"Ah, here's his log-book!" exclaimed Ben, opening a volume which lay on a desk attached to a bulkhead, "but first let's look into the staterooms."

There were four of these, opening off from the main cabin and in each there were evident signs of a hasty departure. Clothes, books and nautical instruments lay scattered about in confusion. The boys did not come across anything though to show them the fate of the crew of the ill-fated vessel.

They therefore examined the log-book and found that, as Ben had surmised, the derelict had started on her last voyage from New Orleans to Liverpool laden with raw sugar. Her captain was Elias Goodall, and her first mate James Hooper. The day of her entrance into the fatal Sarga.s.so was set down as June 21st, 1898. Previous to this date there had been several entries referring to a break-down in the engine-room, which caused the steamer to be driven miles off her course by heavy gales. It was undoubtedly in this way that she drifted into the fatal seaweed.

"Have got the engine going again," read the entry, "but the sky for days has been overcast and have had no chance to make observations.

Know we must be miles off our course, however."

Below was the next record of the ship's fate.

"Chief Engineer Maxwell just informed me that something seems the matter with propeller.--Later--Found the propeller matted with huge growths of seaweed. Cleared it with some difficulty by shifting some cargo forward and then revolving wheel till, blade by blade, we cleared it with axes from the small boats."

June 22nd.--"Seaweed seems to be getting thicker. With difficulty we progress at all. Mate Hooper just suggested terrifying possibility.--Are we in the Sarga.s.so?"

June 25.--"Since the last entry in the log, have learned that our fears were only too well grounded. We are indeed in the Sarga.s.so and there seems to be no escape. Engine stopped working long ago. The propeller so matted with seaweed that we could make no progress. What will become of us?"

June 26.--"Have tried to keep true state of affairs from the crew, but they learned of facts in some way, and made a demand to take to the boats. I told them that our duty was to stick by the ship till all possibility of aid was exhausted. They seemed ugly; but for the present at least there is no sign of mutiny. If only we had wireless we might signal our plight."

June 28.--"The worst has happened. In attempting to drive the crew back from the boats, Chief Engineer Maxwell was instantly killed with a handspike, poor Hooper so badly wounded and beaten that he died half-an-hour ago and I myself wounded in the left arm. The crew have taken to the boats and two loads are now about half a mile from the vessel. The men are shouting. Something terrible must have happened--"

June 29.--"I have not been able to nerve myself until to-day to record the frightful interruption that occurred while I was penning the last lines. I was interrupted by a fearful shriek and hastening on deck saw a sight that will not be blotted from my memory till I go to my death.

The boats seemed to be in the grasp of what appeared at first glance gigantic snakes. The men, unfortunate fellows, were trying to beat the creatures off and pull back to the ship. Their vain cries for aid were pitiful. I got the gla.s.ses, the better to see what was happening. My horror at what I saw then was so great that I can hardly set it down.

The creatures I had seen were not snakes at all but the arms of huge octopi. They enwrapped the boats in every direction. Even as I gazed one boat-load was drawn beneath the surface. In a few minutes more all was over."

July 4.--"On this day, at home, all are celebrating and rejoicing, and here am I encircled with horrors, and adrift, as it seems, on a doomed ship. There is one boat left. I mean to lower it and try to reach the land or at least the open sea where I may fall in with a vessel. The rats are swarming everywhere. They have attacked the cargo in the forward hold and the noise of their fighting and struggling is terrible. Last night they killed my poor cat. I found her clean-picked bones on the fore-deck this morning. I can stay no longer on this horror ship.--G.o.d be with me."

Goodall,

Captain.

Here the pathetic record ended abruptly and of the fate of the unfortunate captain the boys had of course no inkling. They, however, took the log-book with them for delivery in the future to the vessel's owners, and ten minutes later were back on board the Golden Eagle.

"It feels good to be off that 'horror ship' as her captain called her," exclaimed Frank, as he started up the engine.

"I should say so," was Harry's reply, in a sobered tone, "and I suppose scores of other ships have met the same fate."

"Undoubtedly," said Ben, "every year vessels sail from the United States and foreign ports that are never heard of again. No accounts of storms are received during their voyages, yet they never reach port; undoubtedly many of them wind up in the graveyard of the Sarga.s.so."

"I'm glad we have a good stout air-ship to carry us," exclaimed Frank, as the Golden Eagle soared into the air and soon left the derelict far behind.

CHAPTER XX.

THE GOLDEN GALLEON.

A sharp hail from Harry, who had the gla.s.ses, aroused Frank from a reverie into which he had fallen as the Golden Eagle skimmed along. It was some time since she had left the ill-fated Durham Castle.

"Look, Frank,--here, take the gla.s.ses," the younger boy cried excitedly,--"there's a queer-looking ship dead ahead of us--can she be the Buena Ventura?"

Frank surrendered the wheel to Harry and gave the object a prolonged scrutiny. Then he handed the gla.s.ses to Ben with a quiet:

"What do you make of her, Ben."

The old sailor held the gla.s.ses to his eyes for a s.p.a.ce of ten seconds or more and then turned to the boys with an excited look on his face.

"Whatever she is, she is no modern ship," he cried, "she's got a high stern on her like a castle, and her masts and rigging are like no ship that sails the sea to-day."

"There's another ship over on the horizon," cried Harry, "looks like a wreck."

Ben took the gla.s.ses once more.

"It's the wreck of a barque," he announced. "Guess it's the one that Bluewater Bill was cast away on. If it is, that must be the galleon over yonder, 'cause Bill said she was close to his ship, and I guess vessels don't change their relative positions much in this place."

As the Golden Eagle rapidly approached the ancient vessel the boys went nearly wild with excitement.

The gla.s.ses were constantly trained on her and when Harry, who had kept the binoculars fixed on the vessel's stern, announced in a voice that quivered with suspense:

"I can see her name--it's Buena Ventura all right," they all broke into a shout.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I can see her name--it's Buena Ventura all right."]

The goal was reached at last then.

Frank sent the Golden Eagle swinging in a long graceful circle round the galleon, from whose tall masts still hung fragments of rotting sails, and finally settled alongside her towering wooden sides, which still bore tracings of the gilding and paint with which the old Spaniards loved to decorate their vessels. Her lofty stern was a ma.s.s of splendid carving and gilt work. In its centre, in faded paint was the figure of a woman, surrounded by stars and other heavenly bodies.

The vessel's stern cabin windows also were richly embossed and gilded.

"If there's as much gold inside her as there is out we'll all be millionaires!" exclaimed Ben.

"How are we going to get aboard?" questioned Frank, as he gazed at the high, smooth sides.

"Yes, that's a problem. I don't see the rope Bluewater Bill used either. It must have rotted away," rejoined Ben.

"Let's circle round her," he went on, "maybe I can see a foothold and then I can get aboard and let down a rope to you boys."

Accordingly, the Golden Eagle was steered slowly round the great hull, and finally Ben selected a place to clamber up among the fretwork below the heel of the bowsprit. With a nimble leap he was soon clinging to the heavy carving, and rapidly swarming hand over hand to the galleon's deck. When he reached it, he flung down a rope with which the Golden Eagle was made fast to the galleon's side, and in a few minutes the boys stood by his side on the moldering deck.

As it was getting dark, there was not time to do a great deal that night. All they found opportunity to accomplish, in fact, was a brief exploration of the main cabin, which was magnificently hung in silks and velvets once splendid, now mildewed and rotting. The decorations of the place had been sumptuous evidently.

In the rear of the cabin was a pile of ancient-looking chests, heavily strapped with iron, and with great bra.s.s locks curiously carved affixed to them.

"The treasure chests!" cried Harry, trembling with excitement.

All three of the adventurers hurried across the cabin. In the afternoon-light that streamed through the stern-windows Frank fell on his knees and eagerly tried to wrench one of the locks off. Aged as it was, however, it resisted his exertions.

"Hold on!" cried Ben. "I'll get it off." He raised his heavily booted foot, as Frank drew back, and brought it down with a crash on the ma.s.sive bra.s.swork. With a rending and tearing of the worm-eaten wood the lock ripped loose and the lid, operated by some concealed spring, flew open.