From what we can gather of that distant happening, it appears that the Spaniards, sailing down the Scottish coast in their galleon, and seeking perhaps to replenish their water-casks, must have made a foray or two ashore. During one of these they captured a Highland chief, one Donald Glas M‘Lean, whom they held prisoner aboard their ship. So bitter a blow was it to the Scottish chieftain that, reckless of his own life, he sought a terrible revenge. Waiting his opportunity while the ship was anchored in Tobermory Bay, he managed to enter the powder magazine. In a moment or two his revenge was complete. The mighty galleon blew up and the proud chief accompanied her crew of nearly 500 Spaniards to their doom. Many a tide has ebbed and flowed, many a storm arisen and subsided since that catastrophe. Timbers have decayed, and mud and sand have gradually covered up the remains. The treasure by now may be buried 20 or 30 feet at the bottom of the bay and, unless some lucky chance leads an expedition to hit on the exact spot, may remain buried there for ever. Divers may have walked over the treasure dozens of times without knowing that the gold and silver they were seeking lay actually under their feet. The Duke of Argyll, who possesses the right to salve the treasure, has proved his belief in its existence by spending considerable sums in hunting for it. In addition he has given permission for several expeditions to prosecute the search, and these expeditions, in the aggregate, must have expended a deal of money. The lack of success on the part of previous expeditions seems in no wise to deter others from following in their steps, and the last expedition to work in Tobermory Bay reflected the great changes of modern life by including a lady diver among its members. Meanwhile the treasure of Tobermory Bay, which has excited the minds of treasure-hunters for many a generation, still awaits discovery. CHAPTER III Whatever doubts there be about the treasure of Tobermory, there can be none about the treasure of the _Lutine_, for official records prove that when she came to grief she must have carried bullion worth over £1,000,000. H.M.S. _Lutine_ was a frigate of thirty-two guns, one of those wooden walls of Old England of which the poet sings. Not always had she sailed under the British flag. Time was when the tricolour of France broke at her masthead and French sailors crowded her decks, but Admiral Duncan captured her and brought her home as a prize, and thereafter it was the white ensign of England that flew at her peak and a captain of the British Navy who commanded her.