and island itself. Certainly it was worth a look.
He fetched the diagrams and spread them across the table. They gathered round. A scale drawing of the island showed what it looked like before the lighthouse was built. Another showed how it was intended to look afterwards. On both, the rocks all around were marked and both showed the coves along the coastline. Neither showed any detail of the caves or indeed, any tunnels running off them.
‘I suppose it’s to be expected,’ said John. ‘After all, these diagrams are intended to show the features of the island and the structure that was to be built upon it, namely the lighthouse. The shoreline areas are marked simply to give the context and a sense of scale.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Dan, ‘and if you look, there is considerable detail given for the island, including the little jetty and the outbuilding, even the perimeter wall is marked.’
‘That doesn’t help us does it,’ said Louise, impatiently. She could be impetuous at times, and she found this painstaking studying of old diagrams tiresome. ‘However detailed they are, they are no use, because what we want is some sort of map that indicates tunnels radiating from the cove, and in particular going under the seabed. So a map of the island, however detailed, isn’t relevant is it?’
‘Probably not,’ murmured Dan, staring in fascination at the diagrams. His soft grey eyes flicked from one to the other. ‘Now that is interesting,’ he announced.
‘What is?’ asked Louise, ‘I thought you agreed with me that the maps weren’t relevant? We need to find the tunnel that the Spanish captain walked up from the shore and we don’t have any idea where that might be. We’ll have to leave it until the weather clears up and when it does, take the boat over and have a sniff around.’
Wreckers Island (romantic suspense) Page 4
