A crab scuttled indignantly away and Kydd’s fears fled in the enchantment. He reached for another lump to one side and felt the whole diving engine obediently rotate to conform to his desires. He found it possible to pull himself along a yard or two, giving increasing manoeuvrability. In rising excitement he oriented himself – over there dimly was the darker bulk of the nearer buttress of the cave rearing up. Scrabbling around, he saw the suggestion of another: he must be exactly where they had planned, in the slight gradient down from the wreck.
If the contents had been washed out of the ship over the centuries they had to be here. Any one of the many bumps and irregularities in the muddy silt could be …
Kydd clamped a hold on himself: he was there to do a job. He would begin at this spot, work over to the left then up a yard or two and return across, making his way up to the wreck.
A subliminal movement – a flash in the strange half-light. Primeval fears slammed in until he spotted a small shoal of fish flitting past the rocks. Spellbound, he watched their synchronised swooping and darting.
Back to work, damn it!
He addressed himself to the first likely lump, feeling its hardness, an irregular length. He fumbled in the tool net slung under him for the pick. The concretion yielded and he caught the dull brown of what could only be man-made iron. It had no value but he stuffed it into his finds net. It would be his souvenir of a lifetime. Another, close by. It was rounder and set slightly deeper in a cranny. It wouldn’t come away and he teased all around it with the pick, panting at the effort.
It was worth it: waving aside the turbid cloud he saw a dull gleam and attached to it a dark rod of some kind – and then its form yielded itself. In a delirium of joy he touched the remains of a rapier of the Spanish kind of centuries past.
The encrusted blade bent and lost its concretions as he worried it clear of a crevice and then he held it before him in reverence. Barely recognisable, but for all that a stunning confirmation of their purpose. Feverishly he stuffed it into the finds net and moved on, sweating with excitement.
An unmistakable semi-circle protruded up, and more work in the cloudy water revealed a pewter plate, battered and worn, with crude engraving that he couldn’t make out.
Panting deeply, he rested for a moment, ears ringing. The inside of the barrel was running with condensation, puddling not far from his chin and it was getting difficult to breathe.
It was time to surface.
Three quick tugs on the cord and he was smartly yanked away from the magical scene.
The barrel broke surface into blinding sunlight and swung about dizzily as the crew hastened to bring him up with the boat. By now he was panting in shallow gasps, desperate for air, his whole being in need. If they forgot the procedures he was done for.
Kydd felt panic build as the stuffy air gave up its last vitality and he saw the deck of Maid slide past as at a distance. There was activity: knocks, thumps, scrapes. Then the round port under his chin fell away, the water gurgled past, and into his prison came cool, fresh life. Thrusting his mouth crudely over the opening he drew in huge gulps of air, hanging there in a delirium of relief.
The larger port above his head was next and the nozzle of a bellows was thrust in and applied, forcing more of the precious coolness inside. He pulled back from the opening and lay exhausted as the last of the water trickled away.
There were faint shouts outside. They’d found the articles in the net and were joyously celebrating. And so they should, Kydd thought weakly. It was working: not only had they entered the magic realm but had found what they were looking for.
After a few minutes he became aware that Stirk was bending under to see into the glass eyes. He caught sight of Kydd, who winked at him. In huge relief the big sailor spoke into the port. ‘We saw what ye found, cully!’ he hailed, in humble admiration. ‘How do y’ feel?’
Kydd was suffering nausea brought on by the rapid change in air conditions and replied in a voice he hardly recognised as his own, ‘Leave me to rest for a few minutes, Toby, there’s a good fellow.’
‘Tom, does ye want t’ get out?’
One half of him was desperate to escape his confinement but the other yearned to slip back to his newly discovered undersea world. ‘No, I’ll be down again shortly.’ This time he’d make damn sure he watched for the signs of his air giving out.
Kydd managed two more dives, staying in the engine as it was refreshed on the surface.
When he was below he had no idea of the weather conditions above but knew that Stirk would never risk anything. Then he realised that the gentle up-and-down motion on the seabed was the boat’s rising and falling with the waves; it was slight, which indicated continued balmy summer weather.
Punctiliously, he worked his way crossways up the slope. His little haul grew, and with it the likelihood that, sooner or later, he would make the big find. It was astonishing how many relics of familiar life at sea were scattered around: combs, buckles, common oil lamps, spoons, trinkets, carpenter’s tools. He didn’t bother putting these in the net and went after the larger, more suggestive lumps.
By the end of the afternoon he was exhausted, his nose bled and he had a ferocious headache. But undoubtedly they were closing in.
The prize find came unexpectedly. While he was extricating what was probably a navigational instrument an irregular lump instantly caught his eye: a glint of gold! It was heavy and he quickly recognised it: two doubloons welded into an encrusted mass of silver coins.
At dusk, it was time to return home for the day. As Maid of Lorne, followed by Aileen G, entered the bay they saw that the little waterfront was crowded with people. More were coming down the steep road from the village. Faintly the skirl of bagpipes could be heard on the air, and lights gleamed in every house. This was a welcome!
News was quickly shouted across as willing hands took their lines, and then it was off to the White Lion in a ferment of elation to hear the details. Mr Paine was cheered as the hero of the hour, and in the bedlam his fatigue and headache fled.
An embarrassment of ladies clustered around him with wide eyes as he tried to tell of the magic allure of an undersea world, and the moment he had held gold that had last known a Spanish nobleman’s hands. He spoke guardedly of his hopes for the treasure chest itself – after all, if the little baubles he’d found had survived it couldn’t be that far off.
A glowering fisherman had to be reassured that the diving engine was not about to put him out of business – he couldn’t see how Kydd, right there in the middle of the fish, wouldn’t simply reach out and snatch them one by one as they passed.
Eventually a great weariness descended on Kydd and he had to make his excuses – even the merriment in the taphouse below failed to prevent a fathoms-deep sleep.
Chapter 21
To foil any crafty attempt to follow them, it was given out that they would sail with the tide at ten. Instead Aileen and Maid set off while it was still dark. With the same feint to the south-west, they raised the Skerryvore at daybreak and were comfortably moored by the wreck at an early hour.
The barrel was readied and Kydd was impatient to start again. He knew exactly what to expect and where he would resume the search. At the seabed he quickly found his place. The early daylight entered at an angle, and eerie patterns of light shafted down, leaving the underwater reaches to the cavern in a baleful gloom. But, caught up in treasure-hunting, he had no time for gawking – he had to make every minute count.
The diving engine was well designed for the work. Unlike a diving bell, where men sat about its edge with long-handled tools hoping to fish things up, he was actually on the sea-bottom feeling and manipulating with his hands.