Rapture of the Deep: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of Jacky Faber, Soldier, Sailor, Mermaid, Spy (29 page)

We figured the first time we'd dive on the
Magdalena
would be to the depth I had previously gone when I first spotted her—about a hundred and fifty feet, I reckon. Tink measures out that distance on the bell's winch line and attaches a marker.

"Ready to go, Jacky."

I put my goggles on my forehead and prepare to duck under.

"Be careful, Miss," warns Dr. Sebastian. "This is the farthest you've gone down in the bell, so far." Professor Tilly and Captain Hudson are also in attendance.

"As far down as the
Dolphin
is high," mutters Jaimy, who also stands by, looking into the mainmast rigging of the
Dolphin
and imagining the depth to which I will go. He looks rather sickish.

I put my hand on his arm and look up into his eyes. "Don't worry, Jaimy. It's just a lot of water, and you must admit I have a way of always bobbing back up." Big grin and big eyes. "You'll see, we'll have dinner together tonight and everything will be fine."

"Nothing to it, eh, what?" That's from Lieutenant Flashby, who has graced us with his presence on my deck today, there being no danger of his being invited to go below. He swaggers about in full uniform, tapping the bell with his knuckles and pronouncing it a fine thing. I suspect he is here because he thinks the gold might be brought up soon. And maybe because he likes looking at me in my diving gear. I do not mind the others looking at me, but I do mind it when he looks at me, because he makes it very plain what he is thinking. Which to me, ain't a pretty sight ... or a pretty thought.

"All right, let's do it," I say, as I duck under the bell and climb onto the bench. In a moment John Thomas and Finn McGee begin to turn the capstan and I am lifted up and swung over the side. Then once again I see the waves of the water beneath me flatten out as the bell heads down.

And down and down and down ... The surface of the water within the bell inches higher with each fathom lower—soon it almost touches the tips of my swim fins. The air in the bell is getting mightily compressed; I can tell, 'cause I keep having to swallow to clear my ears.

Finally the bell stops, and I hang there for a while, looking down. It's like looking into the depths of an emerald ... No, more blue than that ... More like a sapphire, actually ... But I see no sign of the
Magdalena.

Ah, well, best get out and have a bit of a look around.

I adjust my goggles and slip out the bottom, curious to see if this greater depth has any effect on me.

I swim out, and it seems that everything is as it was before—'cept that when I turn around to look up, the hulls of the
Nancy B.
and the much bigger
Dolphin
look really tiny way up there.

Twisting around again, I peer into the azure watery mist all around me. I head off in a direction to the east and find nothing, except to note that the ocean bottom slopes off sharply, into the lower depths. There are sparse stands of coral down here, and various large rays and fishes. And, yes, sharks drift by—but they pay me no mind—and so I search on.

I pop back into the bell, rest for a moment, take a breath, and then head out in the other direction. This bottom, too, has outcroppings of coral, and there seem to be rocky ledges with caves and crevices carved into them—better watch out for the big eels if I venture close to that ... and...

...
and there she is, once again!

My greedy heart beats ever faster.
There she is!

I float over the
Santa Magdalena,
her spectral masts and spars to either side of me, her hull lying spread out below. I want to go to her now, but no, I must be deeper before I do that.

I fly back to the bell, slide inside, take a big breath, and pull the rope. I am drawn up slowly, too slowly by my way of thinkin'.

When at last I am brought back onboard, I spill out of the bottom of the bell and say, "We are on her. We've got to move a hundred yards in that direction. Get out as many anchors as you can to hold us steady. Tink, I'll go another fifty feet down." I take off my goggles and lay them aside. "And this time I shall lay my hand upon her."

I know it will take some time to affect this change of position, so I grab Jaimy's wrist and head for my cabin for a bit of ... well ... rest ... when I hear the call from Daniel, high in our crow's-nest.

"Missy! Sail off to the south! She flies the red colors!"

Jim Tanner slaps my long glass into my hand as I run by him, put my feet on the rail, and jump over onto the
Dolphin,
then run up the ratlines to the foretop, where I train the glass on the intruder. I feel a presence behind me and then two hands on my waist.

"What is he?" asks Jaimy.

I continue to squint at the ship that seems intent at lying just out of cannon range. From the mainmast flies a very familiar flag—a red-horned skull on a field of black, with two crossed cannons below.
Flaco, you dog, we meet on the sea once again.
I smile and bring down the glass.

"It is only Flaco Jimenez. Don't worry, he won't close with us," I call down to those below. "The
Dolphin
is just too formidable." I turn to Jaimy. "Plus, we are friends, sort of."

"We are?" asks Jaimy, looking off into the rigging. I give him a poke in the ribs.

"Come on, Jaimy, be happy. Look where we are—on the foretop of the dear old
Dolphin,
where first we started out as kids. No one can see us, so give me a kiss."

I throw my arms around his neck and present my face, lips pursed, and he obliges me...
oh, yes!
A kiss
and
a pet.

"Missy! What to do?" comes the call from Jim Tanner below.

I break away from Jaimy and lean over the edge of the foretop and say, "It's nothing, Jim. Prepare for the next dive. I'll be down in a minute."

I turn back to Jaimy, determined to enjoy this little bit of time, but then I see something on the foremast that brings tears to my eyes. Carved in the thick wood is
JF+JF
with a circle about the initials.

I run my fingers over the rough letters and say, "Oh, Jaimy, that is so sweet."

He reddens and looks away. "I ... I carved it on the day we left you in that school in Boston ... I ... I ..."

"I know, Jaimy. I was at a window and watched you sail away, and it was all so sad. I just could not hold back the tears. I could hardly stand it."

He nods and says nothing.

"But no sadness, Jaimy. Let us just live in the moment. Now give me another kiss ... That's it ... Oh, so good, Jaimy..."

"Miss Faber?" calls Dr. Sebastian from the main deck, and I know I must go.

"Later, Jaimy," I say, pulling away from him and giving him a peck on the cheek. He sighs and lets his hand fall from the small of my back, where it had been resting, and I put my own hand on the ratlines. "I've got to go under again."

And I swing back down to the deck, pick up my goggles, and get back in the bell.

"Let's go."

***

This time the bell comes down to rest well below the tops of the masts of the
Santa Magdalena,
and I get myself ready to go out for a look. I had kept my hand on the panic rope the whole way down in case the bell got hung up on one of the wreck's masts, but I ended up about ten yards to the left of the hull and only about fifteen feet higher than the deck, with plenty of room for the bell to swing around.
Perfect.

I slip out and swim over to the
Santa Magdalena
and lay my hand upon her, the first living hand to touch her in over seventy years. I give a thought to the lost Spanish sailors—whether seamen be enemy or friend, English, Spanish, American, or French, all sailors die the same hard death when a ship goes down.

Proper reverence being paid, I then kick and glide over the main hatch to the foot of the mainmast. All the rope rigging, except for a few threads hanging here and there, is long gone. But there is something large and covered with silt attached to the foot of the mast, and I think I know what it is. I take my hand to brush off the sea dust and find myself staring into the face of Jesus.

Yes, it is the golden crucifix that all Spanish warships carry fixed to their main! And this one is a good five feet high.

Back to the bell for a breath and then out for a check of the
Magdalena
s hull. It is generally intact, which is not all to the good, since it doesn't give me a way in. Well, I guess I shouldn't expect the gold cargo to be just lying there waiting for me to pick it up.

Another wiggle of my swimming fins as I scan the various hatchways that lead down into the ship. All the hatchway covers are off, their hinges having rotted away long ago. I go to peer into one, but all is darkness in there, and I cannot go in. Prolly monsters in there, too. Not only would I not be able to see, but the deck could fall in, trapping me beyond all hope of rescue, and I've no wish to lie down here in the deep alongside these unfortunate Spanish sailors for all eternity. While I am sure they would be good company, I have other things to do.

I pull my shiv from its sheath and poke about the wreck's wood in various places. It generally goes in easily, right to the hilt. Sheathing the knife, I go back to the bell, yank the rope, and we start our slow ascent. As I go up, I think on the problem of just how to retrieve that gold.

Eight Bells rings out just as I step on deck.
Good. I'm getting hungry.
"Captain Hudson, Lieutenant Fletcher, will you join us for lunch on my mess deck?" I ask as I towel off. "As you know, we do not stand on ceremony and we all eat at the same table, but, I'll wager our cook is better than yours."

"By God, I accept," says Captain Hudson. "Lead on!"

"Dr. Sebastian, if you will show the gentlemen to their places while I change? Thank you, Sir. Joannie, run down and tell Jemimah that two more will be joining us. Higgins, some of our better wine, perhaps?"

I leave Flashby to find his own lunch back on the
Dolphin,
while I pop down into my cabin to shed my swimsuit and toss on a light cotton dress. I'll be damned if I'll feed that man.

Entering the mess deck, I see that all are standing by their chairs, even my own uncouth
Nancy
boys. I go to my place at the head of the table—and thank you, Captain Hudson, for again being gracious about that—raise the glass that has been placed there for me, and say, "Gentlemen ... to our mutual enterprise."

Hear, hear!
is heard and all sit down.

I place my now-dry, cotton-clad bottom in my chair as Joannie places my plate in its slot in front of me and I fall to. Nothing like a morning spent two hundred feet beneath the sea to whet the appetite, I say. Today Jemimah has prepared
arroz con pollo,
with side dishes of conch chowder and a corn pudding. It is all wondrous good.

For a while, all that is heard is the crunching of bones, the slurping of wine, and the smacking of lips. "My word, this is uncommon good!" the Captain cries, and looks over covetously at Jemimah, who stands at her station down in front of the stove.

A little later, as all of the food has been served, Jemimah herself eases into her chair at the foot of the table, and as has been our custom, Joannie and Daniel place her dish and cup in front of her, and she eats.

I cut a sly look at Captain Hudson, absolutely sure that he has never sat at a table with a black person before. To his credit, he merely smiles and says nothing.

I, however, do lean back and say something.

"I have placed my hand on the
Santa Magdalena
today, but I cannot get inside her." I tell them of my explorations. "Does anyone have any ideas?"

Silence.

"We could place a charge," says Tink, far down on the table.

"Hmm," says Dr. Sebastian. "There is a problem with that—how to keep the fuse dry on the way down."

"And we could just blow everything all over the place and then not find anything," I answer.

"There's no way to rig an underwater lantern so she could see her way into the hull?" asks Tilly.

"No, there is not."

"You said the wood was soft, Jacky," says Davy. "Perhaps we could go at her that way."

"Yes," I say, grasping on to the thread of his idea. "Maybe we can peel her like an orange."

"Hmmm..." muses Captain Hudson. "Yes. We could rig up a grappling hook on a very stout line, then lower it down, and our intrepid mermaid here could attach the hook to various parts of the wreck and we could take a strain on the rope and pull the sunken ship apart—exposing its innards, as it were."

"And the very much stronger capstan on the
Dolphin
will serve much better than our puny winch," says Davy, and all concur. I think Davy secretly enjoys having a familiar conversation with a Post Captain of His Majesty's Royal Navy.

Careful, Davy, remember you are still a member of that service.

"What about that pirate Jimenez hanging about?" says Jaimy.

"Ah, well, he already knows what we are up to, so no sense in hiding," I say. "But if we ever start bringing up anything of value, we might try to keep that out of his sight."

Agreement all around.

And so it is decided. That is what we shall do. Of course, I had already come up with this idea, on the way up in the bell's last dive, but sometimes it's best that you let the males think it was their plan from the start. It's easier that way.

Back into my clammy swimsuit—note to self: Get another one of these made, and one that doesn't crawl up the crack of my bum—then it's back on deck and into the bell. Before I duck under, I notice a coil of thick rope on the
Dolphin
's deck, rope that ends in a three-pronged grappling hook. All right, down we go again.

Reaching the bottom, I see the grappling hook has come down with me, lying off to the left, waiting. Well, it will not have to wait long, for I know exactly what I am going to do—which is to give those above a taste of gold.

I slip out of the bell and take the grappling rope in hand. There is not enough slack in it for my purpose, so I give it a sharp tug and more line comes slowly tumbling down. I pick up the grappling hook and clasp it to my chest, to head off for the mainmast. The hook does not weigh nearly as much down here as it does in the air, which is good, else I would not be able to do this.