Less than ninety years ago a Spanish treasure-ship left Vera Cruz, richly laden with plate and specie. A few days after leaving port yellow fever decimated the crew, and the survivors, unable to handle the ship, ran her aground on a small cay in the Rosario Channel, between the Isla de Pinos and Cuba. The treasure was landed and hidden, but bickerings and disease still further reduced their number, till only one man remained. He was rescued by a galliot the owner of which was Pedro’s grandfather. In gratitude, the Spaniard showed his rescuer a plan of where the specie lay, the men agreeing to share the spoil. Both men were lost in an attempt to reach the island in a small craft in which they had sailed alone, so as to keep their secret, and thus all trace of the spot vanished till five years ago, when Pedro came across the rough chart and an account of the matter, which had been hidden in the rafters of his hut. Pedro himself visited the cay, saw the treasure, but was unable to carry off the stuff single-handed. He returned to Habana, entrusted six others with the secret, and fitted out a small felucca to secure the spoil. On the voyage the little craft was seized by the buccaneers, and all his companions were murdered. Pedro alone was kept a prisoner, the pirate intending that he should pilot them when occasion served. Never a word concerning the treasure did he say to the buccaneers, but, taking a favourable opportunity, he had left the ship under the circumstances that we had observed. Captain Poynings eagerly examined the chart. Already the lust for gold had entered into his soul, and he was ready to hazard everything for the sake of that which had cost the lives of hundreds of men in these seas--the quest of hidden treasure. "Bring out a larger chart, Master Widdicombe," he exclaimed, "and let us see where this island should be." The chart was produced, and the latitude and longitude carefully pricked off, whereat Captain Poynings turned purple with rage and swore horribly. "The villain would send us on a fool’s errand," he declared, bringing his fist down on the table with tremendous force. "The position he would have us believe to be an island is in the midst of the Yucatan Passage, with nothing less than eighty fathoms." For the moment we were all dumbfounded Visions of untold wealth were rudely dispelled. "Bring out that rascally Portuguese, trice him up, and give him five dozen!" cried the captain, a strain of his choleric ancestor betraying itself. "Stay!" replied the master. "I have it! This position is shown by our longitude, whereas this rough chart is of Spanish draughtsmanship. Now, taking the longitude of Madrid as zero, we find that----" "Good, Widdicombe, you have hit it! Yet, forsooth, ’twas but your duty. Prick out, then, a fresh position, and pray ’twill be better than the last!"