Cayman Gold: Lost Treasure of Devils Grotto

By Richard Trout

This first novel in the MacGregor Family Adventure Series involves sinister pirate forces, strange sea creatures, hospitable native Caribbean people, and issues of environmental management and endangered species. Suddenly faced with the task of saving a lost Spanish treasure embedded in protected coral reef, four enterprising teenagers rely on their courage and scuba-diving skills as they explore and investigate the exotic waters and beaches of the Cayman Islands.

Dr. Jack MacGregor is a zoologist who works to save the environment, his wife Mavis is a working paleontologist, and their teenage children—Chris, Heather, and Ryan—though bright, dutiful kids, find themselves making common teenage decisions and mistakes. Consistently entangled in dangerous adventures in exotic locales, they must rely on their common sense, diverse skills, and daring strategies to survive. The fast-paced narrative of each book in the MacGregor Family Adventure Series includes authentic historical and scientific details and shows the developing character, morality, and discipline of the MacGregor teens as they progress through each exhilarating escapade.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jan 19, 2011
• ISBN: 9781455601967

Book preview

Prologue

October 5, 1622

Northwest of Jamaica in the Caribbean Sea

Juan Diego Antonio Garcia stood on the bow of the ship, slowly bringing his spyglass to his left eye and gazing to the east. His ship the Infante Cristo was riding low in the water, filled with treasures from Colombia and Peru.

The noonday sun was quickly being blocked by swiftly moving clouds that turned the sky from bright blue to gray and, toward the horizon, to black. Swells of the beautiful Caribbean were rising. This Spanish galleon carrying gold, silver, and precious gems from Panama to Havana was falling into one deep trough of the rolling ocean after another.

The treasure, which had traveled from mines in Lima and Potosi high in the Peruvian Andes, was on its final leg before being officially registered, counted, and sent to Spain. Turning and facing his chief pilot, Captain Garcia shouted over the noise of the sea and wind.

All hands on deck! New heading, east northeast, into the storm. Garcia waved his hands gesturing the direction he wanted. The Castilian lace cuffs of his shirt dangled from his sleeves.

Captain Garcia knew it was much better to confront a storm head-on rather than allow it to charge into the ship broadside filling the Infante Cristo with water in just a few minutes. Little did he know he was facing one of nature's crudest and most powerful weather systems— a hurricane.

The galleon and its brave crew tacked into the wind. The outer edge of the hurricane unexpectedly plummeted into them from the north. The counterclockwise rotation of the hurricane slammed into the Infante Cristo at 110 miles an hour.

The mainsail was horizontal to the surface of the swelling sea as the ship rolled over on its side. The massive gold cargo deep in the hull of the ship acted as a balance and immediately turned the ship back upright, but only after eight sailors had been tossed into the ocean and swept away.

Over 110 feet long, 33 feet wide, and drawing 20 feet of water fully loaded, the Infante Cristo bobbed about like a cork on a fishing line. The long bow of the galleon crashed into the fifteen-foot crests of the raging sea. The mighty sterncastle quickly flooded with water, disappearing for an instant into the boiling Caribbean.

Suddenly the ship surged up out of the water, not yet willing to give up its men and precious cargo. Men rushed around the weather deck. They lashed themselves to either the gunwale or the mighty oak beams of the masts. Each time they had to untie themselves again to fight the storm.

Captain Garcia decided on another tactic. He began shouting orders to the frightened crew as he held to the main rudder wheel with a death grip. His knuckles were now white from the strain.

Drop the mainsail, full rudder due north, and may God have mercy on us! His crew struggled with the massive canvas. Sheets of water from torrential rains poured on them as if the sky had just turned a huge bucket upside down.

But luck was not with them. The counterbalance for the massive cross beam of the main topsail was jammed. The wind jerked the galleon around like a child throwing its toy boat into a pond. The topsail had to come down or the Infante Cristo could be flipped upside down by the hurricane's ferocious winds.

In desperation, Captain Garcia ran across the deck, shoving two large sailors aside. He drew his long sword from its gold scabbard and extended himself high in the air. He brought the sword down in one massive blow. The mangled rope on the counterbalance snapped in half and the huge oak beam began to fall.

Sailors jumped in all directions as the beam that supported the sail crashed to the weather deck. It plummeted to the gun deck below. The beam landed between two eighteen-pound shot cannons that were nearly ten feet long. Two men cried out in pain, but Captain Garcia turned and ran back across the badly listing ship to the helm. He grabbed the wheel from his pilot.

The winds and rain of the hurricane bore down on them for more than three hours. Suddenly they were in the eye of the storm. The sea became calm and the Infante Cristo was now a floating hospital barely held together by the tar and pitch of her Havana shipbuilders.

Captain Garcia walked quickly from man to man, looking each one in the face and asking about injuries. He had lost seventeen sailors to the sea and the rest were thankful to be alive. There were nine seriously wounded and four seasick.

The captain opened the main hatch and went below. He found six more sailors who had been hurt by cargo that had been torn from its moorings and bounced around like toys in a box. The gold and silver was still lashed in place, but now he discovered another problem. Two feet of water covered the inside hull of the ship, and it was rising fast. He estimated he had five or maybe six hours before the Infante Cristo settled on the bottom of the sea. He heard a voice on the deck above.

Ship approaching out of the storm on the port side, Captain. Ship on the port side.

Juan Diego Antonio Garcia grasped the cross, which hung on a gold rope chain under his shirt; he kissed it.

Gracias, madre de Cristo, he shouted as he quickly climbed the steps to the top deck.

As he reached the helm, he pulled his brass spyglass from the inside pocket of his blue silk coat and extended it to its full length. After a moment of looking through the glass, his heart sank. He placed the spyglass back inside his coat.

Who is it, Captain? his pilot asked.

Ricardo, God heard someone's prayers today. But it was not ours. The ship that will rescue us within an hour is an English corsair. She raises the flag of pirates, Garcia replied.

English pirates! God have mercy on us, Captain, the pilot said as he looked toward the fast-approaching ship.

Raise the flag of surrender. If we do not resist, then some of you may still see your wives and children again, the captain shouted to the crew. A fourteen-year-old boy who had lashed himself to the side of the ship untied his ropes. He opened a wooden box containing the flags.

Yes, Captain, the boy said. He ran toward the flag line mounted at the rear of the ship.

The foremast and main mast were still standing even though their tattered sails blew helplessly in the wind. The proud red and gold flag of Spain was brought down. Several white pennants took its place.

The Infante Cristo floated on the now mellow sea in the eye of the storm, waiting to be boarded by pirates. The captain called his crew together toward the middle of the ship near the fallen mainsail.

"Compadres. We have sailed many voyages for our king, but today we must face the truth. The truth is that if we fight, it will be with only half of our twenty-two cannons and a ship that we cannot maneuver for an attack. All we have left are our cutlasses and our courage. Even though God is on our side, I believe the English pirates will kill us all. Their smaller ship came through the mighty storm untouched. She comes for us with great speed. I will try to negotiate our lives with labor and gold if they will drop us at the first sight of land—any land. How do you say?"

Excellency, a man with bulging arm muscles and a jagged scar on his forehead stepped forward. You are our captain, our friend. If you say to fight, we will be proud to die with you. If you say to surrender, we trust your skills to save us.

The sailors all nodded their heads in agreement, every last man.

Then we will try not to make your wives widows today, the captain said. He looked toward the approaching corsair, now only a mile away. The corsair was a smaller faster ship that carried twice the armament and cannons that a ship of that size should carry. Corsairs were not built for heavy cargo but as warships. Their purpose was specifically to sink and destroy bigger ships.

Quickly, bring as much of the treasure as you can to the top deck. We will give the English a sight they will not forget, Garcia shouted. The men descended into the main cargo hold.

In fifteen minutes the English ship was pulling alongside the Infante Cristo. The English pirates lined the decks, each one holding a musket aimed at a Spaniard. Both ships had manned their swivel guns, which were now loaded with nails and iron chips and aimed at each others' sailors. The ships finally touched, and seamen on both ships worked quickly to lash them together in the still calm seas. The English captain stepped over the gunwale and onto the gold-lined deck of the Infante Cristo. Captain Garcia walked forward and bowed from the waist.

"Juan Diego Antonio Garcia, Captain of the Infante Cristo, surrenders his majesty's ship and crew." He spoke politely but with resolve.

The English pirate captain stepped closer. The lace collar on his white shirt was torn and still wet from the storm. His long red hair was pulled back and tied behind his neck. He offered his hand but did not smile.

"Captain Edward Smythe of his majesty's ship the Lady Elizabeth, in honor of our late great Queen Elizabeth. I accept your surrender," Smythe said as Captain Garcia took his hand and shook twice.

But my dear Captain, Antonio, you say, Smythe started.

Juan Diego Antonio Garcia, Garcia replied again formally.

Captain Garcia. You and I both know that this surrender and my acceptance is but a little charade we try to play on nature. In another hour or less, the forces of the sea will again toss us about as it wills. Our only survival is with each other. Smythe walked over to the piles of gold and silver on the deck. Captain, Smythe continued, how many men do you have left?

I have sixteen injured men and eight healthy sailors, Garcia replied.

"Twenty-four men. Good, I lost twelve, so move your eight healthy men and this gold over to the Lady Elizabeth," Smythe snapped.

No! Garcia said abruptly. Smythe spun around.

"Captain, you have no bargaining strength here. Save yourself and your good men. You all will help me sail the Lady. When we reach Port Royal, we will share in this gold. How can you refuse such a generous offer?" Smythe stared in astonishment.

All of my men go or none of us go. Then you will lose much of the gold. The storm is getting closer and you do not have enough men to move it quickly, Garcia said as he frowned at the intruder.

Smythe walked over to him and stopped about two feet from his face. His frown was soon replaced with a grin followed by a hearty laugh.

This is your lucky day, Spaniard. On a nice day in April, I would hang you from the yardarm. But today, here and now, Spain and England become allies against a storm that Satan has brought down upon us to destroy our good fortune. Move all of your men and do it quickly. Bring as much of the gold as they can carry, Smythe said. He turned toward the Lady Elizabeth and began shouting orders to his men to come and move the gold.

Within thirty minutes most of the gold and chests full of coins were transferred to the Lady Elizabeth. Left behind were the silver bars and ingots. The men sweated profusely in the muggy heat of the storm's eye. But soon a light rain began to fall. Both crews stopped and looked toward the approaching southern wall of the hurricane.

"All aboard the Lady or die," shouted Smythe as he leaped across the gunwale. The men, now united as one crew, grabbed axes and chopped the ropes holding the two ships together.

Lowering the mainsail on the Lady Elizabeth, the already fatigued crew reversed the position of the ship. They pointed her in a southerly direction to face the trailing winds of the hurricane, now blowing north. The Lady was riding low in the water from the weight of the new cargo.

Drop six cannon overboard from each side, Captain Smythe shouted to the crew over the noise of the wind.

Within a few minutes 12 bronze cannon weighing nearly 3,200 pounds each and reaching 10 feet in length plunged to the sea floor. The Lady Elizabeth instantly rose two feet higher out of the water allowing her to attack the swell of the sea rather than wait to become its victim.

The Spaniards stood next to the English pirates. They worked tirelessly. They adjusted the foremast and sail, secured the mainsail, tied the spritsail securely, anchored the dangling rigging, and raced to stabilize cargo. The struggle continued for at least four hours as the small corsair was trapped in the tail of the hurricane.

We should have broken free by now, Captain Garcia shouted to Smythe over the roar of the wind. Both captains were still securely tied to the helm rising high on the sterncastle next to the pilot, who was tied to the wheel.

I know, shouted Smythe. "The currents are pulling us along. If we don't break free soon, we risk the bottom falling out. The Lady Elizabeth slams down on the trough of the waves pretty hard. She wasn't built to carry all that Inca gold you stole."

If we were northwest of Jamaica, shouldn't we be close to the Caymans by now? Garcia shouted to Smythe as a crest of a wave engulfed the ship. Each man struggled to hold his breath. They wiped the stinging salt of the ocean's spray from their eyes.

Smythe thought for a second. He first looked toward the northwest and then back at the forward part of the ship where a dozen men were tied to its various parts.

My dear Diego Garcia, Smythe shouted back, still not getting his name right. I would bet a week in Port Royal at the best inn that we are probably set to hit the Caymans just about any minute.

At that moment, a sailor on the far aft end of the ship cried out.

Land ahead. White water, white water, the sailor frantically shouted.

Garcia stood tall and looked ahead of the ship into the rain and gray clouds that wouldn't let them go.

White water. He is right. We are approaching a barrier reef where the waves can be seen. My dear Englishman, it seems as though we both will die today, Garcia shouted over the noise of the storm.

The Lady Elizabeth plowed ahead. She entered the white water of waves crashing on the natural barrier reef surrounding the eastern edge of the Cayman Islands. With each rise and fall, the captains fully expected to feel the ship collapse on top of the reef only to shatter its tired hull and release its treasure to the depths below. Their wait was short.

The Lady heaved high in the water and shuttered wildly. She convulsed and threw men and cargo into the sea as the bottom of the ship landed hard on top of the reef. Great chunks of living coral broke off and were driven through the bottom of the ship. The mainsail mast snapped over like a twig and collapsed into the sea.

Men quickly untied themselves. They chose to be swept away rather than be pulled to the bottom with the remains of the ship. The two captains clasped hands good-bye. Their eyes reflected the sudden alliance they had tried to forge.

The hurricane soon passed over the Caymans and turned northward, following its natural course. It crossed the island of Cuba. Then it firmly engulfed the Florida Keys where Spanish ships and sailors had been sent to salvage the riches of the western hemisphere that had been lost only a few weeks before.

Within a few hours, the Caribbean again became the calm playground for English pirates and shipping lanes for the exploitative Spanish. On the shores of Cayman, the white sand beaches began to receive shipwrecked Spaniards and Englishmen. One by one they washed up on the beach. Some were alive; others were not. The sun was now in the afternoon sky, and the heat returned to the air. Captain Garcia lost track of time as he pulled three of his men and one Englishman onto the long beach. He waded back into the shallow surf to retrieve others.

Garcia could see about a dozen men walking toward them on the beach. As they got closer, he recognized Captain Smythe with three Englishmen and eight Spaniards. A wide smile crossed his face.

When the men were all together and hugs had been exchanged, they were faced with the solemn task of recognizing that many had not survived. As they were consoling each other over their losses, one of the men noticed debris floating in the surf. He got up and walked over to it. It