over the side with face masks, Ed carrying the metal de- 

 tector. Reef Diver's usually dependable engine chugged 

 on as it operated the compressor for the divers. The men 

 had not been down long when they headed hurriedly 

 for the boat. They pulled oflF their masks, complaining 

 of unpleasant fumes in the air they were breathing. Ed 

 made some adjustments to the compressor and they 

 disappeared again beneath the water. 



A few moments later Ed was back again. This time 

 he handed the metal detector over the side to me. It had 

 sprung a leak, he said, and was out of commission. He 

 returned to the bottom. In no time both men were back. 

 The fumes had become most unbearable, and they were 

 concerned as to what was producing them. No use taking 

 chances. They removed their masks and climbed into the 

 boat. This was something that had never happened be- 

 fore. Our equipment was beginning to show the result of 

 its long, hard usage. 



So once more Ed and I took our places in the cabin 

 to watch tlirough the glass bottom while Willy guided 

 Reef Diver over and over the same location. The salvager 

 was insistent that we were on the right spot, and that 

 the cannon should be there. Either they were completely 

 buried in the sand, he said, or someone had removed them 

 since he had last seen tliem two years before. Again he 

 described their appearance, about twenty dull metal bar- 

 rels scattered in a disorderly pile, half buried in the 

 white sand. 



When we returned to Sea Diver at the end of the 

 afternoon, we had not seen a trace of wreckage anywhere. 

 Once again the brass cannon had eluded us. Ever since 

 that first winter, when Robby's and Webby's tales of brass 

 cannon on the north Bahama banks had drawn us there, 

 we had been tantalized by hopes of finding them. Never a 

 year had passed without at least one attempt to follow up 



Epilogue 329 



