Lost Loot of Lima Read online

  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 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 60 feet in height. The tops of them were 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 and haul 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 commented 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 crewmember 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 50 miles 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 60 miles 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 until the wind caught her full force and turned 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 she was 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, Present Day

  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 60 – 90 feet, and the current was negligible. 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 blackt
ip, 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 15 feet 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 his 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 three feet 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 10 or 12 feet 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.

  The dive went on like that for half an hour. Hammerheads in various numbers moving sinuously past them. Blue-spotted jacks prowling for creole fish, with whitetips ready to gobble up the scraps. The manta gliding through three or four times with its wide wings estimated to range from seven to ten feet. And inches from Kyle’s navel, that moray, keeping its glassy eyes fixed on him.

  Moving forward, Kyle saw that the bottom was starting to recede from his view. As he reached the point where the coral dropped away to the sandy bottom, he proceeded to follow the contour of the rock and equalised the pressure build-up in his ears and facemask as he descended to the ocean floor. He reached for his depth gauge and confirmed that he had inadvertently exceeded the 60 feet he had planned. With a full tank of air, he knew he could sustain this depth for an hour, and not have to go through decompression procedures on his ascent. His pressure gauge indicated a little over 1600 pounds remaining, sufficient to sustain him for the duration of his dive. His waterproof chronograph stopwatch was showing that he had accumulated 36 minutes of bottom time and had about 24 minutes remaining. Glancing to his side he saw that Jenny was close behind him and he slowed to allow her to pull alongside. He reached for her gauges and noted that she had less than 1200 pounds of air remaining. He formed his thumb and forefinger into a circle with his other fingers extended to signify the ‘OK’ sign. She responded in a like fashion and they continued to scan the depths for their elusive treasure. He knew that Jenny was not using her air efficiently because she elected not to maintain the rigorous exercise program Kyle had suggested prior to the trip. This would mean that they would have approximately 15 minutes of bottom time left before having to ascend at Jenny’s 500-pound mark.

  §

  The area known as Cocos Island is a 30 square-mile landmass, located approximately 300 miles off the coast of Costa Rica, in the Pacific. The world's second largest uninhabited island, it is located at the centre of the volcanic Cocos Ridge, which runs from the Galapagos Islands to the Middle American Trench south-east of Costa Rica. It is the only outcrop of this submarine volcanic chain and rises 9,000 feet from the bottom of the ocean to the summit. It was discovered by Johan Cabecas in 1526 and over the next century, became an oceanic ‘truck-stop’ where ships under all flags could rest and replenish fresh water, food and firewood. The first notation for the island appeared on a French map of the Americas in 1542 and was labelled as IIle de Coques, or “Shell Island.” Maybe misunderstanding the French name, or simply providing their own name, the Spanish named it Isla del Cocos, or “Island of Coconuts.” It was around 1820 when the island became the haven for pirates and buccaneers to harbour their treasures. Among subsequent visitors were Buccaneers who supposedly left buried treasure - notably the pirate Bonito in the early 19th century, after plundering Peruvian churches. The island harbours no snakes, mosquitoes, or rats, but is the home to wild pigs, a few cattle, monkeys, and thousands of birds. It has long been considered a haven for treasure seekers because according to legend, it is estimated that billions of dollars in treasures are either lying on the ocean floor, or stored in some never-to-be-found pirate hideaways.

  Literally hundreds of expeditions have searched, blasted, and dug for the “Lost Loot of Lima (Peru),” the treasure of the pirate “Benito Bonito of the Bloody Sword” and Capt. Edward Davis’ gold. This lost treasure is estimated at $75,000,000. One gold doubloon dated 1788 was found by August Gissler who lived on the island for 20 years. The island has been a possession of Costa Rica since 1888, and a small government establishment has been maintained at Wafer Bay, not least of all to supervise treasure hunting. Permission to visit the island must be secured from the Costa Rica government, and no more concessions are being given to dig for treasure. If any treasure is inadvertently found, then half goes to the Costa Rican government. Many treasure-hunting expeditions have been made to the island, though officially, no treasure to date has ever been found.

  No accommodations are available on the island and camping is prohibited. All visitors must therefore arrive by boat, complete with all necessary items to sustain themselves for the duration.

  The vast array of rich plunder, caskets of buried jewels, chests of gold ingots, and bags of outlandish coins is the consequence of the pirates and buccaneers that plied the seas in the 17th and 18th century. Pirates, derived from the Latin pirata - one who robs or plunders on the sea - were ‘bad,’ as they plundered from anyone, even their own kind. Conversely, Buccaneers waged war only on Spanish ships, and only in the Americas. The term is derived from the Santo Domingo’s Indian word ‘boucans’, which was the term used for drying meat on barbecues or wooden frames. The Spaniards were the first to inhabit Cocos Island and had virtually exterminated the aborigines when they turned their attention to Mexico and Peru, deserting the island. French and English sailors settled on the islands and hunted the cattle left behind by the Spaniards, drying the meat on boucans. When the Spanish government finally drove out the settlers they took to the open sea as buccaneers, taking every opportunity to plunder the Spanish galleons. Captain Edward Davis was one of the most notorious buccaneers, harrying Spanish settlements and taking ships on the coasts of Peru and Chile. Born in Wales he held his command for a record four years from 1683, after which he sailed to Virginia in 1688 and settled down at Old Comfort Point.

  The real treasure, however, is the island itself. Jacques Cousteau deemed it “the most beautiful island in the world” and Michael Crichton wrote “Jurassic Park” with it in mind. The unique flora and fauna have attracted numerous scientist and naturalists from all over the world to study its array of plant and wildlife. Identification has been made of 97 species of birds, two endemic species of reptiles, 57 of crustaceans, and over 500 of sea mollusks. It is considered that there are over 800 species of insects and arthropods, 300 species of saltwater fish, and only 5 species of fresh water fish. The island experiences a significant rainfall – almost 300” a year - and with the rugged terrain, many waterfalls have formed - some plungi
ng spectacularly into the sea.

  The area is a haven for experienced divers, due to the strong currents and numerous sharks. In fact, many divers visit the area for a chance to experience the vista created by schools of hammerhead sharks, sometimes in groups of 50 or more.

  §

  At first, he thought it was just another piece of coral, but something struck him as being different. There was perfection to the circular form that would unlikely be created from random coral growth. Removing his ‘tool’, - a large, robust knife used by divers, similar to a ‘Bowie’ knife, with a serrated edge running along the back of the blade, - he carefully chipped away at the coral. Jenny, inflating her buoyancy compensator (BC) slightly, had now suspended herself above him in order to see what the object of his curiosity was. Working near the edge of the circular form, he dug a small groove in the coral that completely circled the object. With a back and forth motion, he worked the tip of the tool deeper into one side, and leveraged the object clear of the coral. The encrusted coral fell away and the dull yellow colour of the object was unmistakable - it was a gold coin.

  Kyle excitedly glanced up at Jenny, holding up his find. He could see Jenny’s eyes light up and she gave the ‘OK’ sign with both hands. Kyle inflated a marker buoy and allowed it to float to the surface, securing the end to a coral outcrop. He would take a location reading from the boat’s GPS system once on the surface and then retrieve the buoy. Checking Jenny’s air supply convinced them that it was time to return to the boat with their find. Slowly, holding hands, they ascended to the surface at the location of the marker buoy. They both broke the surface together and immediately inflated their BCs. A light rain that was falling beneath darkening skies greeted them. Kyle removed his regulator and pulled his mask down around his neck, waiting for Jenny to do the same. Kyle could see the thrill on Jenny’s face as he held up the coin to inspect it.