Seeking a Sunken Galleon

The images for this story do include a treasure map. So there is the chance that the reference to 'Fishing for Gold", as having a map was incorrect on that author's part.

* AHV has one movie credit, as the writer of Williamson Beneath the Sea, for the time being only a portion is on the internet...http://scubahalloffame.com/oldtimemovies/oldmovie8.htm from 1932.

Seeking a Sunken Galleon's Gold

Divers recover relics, but coral still clasps its treasure

by A. HYATT VERRILL

The Sun; Jul 30, 1933; The Baltimore Sun, collected by Alan Schenker, digitized by Doug Frizzle, August 2011.

I have been fishing for gold at the bottom of the sea. Through the crystalline water of the tropics I have looked down upon the remains of a stately Spanish galleon that (perhaps), laden with treasures of Incas and Aztecs, was driven by a hurricane upon the fangs of coral reefs three centuries and more ago.

I have seen her long-shanked, massive anchors, her ponderous, ancient cannon, her twisted rigging and iron work resting upon the coral-incrusted floor of the ocean, where dazzling blue parrot fish, gaudy angel fish, cruel-jawed barracudas and giant gray sharks swam lazily amid the twisted wreckage and flashed like living jewels in the shafts of sunlight. And from the bed of the West Indian seas I have seen the fittings and the contents of the 300-year-old ship come dripping over the rail of my boat as my divers wrenched them from their resting places and we hauled them upward from the ocean's depths.

Probably no human eyes had looked upon this sunken galleon since the day she went to the bottom of the sea. No man had ever before gazed downward upon that centuries-old hulk amid the reefs. No human being had seen her since that far-distant day when, in the fury of a West Indian hurricane, the ship was hurled to destruction upon the coral and never a man of the hundreds on board lived to tell the tale of the catastrophe.

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when I wrote an article on "Fishing for Gold" (in this Magazine January 1, 1933), little did I dream that my story was destined to lead me on a treasure hunt, that I was fated to go fishing for gold myself, to search for and find one of the wrecks I described. Still less did I dream that within six months of the time I would be looking upon one of the wrecks and watching my divers salvage objects and metals that had been hidden from all but the fishes for three centuries.

Scores of letters came to me following the publication of my story. Some wished detailed information of the treasures I had mentioned; others wanted to know why the treasures had not been salvaged if they were actually as described. Many were from young men who, lured by the glamour of millions beneath the sea, contemplated setting out on a shoestring to wrest fortunes from Davy Jones' locker.

Among the lot was one from a man who requested a personal interview and said he believed he could arrange to finance an expedition to salvage some of the treasure ships. Matters moved rapidly thereafter. Within a week I had met a group of wealthy New York business men, had told and retold all I knew of certain sunken treasures, had seen the necessary capital pledged and had found myself engaged to take entire charge of the expedition.

*

Weeks of feverish activity followed, for a treasure hunt on the ocean floor calls for far more than a ship and a diver. There were a thousand and one pieces of equipment to be purchased or made; diving gear and seemingly endless coils of rope, buoys and water glasses for viewing the bottom of the sea, boats and motors, air compressors and tools, anchors and grapnels, fishing tackle and drag lines. Even food alone—enough to feed eleven husky men for three months—is no small item; and the ship had to be completely altered and refitted for our purpose.

But at last all was ready. The vessel sailed for Southern seas, and in due time we dropped anchor in West Indian waters at the spot I had selected as the most promising. Our little ship appeared very small in that vast waste of waters as in the tiny launches we headed for the reefs in the distance. But it was a calm day; the sapphire sea lay with scarcely a ripple under a cloudless sky and only the upflung breakers of the ground swell on the "boilers" broke the line of the horizon.

Never will I forget the sensation we all felt as we approached the first of these coral heads. Just awash, with the long ocean swell sweeping over them and then receding, leaving the sharp, talonlike corals exposed, they seemed endowed with some malignant purpose, terrible, sinister monsters reaching out hungry hands to grasp our craft and drag them to destruction. Even the most sea-hardened of our men, old sailors that they were, confessed to such a feeling of terror, and all of us actually shuddered with dread each time a surge sucked our boats toward the jagged masses.

*

So transparent was the water that the bottom at eight or ten fathoms appeared within reach of one's outstretched hand, with every detail standing out clearly and sharply. Yet the objects upon the floor of that reef-filled ocean were amazingly deceptive. There were great fingers of coral which looked like the massive timbers of sunken ships. There were strange sea growths that were the exact counterparts of chests and kegs, and again and again we thought we had located a wreck, only to find, when the divers went down in their "hats," as they call their helmets, that our "wrecks" were but natural growths. That first day was the only calm day we had. For two months thereafter our little hundred-foot ship rolled and pitched continuously. But Dame Fortune smiled upon us, and presently, as we searched the bottom of the sea between the reefs, one of the party discovered an anchor. Almost coincidentally another spied two more anchors, and the next moment a great cannon was found.

Excitement ran high. Here was indisputable evidence that we were above a wrecked ship, and the type of the anchors and gun left no doubt as to the vessel's age. With straining eyes, we searched the sea floor for further wreckage, but nothing of the sunken vessel's structure was visible.

Quickly the air pump was manned, and, wearing only their "hats," the divers dropped down. Intently we watched. And then came a great surprise. From our boat the two smaller anchors had appeared no larger than ordinary kedge anchors, but when a diver grasped one and raised it upright the shank extended for more than two feet above his head! It took all our tackle and herculean labor to salvage the smallest of the three; the largest was more than twelve feet in length.

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Though they had rested under the sea for more than three centuries, these massive hand-forged anchors that once had served to moor a galleon of Spain were in a remarkable state of preservation. Beneath the two-inch incrustation of lime the iron was still sound, and a little chipping and cleaning would have rendered them fit for service again.

Next, efforts were made to raise the cannon, in hopes that it might bear the name of the ship on whose bows it had once been mounted. But the great gun with its ornate breech and strangely placed trunnions proved too much for our tackle, and when within a few feet of the surface it broke away and plunged back to its resting place. So we left the ancient gun to the fishes and devoted all our efforts to tracing the outlines of the wreck and locating its strong room. This was a most difficult task. Nowhere was a timber of the ship visible. All of its structure that remained was completely incased in coral sand cemented together by the carbonate of lime to form a concrete like armor two feet or more in thickness.

Such objects as had been upon the galleon's decks also were incrusted and appeared like mere irregularities on the ocean's bed or like lumps of coral. Only by striking every object with a heavy crowbar was it possible to determine which were natural growths and which were portions of the ship. Inch by inch the divers sought about and presently up came a bundle of bent and twisted iron work—hatch bands and chain plates, toggles and rings, and finally the massive iron sling which had held the "Jimmy Green" yard beneath the galleon's immense bowsprit.

*

Obviously we had reached the bow of the wreck, and now the divers worked in the opposite direction. From amid a mass of broken coral they salvaged a swivel-gun crutch of steel almost as perfect as on the day it was forged in some smithy in old Spain. In another spot they came upon some irregular black lumps which we at first mistook for iron, but which proved to be cannon powder still capable of burning with strong sulphurous fumes when dried.

However, the forepeak of a galleon is no place to search for treasure, and little by little our divers worked aft—or in the direction I assumed was aft. For a space they found nothing. Then, thirty feet back of the anchors and gun, they came to more wreckage—chain plates and standing rigging, iron plates, iron mast bands and other objects which convinced me that we were working where once had been the galley and the carpenter's shack abaft the galleon's mainmast. Here was a veritable mine of antiquities. At each descent the divers salvaged new and surprising objects. They found several massive lumps which looked like meteorites, but which, when broken apart, proved to be the remains of kegs of nails. Not a nail remained, but each had left a perfect mold in the mass of iron oxide which had formed about them. At another time we salvaged material which had every appearance of graphite. It could be whittled with a knife, it could be used like a pencil lead, and I puzzled over it for hours—until I discovered that it once was cast iron! Imagine whittling cast iron with a pocketknife!

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Hidden under a limestone crust was an iron kettle. To one side the divers found a crudely made, hand-forged, five-pronged grapnel which no doubt had once been in the ship's longboat. Every moment was filled with intense interest and excitement; no one could know what the divers might unearth next. No one could say when the remains of a perforated canvas bag might be drawn on board, and we would find it filled with gold or silver bars or masses of pieces of eight.

And here let me pause in my narrative to remark that pieces of eight and doubloons and golden onzas buried under the sea for 300 years are not the bright and shining disks described in fanciful tales of treasure trove and pictured by imaginative artists. Instead, they are shapeless lumps that no one would recognize as coins, that might easily be mistaken for masses of dead coral. Through the centuries the coins have become firmly cemented together by oxides and lime which, covering the metal, has retained more or less perfectly the form of bags or kegs or chests in which they were once contained.

Working about the spot where the ship's galley had once, stood, the divers salvaged many a strange and totally unexpected object. There were pewter plates on which the coarse fare of the galleon's company had been served. Three grindstones were found—worn and out of true from the sharpening of many a knife and sword and pike and halberd.

There were articles and utensils of iron and copper whose original purposes remain a mystery. There were broken porcelain plates and wine jars with blue designs still clear upon the crackled glaze. There were countless fragments of the galleon's rails, covered with lime crust, with some of the tough hardwood still intact. We found a pikehead as bright as silver, still bearing the gold damascening upon its surface. We even found the ship's sounding, lead—a rudely hammered lump of metal weighing about ten pounds, its smaller end perforated by two holes instead of by one, as modern sounding leads are.

*

From the vanished galley we also salvaged scouring brick, and when one of the divers' prying bars struck metal, and there was the dull gleam of yellow amid the broken crust, every one was on the qui vive. But the find proved to be an amazing, immense copper kettle with huge bronze legs and a long copper spout. Obviously it was an extemporized cooking utensil, for it was built-up of sheets of copper of varying thickness riveted together, and with the crudely cast bronze legs riveted in place. But it was not the workmanship of the thing which drew our interest; it was the fact that there was scarcely any verdigris upon the metal, that it showed a dull, purplish-black patina and that it was enormously heavy. Had the legs been of solid gold they could scarcely, have weighed more. But the puzzle was solved at last—the thing was made from copper—probably from Peru—smelted from ores rich in gold. Probably the long dead cook who had sweated over the galleon's galley fires had never dreamed that he was boiling the crew's soup in a kettle containing more gold than he could earn by years of toil.

The battered old pot was a real find in another way also. The portion which had been hidden beneath the crust of lime was filled with loose sand. Obviously the hard, concrete-like coating was merely a floor above sand which had filtered in and covered the wreck; buried in this we would find her timbers and her treasure intact.

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There were amusing incidents, too. Once a diver brought up some strips of bright metal and remarked that he guessed they were remains of old sardine tins. But if the Dons had used that metal for sardine containers—well, the empty cans would be worth more than their weight in gold today! For the strips our diver had found were platinum!

Slowly the divers worked beyond the site of galley and carpenter's shack. Another great gun was discovered lodged among the coral growths. Twisted portions of ironwork of the mizzen rigging were found and at last they came upon the massive wrought-iron hangers that had supported the ship's huge rudder. They had reached the stern of the wreck! Beneath their feet, under the corals and the limestone crust, was the lazarette, the floor of the high stern castle and the galleons strong room.

Feverishly the divers labored: Our time was getting short. Each day the wind was increasing; each night it blew a gale. Our ship rolled in the ever-increasing seas and snapped viciously at her anchor chain. We were working against time, and the treasure hunt had become a submarine-mining-proposition. Our diving launch, moored between the hungry coral reefs with only a few feet to spare, might part a line and be smashed at any moment,

*

But dangers were forgotten for the time. Only a few feet of crust and sand separated us from the treasures in her hold. We felt that luck had been with us from the start, that it would stand by us to the end. And when at, last we hoisted our diving gear aboard and battened down the hatches above the lime-incrusted mound of metal in the forehold, hoisted the anchor and sailed for home, we felt that our faith in Old Lady Luck had been borne out.

The clutching reefs had stretched out hungry talons in vain; the sea had taken no toll of men or craft; no wraiths of dead hidalgos or Spanish mariners had materialized above their ocean graves. We had discovered a centuries-old galleon, a treasure ship lost 300 years ago.

But we had no intention of abandoning the ancient wreck forever. Some day not far distant we will again gaze downward through the glass-clear water upon all that remains of that stately, old galleon. Some day, perhaps, our divers will again invade the haunts of strange fish and hungry sharks to dig and delve on the ocean's floor. The concussion of dynamite will send coral trees tumbling to destruction, and from the rent and broken limestone crust and shattered timbers we hope to salvage the remainder of the galleon's sunken treasure.

Fishing for Gold

Once again Alan has managed to locate a Verrill story that I could never find. Alan's file is a PDF (portable document format). Someday I hope to understand this file structure; when I started to render the images into acceptable web format for this blog, Adobe, the creator of the format, insisted that no images existed! But I did work around this problem.

* There just may be two versions of this same title since one reference to this title indicates that a treasure map is one image! (The Boston Herald, Sunday, July 30, 1933, section B, p. 4.)

Fishing for Gold on the Ocean's Floor

Improved salvaging methods have stimulated treasure hunting

by A. HYATT VERRILL

The Sun; Jan 1, 1933; The Baltimore Sun; Collected by Alan Schenker, digitized by Doug Frizzle, August 2011.

WHEN more than one hundred antique coins and a number of pieces of valuable jewelry were washed by a storm upon the beach at Old Lyme, Conn., a few weeks ago, it was at once assumed that they were from some long-forgotten wrecked vessel or from some pirate's hoard.

Had the valuables been found upon the beach at Southampton, L. I., it would have been far more probable that they had come from a pirate's hoard, for back in 1531 Charles Gibbs—as conscienceless and as villainous a pirate as ever flew the black flag—buried $25,000 in gold in the beach at Southampton. And, as far as is known, not a dollar of the treasure ever has been recovered.

But, as there are no records of pirates having buried loot at Old Lyme, it is highly probable that the miniature treasure-trove did come from some wreck near shore.

*

Whatever the truth of the source of the coins and jewels, the incident has renewed the interest in sunken treasures, an interest which has been steadily increasing during the last few years. No doubt this interest is partly the result of the depression and men seeking new means of acquiring wealth; even more it is because of the success that attended the salvagers of the Egypt, who secured about $5,000,000 from the sunken ship off the coast of France; but, most of all, perhaps, it is due to the fact that with modern methods and apparatus the salvaging of sunken treasures is no longer a romantic adventure or a gamble, but an engineering problem and a business proposition. Though the public hears little of what is going on fathoms beneath the waves, expeditions are constantly at work, lifting long-lost treasures from rotting hulks and battered wrecks.

For months past Simon Lake and his company have been working on the Lusitania, sunk, with her millions in specie and gems, during the World War. Another expedition has been laboring during the last summer on the Merida, on the Virginia Capes. Now comes word from Lewes, Del., stating that the British sloop-of-war De Braak with her $10,000,000 in specie has been located near Cape Henlopen. The De Braak went down in 1798 and the divers who have found and surveyed the 134-year-old hulk report that it is buried to the level of the main deck in the sand. But that is good news to the salvagers, for it means that the ship's cargo and treasure will no doubt be found intact when the old wreck is lifted, floated and brought ashore.

Even the Japanese have taken a hand in wresting treasures from their resting places beneath the sea. A dispatch from Tokyo states that two groups of Japanese salvagers have located the hull of the Russian cruiser Nachimov, which, with over $53,000,000 in gold, was sunk by the Japanese fleet at the battle of Tsushima during the Russo-Japanese War. There are a number of modem salvaging devices which should make the recovery of the Russian navy's pay-ship a comparatively easy matter.

At last the sea is yielding up its lost and sunken riches; but there are countless millions still beneath its surface to tempt the treasure seeker. Much of it lies in the rotting hulls of treasure ships whose stories are well known and whose locations arc established facts.

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For example, there is the Don Carlos III that went down about 1812 after striking a reef off Cuba, carrying with her a treasure well worth getting. As she struck the coral the panic-stricken crew strove madly to save their doomed ship. Cannon lashings were cut and the guns thrown into the sea. Round shot, ammunition, everything movable followed. And when all efforts failed and there was no longer hope, the crew took to the boats and left the proud old Don Carlos III, with all her treasure, to her fate.

Today, during calm weather in December, January and February, one may peer down through the clear water and see the wreck resting on the coral reef barely five fathoms beneath the surface. Scattered about, partly overgrown with coral and sponges, are the ancient muzzle-loading cannon, the iron round shot, the wheels of gun carriages and piles of the ship's iron ballast—all jettisoned by the crew in their effort to lighten their ship and free her from the reef. And in one spot, embedded in the brown, yellow and lilac coral growths, is an iron-bound treasure chest.

For over a century the wreck of the Don Carlos III has lain there with her treasure almost intact. From time to time the native divers have gone down, and little by little they have recovered some 2,500 pieces of eight—good silver coins bearing the dates 1794, 1810 and 1811. Still, the bulk of the treasure remains undisturbed.

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Almost as accessible as the wreck of the Don Carlos III is that of a far older Spanish ship that was sent to the bottom with a much greater treasure in her holds.

Up from Cartagena and Maracaibo came sailing the great plate ship Santisima Concepcion with tons of silver and gold in her hold. In her strong rooms, in iron-bound chests and casks, were hundreds of thousands of minted gold and silver coins, blazing gems and priceless holy vessels. Upon her decks were cavaliers, richly gowned women, grandees and soldiers, and tonsured, sandaled friars, for the Santisima Concepcion was homeward bound to Spain from the Indies and Panama. She was headed for Margarita Island, there to take on the year's catch of pearls and to join a fleet of galleons under convoy of heavily armed ships of war.

Manned by a crew of more than one hundred men, with a full company of troops on board with her twenty guns, her falconets and carronades, the Santisima Concepcion was practically a war vessel herself. But when she was nearing Margarita a strange ship sped out from its hiding place under the land. The Spanish captain's face paled, for he recognized the stranger as a buccaneer craft.

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Heavily armed as his ship was, Capt. Hernando Ferara had no intention of battling with pirates if he could avoid it. His vessel held a vast treasure, it carried men and women of exalted rank and station, and he was responsible for their safety and the safety of the treasure. So, as long as he could run for it, run he would; with the harbor and the convoy only a few leagues distant, he might reach safety before the pirates came within cannon shot.

But the oncoming vessel was a far speedier craft than the Santisima Conception. Each moment she drew nearer, and presently from her bows there was a flash and a puff of smoke. A round shot plunged into the sea a scant hundred yards from the plate ship's quarter.

Five minutes, ten, passed, and now ahead rose two small rocky islets separated from the main island by narrow straits or bocas. Hope rose in Captain Ferara's breast. Beyond these, almost in sight, lay the harbor and safety. His ordinary course was well outside the rocks; but to round the islets and their surrounding reefs meant making a wide detour and tacking about, and he knew that long before this was accomplished the buccaneers would be alongside. But there was a chance—a rather dangerous chance, yet the only chance of escaping his foes—and that was to sail through the bocas.

It was a narrow, crooked, treacherous channel, filled with reefs and shoals, barely deep or wide enough for the great ship to pass through. Never, under ordinary conditions, would he have dared attempt it. But Captain Ferara knew the boca channel, and he decided to take this last chance to save his ship. Shots were falling fast about the plate ship's stern; one carried away a ten-foot section of ornate scrollwork from the lofty stern castle, and at any moment a shot might cripple the vessel.

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The captain bellowed his orders. With a cheer the crew sprang to their guns. With a deafening roar the broadside thundered out, and through the smoke those on the plate ship saw great rents torn in the straining sails of the buccaneer craft; they saw her lateen mizzen yard break and fall in a mass of tangled rigging. But she still held her course, and cannon belched from her sides as she luffed into the wind and delivered a broadside in return. Screams, curses, groans, prayers arose from those on the Spanish ship. Dead, dying and wounded were sprawled upon her decks; two guns were dismounted and her bulwarks were in splinters. But her spars were intact, her hull was undamaged; she had gained several hundred yards and the entrance to the boca was just ahead. Seizing the great tiller in his own hands, the captain guided his ship between the treacherous fangs of coral. With uplifted faces the priests upon the stern gallery chanted thanks to God for their deliverance from the pirates.

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Baffled, realizing it hopeless to pursue the plate ship through the narrow channel with the convoy just beyond, the buccaneer captain—the infamous Dutchman, "Wooden Leg"—luffed his vessel sharply, cursed the Dons and to ease his mind and express his feelings fired a parting shot from his long bow gun.

Perhaps it was mere chance; possibly it was an exceptionally good shot. But, whether guided by fate or the gunner's aim, the screeching round shot mowed down the knot of friars, tore through the superstructure of the stern and shattered the Spanish ship's rudder post.

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instantly she yawed. Before an order could be given she struck the reef with a terrific crash. Her masts went by the board. Struggling to free themselves from the wreckage of spars and rigging, insane with terror, passengers and crew fought madly to gain the one undamaged boat. Few ever reached shore. Sharks accounted for many. Others were dragged down by their armor or their weapons, and many were unable to swim. It was a terrible catastrophe and could not have been worse had the Santisima Concepcion fallen a prize to the Dutch buccaneer. And it would have been far better for Captain Ferara had he fallen in battle. Driven insane by the tragedy, he was taken in chains to Spain; but despite his mental state be was tried, convicted and beheaded!

Three centuries have passed since the loss of the treasure-laden Santisima Concepcion. But beneath the waters of the boca the galleon's timbers, her gaunt ribs, the broken stumps of her masts may still be seen. And somewhere, deep, in the old coral-covered bulk, is all that great treasure, all the gold, silver and precious stones that escaped the buccaneers only to sink to the bottom of the sea.

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Another treasure ship whose location is known, and which was lost under similar conditions, was the Todos Santos, which fell a victim to that romantically inclined, picturesque, quixotic and deeply religious buccaneer-cavalier, the Sieur Raveneau de Lussan. Cruising off the Ecuadorean coast in the hope of picking up a prize, De Lussan sighted a Spanish ship close inshore. The Dons knew that the buccaneers were about and were taking as few chances as possible by hugging the coast, so that, if necessary, they could dodge into some port. But the Sieur de Lussan knew the coast as well as the Dons did. He knew there was no convenient harbor the Spaniard could reach without proceeding on his northward course, and that the nearest refuge to the south was so far off that the ship could not make it before his own vessel could overhaul her.

So, instead of shifting his course in pursuit of the fat-bellied galleon, De Lussan continued on his way and broke out the Spanish colors. But little by little he edged inshore, and, as his ship could sail two knots to the galleon's one, he soon forged ahead and, as he planned to do, gained a position to intercept the other vessel if she continued on her course. De Lussan flattered himself that the Spaniard was very neatly trapped.

But De Lussan was ignorant of the fact that the Todos Santos was in command of a seaman as clever and wily as himself—a renegade Englishman, one Thomas Gage, an ex-pirate, who was as familiar with the buccaneers' tricks as any hairy-chested old tar who ever sailed out of Bristol. De Lussan might hoodwink the Dons by hoisting a Spanish flag and nonchalantly sailing on his course; but he could not fool Gage, who had read Sieur Raveneau's intentions the instant he saw the vessel edging toward the land. He realized that he could not hope to run away, nor could he pass the pirate craft without a battle, in which he was certain to be the loser.

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But he still had an ace up his sleeve, as one might say; an ace of which De Lussan was ignorant; for, although De Lussan knew the coast, he did not know there was deep water between the mainland and an island which, from the sea, appeared like a portion of the shoreline itself.

Having waited for the approaching galleon to appear from behind an outjutting cape, Sieur Raveneau became troubled and suspicious when she failed to materialize. Perhaps, he thought, the Dons had recognized his ship and had turned about while he had been lying in wait, hidden from them by the point of land. The more he thought of it the more certain he became that this had occurred. At last, fearing he would be too late to overtake the retreating galleon, he crowded on sail and went dashing southward.

But as his ship weathered the supposed cape he stared astounded, almost unable to believe his eyes. The other ship had vanished completely. To the pious and superstitious Frenchman it savored of a miracle or the supernatural. But being a practical chap, he sent men aloft, and presently a shout from one lookout drew all eyes astern. Above the guano-coated rocks of the islet loomed the topsails of the galleon, appearing as though she was sailing over dry land.

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There was a pretty how-do-you-do. While the Frenchman had been looking for the Dons they had slipped by, and now were miles farther on their course and that much nearer safety. De Lussan saw the channel, but he dared not risk his ship in waters he knew nothing about.

But he was not one to give up without a struggle. There was one other chance remaining. He might be able to cripple her by shooting across the narrow island, and then sail around, come alongside and have things all his own way. So, ordering his gunners to aim high and shoot away the galleon's rigging, he fired a broadside at the rapidly retreating ship. But the old-fashioned, smooth-bore guns were far from accurate. The round shot, instead of slashing through sails and rigging, crashed into the galleon's hull and riddled her between wind and water.

Ignorant of what damage he had done, De Lussan squared away and bore around the island again. Then he rubbed his eyes in bewilderment. No dripping, crippled ship awaited him. Once more the Todos Santos had vanished! But this time there was nothing mysterious about her disappearance; her masts, with rent sails and yards askew, rising like crosses from the water, told plainly of her tragic fate.

*

Instantly Raveneau became transformed from a buccaneer to a life saver. Scores of men were struggling in the water, others hung to masts, spars and rigging and floating wreckage.

When the pirates' boats had saved the last man Sieur Raveneau fell to his knees and thanked God there had been no greater loss of life and requested the Spanish chaplain, who had been saved, to offer prayers for the repose of the souls of those who had died—for Sieur Raveneau de Lussan was, as I have said, a religious, pious and gentlemanly pirate.

Inwardly, however, be must have felt anything but prayerful when he learned that the Todos Santos had been laden with 200 tons of silver bars, besides quantities of gold ingots—all of which still lie at the bottom of the passage that became her grave.

Another Spanish ship with an even greater treasure lies not far from the ill-fated Todos Santos. During one of the temporary lulls in hostilities between England and Spain this treasure ship went down near Guayaquil, Ecuador.

At that time matters were topsy-turvy in England and King Charles was struggling to regain the throne. So the Spaniards, perhaps fearing the spread of the Commonwealth and of Protestantism as much as we today fear the spread of Sovietism, decided to forget old scores and lend a helping hand to England's royalty. Money talked as loudly in those days as at the present. So Peru, which was Spain's richest colonial possession, was ordered to make King Charles the princely present of some $13,000,000 to help his cause along.

History fails to mention the name of the ship selected to carry this vast treasure from Lima to Panama. But she never reached the Isthmus. She struck on the rocks off the Ecuador coast, and went to the bottom.

The wreck with its thirteen million is still there. It is neither far from shore nor in deep water, for after every heavy sea or storm pieces of eight and ten gold pesos and doubloons are washed up on the beach, where, first and last, several hundred have been picked up. But what are a few hundred, compared to the millions remaining, ready to be had for the taking?

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And if one does not care to turn salvager, or hasn't the capital that is needed to charter a vessel, purchase equipment and employ divers, there is Plate Island, only a few miles from the sunken galleon of Chanduy.

Here, in the snug little harbor of the island, Sir Francis Drake anchored his ship after having sacked the Spanish towns and Spanish ships along the South American coast, his raid culminating in the taking of the treasure ship Cacafuego. Finding his Golden Hind was so overladen with precious metal that she could not put to sea with safety, Sir Francis tossed overboard more than forty-five tons of silver coins and silver plate.

From time to time sailors whose ships have anchored in the harbor have passed the time fishing for Drake's jettisoned treasure by means of tallowed sounding leads. Altogether, a couple of thousand pieces of eight have been recovered. But the greater part of the forty-five tons of silver still lies there, in about ten fathoms of water, on a hard bottom, awaiting anyone who wants it badly enough to go and get it. To be sure, forty-five tons of silver is not a great fortune at the present market value of silver bullion. But even $350,000 is not to be sneezed at, and Drake's silver would be worth far more than its value as bullion.

But perhaps the best of all is much nearer home—between the Bahamas and Santo Domingo, where, on the Silver Shoals, sixteen treasure-laden galleons went down. Moreover, there is no guesswork about these sunken millions. There they lie, and that they can be salvaged is proved by the fact that one of the wrecks was salvaged—to the value of some $2,000,000 worth of gold, silver and precious stones.

*

This was accomplished in 1656, when Capt. William Phipps, who had formed a salvaging syndicate with the King of England as a partner, recovered the $2,000,000, and in return for having done so well and nobly for himself and the crown he was knighted and made Governor of Massachusetts.

Considering that Phipps depended entirely upon native Indian and Negro divers, who could remain but a few minutes under water, and he possessed no salvaging equipment, he certainly did amazingly well. And just as certainly he salvaged only a portion of the treasure in the sunken galleon. In fact, he missed fully as much as he recovered, if the records of the vessel's cargo are at all accurate. At any rate, a sizable fortune is still resting on the bottom where Phipps did his treasure fishing, and with modern methods and equipment it should be fairly easy to get it.

Moreover, it must be remembered that sixteen treasure-laden galleons went down on the Silver Shoals, and that Phipps found and salvaged only one of these. So there must be fifteen left.

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Even closer to our own shores there are plenty of sunken treasure ships to keep salvagers busy for years to come. Perhaps the most famous of these is the Ward liner Merida, which was sunk in a collision off the Virginia Capes. The Merida is popularly credited with having carried a fortune in gold, as well as the crown jewels of Maximilian. But it is questionable if she will pay expenses when, if ever, she is salvaged, for, according to the records of the Ward Line, the Merida actually carried less than half a million, including valuables and the jewels of passengers. Finally, for those treasure hunters who do not care to go far afield, there is a sunken treasure ship actually within the limits of New York city. Strange as it may seem, she lies in shoal water in prosaic East river close to Randall's Island, and within one hundred yards of the shore.

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For the story of this local treasure wreck we must hark back to the days of the Revolution, when the Hussar, a British frigate, left New York for Newport, carrying gold with which to pay off the British army and navy engaged in fighting the Continental forces under George Washington. But the Hussar never went far. For while passing up East river and threading the dangerous waters of Hell Gate she struck a rock near Randall's Island and went down.

As far as is known, no one ever has recovered a single penny of her precious cargo, yet up to I850 her masts—or rather, their stumps —were buoyed as menaces to navigation.

To be sure, various attempts have been made to salvage the Hussar. The first was in 1815; but the equipment employed consisted of oyster-tongs, iron grapples and a crude sort of diving bell. Only guns, an anchor, a bell and other fittings were secured.

*

Just how much treasure is contained in the wreck of the Hussar is rather uncertain. Rumor and tradition place it anywhere from $2,000,000 to $4,000,000; but a document in the British Admiralty Office, which gives a detailed account of the frigate's loss, states that she carried but £20,000. On the other hand, one historian records the following:

"Reaching New York from England on September 13, 1780, came the frigate Hussar with a cargo of a large sum of money in copper, silver and gold coin. The British forces had not been paid for a long time and this money was to still their complaints. Another British vessel, the Mercury, had also left England with £350,000, and the conclusion is that this was transferred to the Hussar."

But even if the unfortunate frigate carried but £20,000, and a part of that in copper coins, it is a tempting bait with no danger of hurricanes to interrupt operations, no sharks or giant catfish to attack the divers. And withal so conveniently situated that the salvagers may sleep in their own homes, dine in the metropolitan restaurants and cafeterias, patronize their favorite speakeasies, spend their evenings on Broadway and devote their remaining hours to lifting money from a sunken British frigate.

Lost Treasures Incas

The Lost Treasures of the Incas

For centuries they have defied the invading searchers

A HYATT VERRILL

The Sun; Nov 20, 1932; The Baltimore Sun; researched and collected by Alan Schenker, digitized by Doug Frizzle, August 2011.

Prospectors have an old saying that "gold is where you find it." This might be applied to treasure with equal truth. For treasures are always bobbing up in the most unexpected places. Thousands of dollars and months of time may be spent searching for some lost or hidden treasure without finding a trace of the hoard, then some one plowing a field, digging a post hole, ripping up an old floor or tearing down a dilapidated building comes upon a fortune in hidden gold. There is no telling where treasure may be. It has been found in cows' horns, hollow timbers, old boots and other strange places. Vast treasures have been dug up in the streets of London. Only last year workmen repairing a cellar floor at Cysoens, on the Franco-Belgian border, unearthed a treasure dating from the tenth century and once belonging to a former abbey. It was valued at $20,000,000.

Now from Ecuador comes news of the discovery of another treasure, found, as usual, by accident. This time the finder was a humble Cholo (mixed Indian and Spanish) laborer, digging an irrigation ditch on a hacienda. Scattered over the surrounding plain were crumbling ruins and the burial mounds of ancient Incans, and every now and again the man's shovel would turn up bits of broken pottery and human bones. But he scarcely noticed these, for it isn't possible to dig a ditch in many parts of Ecuador and Peru without unearthing skeletons and potsherds. The Cholo's mind was not on treasure; he was thinking, rather, of the next week's fiesta or the outcome of the revolution raging in Quito.

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and then suddenly all thoughts of the fiesta and the insurrectos were driven from his mind and he stood staring at what a stroke of his pick had revealed. Half uncovered in the gravelly soil was an Incan mummy, and scattered about were dull, brown disks and plates and vessels which gleamed dull yellow where the steel blade had struck against them. Gold!

The astonished peon scarcely could believe his eyes. He had stumbled upon the treasures of some long dead Incan chieftain. Falling upon his knees, he scraped and pawed the soil away, ruthlessly tore the wrappings from the dessicated shriveled body in his search for more of the treasure. Never in his life had he seen so much precious metal at one time. Thin plates, disks, cups and vases, crudely cast figures and delicately made chains; coinlike objects and brooches, plume-shaped pins and crescent-shaped collars—a collection of golden objects worth more than $100,000 was piled beside the ditch.

But the Cholo laborer might just as well have left the treasure where he found it, for all it benefitted him. His fellow-workmen had come hurrying to the spot, the foreman had arrived on the scene, and news of the find spread rapidly. And as all antiquities are claimed by the Government, the ancient treasure was confiscated by the authorities. Possibly the poor laborer may receive a small sum, but even that is doubtful.

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but news of the discovery of an Incan treasure, even though a very small one, revives interest in the almost mythical, inconceivably vast treasures of the Incas, which at the time of the Spanish Conquest were concealed in Ecuador and Peru. For centuries these lost treasures of the Incas have been the basis of countless tales of fiction, the inspiration of many a novelist and the lure that has drawn innumerable treasure hunters on a vain search for the millions in precious metals and gems concealed 400 years ago somewhere in the vastnesses of the Andes.

As a matter of fact, there were three so-called Incas' treasures. The treasure of Atahualpa, the treasure of Pachakamak and the Valverde treasure. All three are authentic and their existence is verified by history; all three are vast, and all three still remain where they were concealed by the Indians four centuries ago to prevent their falling into the hands of Pizarro and the ruthless Spanish conquerors.

Of the three greatest treasures that of Atahualpa is probably the largest. It has been estimated at a value of more than $100,000,000.

Impossible! Incredible! But borne out by facts and figures.

To secure his freedom, Atahualpa had agreed to fill a room sixteen feet wide and twenty feet long to a height of seven feet with gold. In other words, 2,240 cubic feet, or approximately 250 tons of the precious metal, with a value of close to $150,000,000. Less than a tenth of the promised treasure had been delivered when Atahualpa was put to death; yet this was worth $15,000,000, according to the Spaniards own records. The balance, then on the way from Cuzco and other parts of the Incan Empire, was concealed by the bearers when word of Atahualpa's death reached them.

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This vast treasure, hidden somewhere near Piscobamba, consisted of a 700-foot chain of gold which the Inca Huayna Kapak had had made in commemoration of the birth of his eldest son, Huascar; the burdens of gold of seventy-five pounds each carried by 7,000 Indian cargo bearers; the twelve life-sized gold statues of former Incas, and the golden flowers, figures and fountains from the Temple of the Sun in Cuzco, besides a great quantity of diamonds, emeralds and other precious stones. Hence the estimated value of $100,000,000 is very conservative; and the treasure, if found today, would be worth many times as much as archaeological specimens.

The treasure of Pachakamak was hidden somewhere in the Valley of Lurin, only twelve miles from Lima, when the priests of the temples learned of the approach of Hernando Pizarro and his men. It was this treasure of the temples of Pachakamak that first lured Pizarro to Peru, and not the treasures of Cuzco as many think, for Pizarro never heard of Cuzco until long after he reached Peru.

No one can say what the Pachakamak treasure was or is worth. Pachakamak was the most ancient and the most holy of Peruvian cities, a veritable Mecca that drew pilgrims from every portion of South America to worship at the Temple of Pachakamak or its twin Temple of the Sun for countless centuries offerings and ornaments of gold and silver and gems had been accumulating.

About the walls of the Temple of the Sun were more than one hundred immense golden idols, the fifty doors of the stairway leading to the summit and the holiest shrine were covered with gold and were studded with precious stones. In addition, there was a treasure house filled with gold, silver and other riches, to be used only on special occasions. Even the timbers and woodwork of the temple were fastened together with golden nails. When the temple was burned and the Dons raked the golden spikes from the ashes, they were found to weigh 32,000 ounces—roughly half a million dollars worth of gold! Aside from these nails, the Spaniards found a storehouse containing gold and silver worth $4,000,000. But they found no trace of the vast treasures of the temples. These still remain secure in some secret hiding place in the little valley of Lurin, almost in the shadow of the temple walls.

No one knows the origin of the third of the Incan treasures—the Valverde treasure, as it is called. Possibly it was being sent by the Incas in Ecuador to help free the captive Atahualpa and was hidden when word of the Inca's death reached the treasure bearers. It may have been a temple treasure that was hidden by the Indians to prevent it from falling into the Spaniards' hands. Or again, it may have been put in its hiding place by the rulers and priests of Ecuador when the Peruvian Incas led their armies on Quito and the kingdom was threatened with conquest.

But whatever its origin, it unquestionably is a vast treasure. It, undoubtedly is hidden in the mountains of Ecuador. And it is by far the most interesting and romantic of the Incan treasures, for it is the only one the exact location of which is known, and the only one which has ever been seen by a white man. And finally, in connection with it, there is the thrilling, fascinating story of a hard-headed New York business man who sought for and almost found the treasure—a tale of adventure equaling the wildest fiction.

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The story of this treasure begins with the romance of a Spanish soldier named Valverde, who married an Incan woman soon after the conquest of Peru. Ostracized by his countrymen because of his poverty and his Indian wife, Valverde complained bitterly of his lot until one day his wife declared she would make him the richest of the Spaniards and the envy of them all.

Setting forth secretly at night, she led him by hidden trails through the mountains and unknown passes until they reached a cavern where his dazzled eyes looked upon a treasure so vast that he could not believe it real. Golden dishes and utensils, images and idols and figures of gold, golden ears of maize with silver husks; ingots of gold, gold dust and nuggets, golden ornaments incrusted with great emeralds and other gems; pearls by the quart and bales of thin plates of beaten gold were piled high within the cavern.

Loading themselves with all they could carry, Valverde and his Incan wife made their way back across the mountains to their humble home in safety and unseen.

*

Naturally, when the poverty stricken ex-soldier suddenly blossomed out as a rich man, all knew that he had found the Incan treasure. But never did he reveal the secret source of his wealth. Throughout his life he never wanted for riches. He was the envy of all his countrymen.

All this is verified by history, and it also is recorded that before he died Valverde willed the map of the road to the treasure cave, with the contents of the cavern, to the King of Spain, with the proviso that a certain portion of the riches should be used to defray the cost of carrying his body to Spain, interring it in a fitting tomb and erecting a shrine to his memory. For some reason or another the representatives of the king never could find Valverde's hoard. Very possibly his chart was not as accurate as it should have been, or perhaps he purposely altered portions of the map in order to mislead anyone who might steal it, and forgot to mention the fact to his legatees.

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Whatever, the reason, every expedition in search of the treasure failed. Some abandoned the quest after going a short distance, unable to endure the biting cold, the freezing gales and the blizzards of the high altitudes. Some continued on until the trail was lost, and many who set out vanished forever, swallowed up in the labyrinth of peaks and glaciers and mile-deep canyons of the Andes. Yet there was no doubt that Valverde's map was genuine, that he actually had traveled the route and had followed the trail that lead to the treasure, and that he had done so not once but many times.

But as years passed and no one succeeded in retracing Valverde's route, the map came to be regarded as useless. Thus it became common property available to anyone.

*

In 1857 the English botanist and traveler, Richard Spruce, was in Ecuador, where he heard of the Valverde treasure and the map. Being of a rather romantic and adventurous character, Spruce made a copy of the old chart and had a try at finding the long-lost treasure cave. But like those who had preceded him, the Englishman failed. He succeeded in reaching the Margasitas Mountain, one of the landmarks indicated on the map, but there the trail was lost. But Spruce reported that as far as he had gone the map was accurate and "corresponded perfectly with the actual locality." And in his opinion, he added, failure to find the treasure was due to the fact that he and the others had misread the portion of the chart which gave directions for passing the mountain which always had baffled the treasure seekers.

And now comes the story of one of the most remarkable treasure searchers of history—the amazing, perilous, almost suicidal adventure of a hard-headed, practical, unimaginative New York business man who attempted single-handed to find the lost treasure of Valverde.

*

There was nothing visionary, reckless or romantic about Colonel Brooks. He was a graduate of West Point, he had served in the United States Army, and after the Spanish War had been appointed auditor of Cuba. Resigning from the army for a business career, he later became identified with the American Bank Note Company, and as the firm's Latin-American representative he traveled throughout South and Central America.

Everywhere Colonel Brooks was noted for his keen business sense, his shrewdness, his cautiousness and his invariable rule of investigating any proposition thoroughly and weighing and measuring its every detail and angle before taking it up. All of which goes to prove that Colonel Brooks never would, have embarked upon his most noteworthy undertaking had he not been convinced that Valverde's treasure was still there and that it could be located.

*

With a copy of the ancient map and accompanied by Indian porters, Colonel Brooks followed in the footsteps of Richard Spruce and all those treasure seekers who had gone before. But he had had little experience in exploration, he had been unable to secure any first-hand information in regard to the country he would be forced to traverse, and his first trip into the heart of the Andean wilderness was more in the nature of a preliminary survey than an attempt to reach the treasure cave.

Moreover, he had selected the worst time of the year. But despite drenching rains, bitterly cold weather and frequent snowstorms; despite the fact that he was improperly equipped and that his men were incompetent and terrified, Colonel Brooks kept on until he proved to his entire satisfaction that Valverde's map was accurate as far as he himself had gone. And his observations convinced him that he had discovered the cause of all his predecessors' failures and had hit upon the secret that would enable him to pass beyond the baffling Margasitas Mountain.

Waiting patiently until the rainy season was over, providing himself with waterproof containers for supplies, with raincoats and heavy clothing, with adequate provisions and proper equipment, and with an ample number of Indian porters, Colonel Brooks again started on his treasure hunt. But he realized that despite his careful planning and his precautions, grave risks were involved in his undertaking. He prepared for eventualities by arranging with friends for a searching party to be sent after him if he did not return within a certain time.

*

All went well. In due time the Margasitas Mountain was reached, and to the colonel's delight he found that his interpretation of the chart was correct, for he succeeded in passing the mountain—the first man since Valverde to leave Margasitas behind! And imagine his satisfaction when against the sky in the distance he saw the three conical snow-capped peaks that, according to the Valverde map, marked the hiding place of the Incas' treasure.

For more than three centuries no human eyes had gazed upon those gleaming heights. In the crater valley at their feet was the cavern containing the hoard from which Valverde had taken his riches.

Elated, feeling certain that success would soon be his, Colonel Brooks pushed on. But his Indians hung back. They were, becoming nervous, filled with vague fears of this unknown, untrodden land. And very possibly they had heard tales of the hidden treasure and they still had a lingering faith in the gods of their ancestors. To them the treasure was a sacred thing, probably guarded by a spell or curse or by spirits, and they tried their best to induce the white man to abandon his search and to return.

*

Colonel Brooks was not the type of man to be troubled by such things as spirits, curses, spells or the superstitious fears of Indians. He had no intention of abandoning his search, now that he was within sight of his goal. So despite the mutterings of his men, he pressed onward, following the trail with little difficulty until at last he came to the base of the mighty peaks. There in a basin-like valley among the mountains was a little glacier lake precisely as shown on the old map.

The end of the long journey was near at hand. Colonel Brooks had succeeded where all others had failed. On the farther side of the valley, hidden in a cavern in the mountain side, were the gold, silver and priceless gems stored there centuries before by the Incas, the treasure which Valverde had scarcely scratched, the riches so many men had sought for in vain.

But it was late in the afternoon when the colonel had reached the valley. Darkness was rapidly approaching. He was footsore and weary with his long tramp, and his Indians were getting panicky. So he decided to camp for the night beside the lake and visit the treasure cave the following day.

*

He retired that night filled with visions of the morrow, certain of being in possession of unlimited wealth before another night came. And he fell asleep to dream of Incan gold and blazing gems.

He was aroused by terrified cries, by the crash of thunder and the roar and rattle of torrential rain and driving hail.

He leaped up to find himself knee-deep in water. The camp was flooded! He dashed half-clad from his shelter tent and realized instantly what had happened. One of those sudden, terrific storms so common in the high Andes had swept over the valley. The lake, swollen by the torrents of rain pouring down the mountain sides, had risen rapidly. The crater valley was swiftly filling with water and soon would be completely inundated.

Colonel Brooks and his men had barely time to race across the narrow bit of dry land that remained and reach the tumbled rocky slopes of the mountains.

Their plight was even worse than they had feared. The camp had been swept away. Food, clothing, weapons, supplies—all had vanished. Nearly everything was at the bottom of the lake, or had been carried beyond reach by the torrent that had flowed down the canyon-like outlet from the valley. A few garments, a pair of old boots, a ham and a few cans of food were all that could be found. Worse yet, rain was still falling, the summits of the peaks were hidden in lowering clouds and at any moment a second terrific storm was likely to break over the valley.

Faced by starvation, left without equipment or supplies, with a long and terrible journey before him, Colonel Brooks' thoughts were of saving his life rather than that of treasure. Even had he wished to do so, he could not have reached the opposite side of the valley where the cave was situated—this would have been possible only in a boat. To wait until the water drained off would be a grave risk. Yet he decided to wait for another day.

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That night nearly all the Indians vanished. Silently they slipped away, too terrified, too filled with superstitious fears to remain longer. Finally, Colonel Brooks found himself left with one Indian. His only chance of ever reaching civilization was a hurried and forced march, and despite the weather the two men with their meager food supply left the treasure valley and started on their weary, almost hopeless attempt to return.

No words can adequately picture what the two endured on that awful journey. As Colonel Brooks expressed it, it was one continual nightmare. With barely enough food to keep them alive, they stumbled on. There was seldom fuel for a fire and only a few matches remained. Famished, weak, half frozen, they were overtaken by a snowstorm and lost their way. When the blizzards passed they found themselves on a strange, trackless puna or mountain desert. Not a landmark could they recognize.

Only the colonel's forethought saved them. The searching party he had arranged for had set out, and just as the two famished, exhausted men were about to give up and await death, they sighted men in the distance. A little later the two were safe.

Colonel Brooks never again attempted to find the Incas' treasure. Though he had been within a few hundred yards of the gold he had failed as utterly as all the others who had sought the ancient hoard. Once more the guardian spirits of the Incas had triumphed. But Colonel Brooks had proved that Valverde's map was correct. He had been the first man to pass Margasitas Mountain. He had seen the snow-capped peaks and actually had reached the valley of the treasure. There the Incas' riches still remain.

And the chances are that if the treasure is ever found it will be found by accident—just as the treasure recently found in Ecuador was discovered by chance—by workmen employed in digging a ditch.