Secret sea;

by White, Robb, 1909-1990

**I don't understand," Pete said. "Take your time, sleep. You can tell me in the morning."

  "There is no time!" the old man said. "You must listen. This is the book of my ancestor. It is the book of the Santa Ybel. Because he wants it, he has burned my house, he has murdered my

  sons."

  "Who?" Pete asked. "Who?"

  But the old man's voice went slowly on. "When we had saved enough money, my sons and I, to buy a ship we went to Havana. But he was there. He asked us many questions. *Why do you want such a ship? For what do you want apparatus to go beneath the sea?' Somehow he found out that we had this book. He took away our money and gave us no ship. He followed us. Wherever we went—into the mountains, on the seashore, in the jungles—he came also, killing us one by one to get this book."

  "What's his name?" Pete asked. "Who is he?"

  "The tall one," the old man said. "Beware him. To get this book he will do anything. Now . . . take it, for I can never go to the two islands."

  "What's he talking about?" the pharmacist's mate asked.

  "Search me," Pete said.

  BEWARE THE TALL ONE

  They stood and watched as the old man's eyes slowly closed. His hands relaxed and slid down the edges of the flat box.

  "Take care of him," Pete said.

  The pharmacist's mate shrugged.

  It was just before dawn when Pete was waked up again.

  "He never came to," the pharmacist's mate said. "I did everything I knew, sir."

  "He was old and had been in the water a long time," Pete said. "Nobody could have saved him, Phillips."

  "I hope you're right. Captain. But... if we'd had a doctor ..."

  Pete shook his head. "I've seen a lot of people die of shock who had had less exposure than that. And were much younger. Go turn in now."

  "Aye, aye, sir." The pharmacist's mate put the box and chain down on Pete's open desk and went out.

  For a while Pete lay in the darkness trying to go back to sleep. But after twelve hours of being shut up light-tight the ship's air was as foul as the inside of a cheese and Pete couldn't sleep. In nothing but skivvy pants he got up, turned on the light, and examined the box. With sweat pouring down his chest and back, he cut a slit in the pliant tar and pried off the wooden top of the box. Inside it there was a thin book bound

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  in cowhide which had places where the hair had been eaten or worn off.

  Pete took the book out and opened it under the desk Hght.

  The ink of the writing had faded to a thin, pale brown and the penmanship was very fancy, with loops and curlicues all over the place. Slowly Pete made out the words in old Spanish:

  THE LOG .

  of

  HIS SPANISH MAJESTY'S SHIP

  SANTA YBEL

  On her voyage to New Spain

  In the year 1519 Roberto Narvez, Navigator

  Pete turned a few of the pages, which were covered with the thin, spidery writing. He stopped at one and read, slowly translating the ancient Spanish:

  . . . Admiral Frederico Halivera y Martinez came aboard this date from Habana to command the ship. As soon as stores are loaded we sail for the kingdom of Montezuma far to the west. It is said that in that place gold lies about on the shores of the sea for any man to pick up and carry away. , . .

  Pete turned a few more pages and stopped again to read.

  BEWARE THE TALL ONE

  . . . The loading of the treasures taken away from the rebellious Captain Cortez is now finished. Never before have such things been seen in the world and, for fear that I may be doubted, I list here only those things which I have seen with my own eyes:

  A very curious and cleverly contrived statue which is a snake with the wings of a bird. The eyes of the snake are precious stones and the whole statue is of solid gold much chased and engraved.

  A wheel, or disk, of soUd gold which is very thick through, measuring more than a half arm's length and of a diameter greater than two arms' length. The whole surface curiously inscribed with many figures of men, animals, and strange symbols. The Mexican prisoners, which we have also captured and taken on board, declare that this curious thing is used by the Aztec people to predict the future of the world.

  A great multitude of birds and animals made entirely of gold and precious stones and so cleverly designed that they much resemble living things and are of the same size. These are most beautifully made.

  Many utensils for eating, of such workmanship as even His Majesty has never seen. There are plates, platters, and goblets as well as knives and ladles made all of gold and wonderfully chased and designed.

  Ornaments worn by these Aztec people made of gold and precious stones . . .

  Pete wiped the sweat off his face with a towel and turned the pages.

  . . . On this day one of the Mexican prisoners disappeared from the ship. A search has been made of every part, but he has not been discovered. Therefore, in his grief at being made a prisoner, he must have leaped into the sea. Now

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  that he has gone the other prisoners have disclosed that he was the nephew of Montezuma, who was the king of the Aztecs, and that his name was Uemac. It is indeed sorrowful that a person of such distinction should have taken his life in this manner, for upon our arrival in Spain he would have had much made of him and even perhaps have been presented to His Zvlajesty. But these are a strange and violent people.

  In his mind's eye Pete could imagine the great Spanish galleon going full and by across the Gulf of Mexico. In the ornate cabins, hung like bird cages under the stern overhang, Admiral Hali-vera would be rubbing his hands at the thought of the treasures he had stolen. Roberto Narvez, in the dingy midships, would be writing in his journal or working out the crude dead-reckoning position of his ship. The Mexican prisoners— "strange and violent"—would be below somewhere in a noisome hold. Pete couldn't share Narvez's opinion about Uemac. He had probably been a wild, proud man, the nephew of a great king, whose soul could not endure slavery under the Spaniards.

  Pete turned a few more pages.

  . . . Water is reported coming into the ship by the sailing master. The admiral is very angry and pacis about the deck while even the navigator has been ordered below to search for the leak. Every part of the ship is being searched except the compartment in which the treasure is stored. This place, being sealed by the admiral himself, cannot be opened.

  BEWARE THE TALL ONE Pete turned to the next day.

  . . . The sailing master was, alas, correct. His insistence, even in the face of the admiral's anger, that the leak was in the hold where the treasure is stored, has been proven correct. With the admiral's permission and with a body of Marines to insure that none of the treasure would be stolen, that compartment was opened and found to be flooded with water.

  A strange thing was also found to be there. Uemac, the prisoner who disappeared, was there. The water, filling slowly the whole of the compartment, had, at last, drowned him. The carpenter declares that Uemac is somehow responsible for the water coming into the ship, for he declares that the bottom is very sound and only a man opening it could allow the water to enter. I cannot agree with the carpenter, for how could a man with no implement other than, perhaps, a knife cut through the stout timbers of the ship's bottom strakes?

  We will determine if the carpenter is correct in his accusation of the dead man when we have pumped out all the water now in that compartment.

  Pete was startled by the boatswain's pipe and the voice on the loudspeaker saying, **Relieve the watch." For arlittle while, reading the old book, he had almost been living back there on the galleon, taking part in the strange things which had happened there.

  Pete read more rapidly, skipping over the words he could not easily make out.

  .. . The ship is sinking very swiftly now. The efforts of all 23

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  the men and even the prisoners upon the pumps have been to no avail, for the water has risen steadily in the ship during the e
ntire night and this much of the day.

  This is all that I can write in this log, for I am preparing now to leave this ill-fated ship. I will be able to take with me only a little water and a little bread and I will wrap this log in my best silk scarf and soak it in paraffin, hoping thus to preserve it against the moisture of the sea.

  I have most carefully determined the position of the ship. Although I cannot see them, there are upon the chart two islands to the eastward, one of them distant four leagues, the other nearly five. These islands I remember seeing on the outward voyage and one is barren and small, whereas the other is larger and with vegetation upon it.

  May God grant me strength to survive the perils of the sea.

  Pete slowly closed the book on this last page and sat for a moment staring blankly at the steel bulkhead of his cabin. In his hands he held the log, so Narvcz, the young navigator, must have survived the perils of the sea and, sometime, he must have been rescued from one of the islands.

  Or perhaps, Pete thought, the Santa Ybel had not gone down after all. Perhaps with all hands and the Mexican prisoners on the pumps they had managed to keep her afloat until they reached shore.

  But, he argued, what about the old man down there in sick bay? Somehow, century after century, the book had stayed in the Narvez family and, generation after generation, they had be-

  BEWARE THE TALL ONE

  lieved that the Santa Ybel went down with the Aztec treasure. Perhaps the young navigator had somehow reached Cuba and had stayed there, got married, had children. And each generation had been brought up with the legend of the Santa Ybel a living part of their lives.

  Or, Pete decided, the whole thing was a hoax. But when he remembered the old man whispering in the middle of the night, he could not believe it.

  Then what was all this about the "tall one**?

  Pete sat trying to remember exactly what the old man had said. What was that about saving up money to get a ship? And what had he said about **apparatus to go beneath the sea**?

  Slowly, remembering the book, remembering the old man's whispering, Pete pieced together a picture. Somewhere in Cuba old Narvez and his sons had worked for years and saved every peso. Ahead of them always was the Santa Ybel lying on the bottom of the sea, and to reach her they knew that they must have a fairly large ship and one equipped with gear for locating the wreck and more gear for diving down to her.

  So at last they had saved up enough money. *'We went to Havana,*' the old man had said. He and his sons. They had inquired about buying a ship. Pete could easily understand how a shipbroker would get very curious when an old Cuban peasant began pricing ships for diving.

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  So, Pete decided, that's where the "tall one" came in. Some unscrupulous man had figured out that Narvez knew where treasure was. Probably figured that Narvez had an old chart or just such a book as this log. And had tried to get it. He had not stopped at arson or murder and, at last, he had driven Narvez and his last son into the storm which had cost them their lives.

  Nice guy, Pete thought.

  Then Pete stood up, closed his desk on the book, and began to dress. "Let's get on with the war, Martin," he said, half aloud.

  The storm had ended and the Gulf was calm as a sleeping baby. Pete took a quick breather and then went into the wardroom for breakfast. Williams was already there, eating late like most Black Gang officers; the other officers had finished and gone on deck.

  "I've got something I'd like to show you, Bill," Pete said. "That is—if you've got time after you finish scoffing chow."

  "The captain's wish is my command, sir," Williams said.

  Pete glowered at him. "I hope someday that the Navy Department will make a mistake and let you be commanding officer of a ship, son. Only then will you understand what a burden you junior officers can be."

  "Don't ^junior officer' me, lad," Williams said.

  BEWARE THE TALL ONE

  "These things may be tarnished by honest sweat, but they're still the railroad tracks which designate a lieutenant of the most senior grade." Then he rubbed his collar insignia with his napkin and stood up when Pete did.

  *Tn my desk is an old book, Bill. How about taking a look at it while I see that my precious ship is all in one piece and none of the ensigns are crying with homesickness?"

  "Okay, Grandma," Williams said.

  Pete went on the bridge to take the eight o'clock reports, then he checked the departments and saw that the liberty section had been posted. In the Communications Ofiice he countermanded his request for an ambulance, reported the death at sea, and notified Naval Intelligence. It took him nearly an hour to check everything and, when he got back to his cabin, Williams was still sitting at his desk, his head propped on his palms and reading so deeply that he didn't even hear Pete come in.

  "What do you think of it, Bill?" Pete asked.

  Williams slowly closed the book and swung around in the chair. "Where'd it come from?"

  "The old Cuban had it. He died last night." Pete nodded toward the empty box.

  "Too bad."

  Pete told him about the midnight talk with old Narvez; about the "tall one" and the sons. Williams slowly shook his head. "I don't

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  know," he said. "Might be a put-up job. I don't see why, though, because nobody gets anything and when these things are faked it's generally for a purpose—sucker bait. My Spanish isn't as good as yours so I can't tell whether it's really old Cas-tilian or not. Can you?"

  Pete shook his head. **All the Spanish I know is what I learned in Cuba."

  **Of course, the old man might have been just a stooge for somebody. He might have been on his way to plant this thing when the storm hit them."

  "Maybe, but I don't think so, Bill. For a man to put to sea in that boat in that storm, he would have to have something really driving him, something on shore which was a lot worse than the danger of the storm."

  "Guess you're right. Listen, Pete, my father knows more about this stufif than anybody in the world. You know he used to be in the ship-salvage business before he got all broken up in Valparaiso. Since then he's spent most of his time studying old logs, histories, fairy tales about sunken ships. If this thing is genuine, he'll know it because he knows the name of every ship that ever sailed from Spain; he knows where they went and, if they didn't come back, what is supposed to have happened to them. If there ever was a Santa Ybel in the Spanish navy, my dad will know about it.

  BEWARE THE TALL ONE

  "So how about letting me take this thing and show it to him, Pete? I promise you that no one else will see it, or even know it exists. But I warn you, if Dad thinks it's genuine, he'll want to get up an expedition to go find it the minute the war's over."

  "I wish you would, Bill. I'm just curious about it, that's all." Pete laughed. "After all, I've got the war to win, you know."

  "That so? I thought you'd already won it." Then Williams grinned. "The obvious thing to do. Captain, is to give poor old Wild Bill Williams a little leave. Captain, sir. Then he^can go over to Miami and consult with his father."

  "Okay, you dog. Make out some leave papers."

  Williams was wrapping up the book when the communications officer, a young ensign who took himself very seriously, knocked on the door. He came in with a radioman third class who looked as though he had just seen a rattlesnake in his bed.

  "Captain," the ensign said, "I request permission to put this^ man, Roark, on report for improper performance of duty."

  "That's pretty serious, Mr. Jenkins," Pete said. "Tell me about it."

  "Well, sir, yesterday when We were maneuvering around that wrecked sailboat Roark here was on watch in the sound room. He picked up a ship of some kind within four miles of us and

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  that sailboat and—sir, he did not report it to anyone. He did enter it in the log."

  Pete looked at Roark, who was getting paler and paler. "At ease, Roark," he said. **How long have you been standing t
op watches in the sound room, Roark?"

  "That. .. that was my first one, sir."

  "Did you know that you were supposed to report any sound to the bridge?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "But you didn't report this one?"

  "No, sir. You see, sir, I was watching them trying to get those people into the lifeboat, sir, and I just forgot about the other ship."

  "What did it sound like, Roark?"

  "Oh, it wasn't a submarine, sir. It was a single-engined craft, engine idling, and it sounded very small and—not very dangerous, sir."

  "Well, that's all, Roark. Just watch it in the future, will you?" Pete said.

  "Oh yes, sir. I certainly will."

  Roark almost ran out of the cabin. Pete said to Ensign Jenkins, "How about letting him off this time? He's new and young."

  "If you wish, Captain. But I will certainly keep an eye on him."

  "Do that," Pete said.

  When he had gone out, Pete looked at Williams.

  "The tall one?" Williams said.

  BEWARE THE TALL ONE

  "Could be," Pete said. "It isn't too fantastic to think that the *tall one' followed Narvez and was about to close in on him when we came along. I can't explain a small single-engined boat out in such weather any other way."

  "More hkely a Coast Guard job," WiUiams said. "But if it was Narvez's little playmate, he now knows where the log is. And it wouldn't take much genius to figure out that the commanding officer of a ship would take charge of personal effects. In other words, Pete boy, you're *it' from now on out."

  Pete took the log and slipped it into a big brown manila envelope. He glued the flap down and handed it to WilUams. "Your baby, Bill. And if I'm going to play a game of tag such as that joker played with Narvez, I'd feel a lot better if I knew who he was and what he looks like."

  "So would I. But I don't think he plays that way. He sounds like one of these ice-knife-in-the-back boys."

  Pete suddenly laughed. "We sound like people in a B movie. The whole thing is a hoax. Take it along to your papa and let him make it official."