and checking every little dark patch we could see against 

 the white sand. But because our boat was set so low in 

 the water, and because of the roughness of the waves, little 

 could be seen except directly through the glass bottom. 

 There I saw only wave-marked sand, patches of sparse 

 sea grass, and, scattered over the sand at intervals, a sprin- 

 kling of small starfish. There was no coral, no shells, and I 

 never saw a fish. 



At last we gave up in despair. We would have to wait 

 for calmer weather. We went back to Eryholme and 

 headed her for the anchorage off Tavemier, a few miles 

 away. There we spent the next two days tied up to a 

 sunken barge in the middle of the shallow harbor while 

 the wind howled in from the sea. Near us was tied Re- 

 triever, the battered workboat owned by our recent vis- 

 itors, the salvagers Robby and Webby. It was half loaded 

 with rusty iron girders which they had dived up from a 

 sunken freighter at the edge of the Gulf Stream. 



Our two days of idleness were memorable for long 

 talk sessions with the two wreckers. We covered a multi- 

 tude of subjects — the lore of underwater diving, various 

 techniques for raising material from the bottom, for dyna- 

 miting and torch-burning under water, for frightening off 

 barracuda when they became too thick and too curious, 

 and for spotting wrecks from the surface. 



But always the talk returned to the brass cannon on 

 the banks of the north Bahama islands. If we would take 

 Webby there aboard Eryholme to locate the cannon, they 

 promised, Robby would then bring the salvage boat, with 

 its heavy lifting equipment, to raise the cannon and trans- 

 port them. We would take our share of the venture in 

 brass cannon. At last it was agreed. We were to leave the 

 following Monday from Fort Lauderdale for West End 

 on Grand Bahama island. How we were to outwit our con- 



40 Sea Diver 



