“Dey never was, you see. Dot come out at de salvage auction. De auctioneer had him de cargo manifest, and wasn’t nuttin’ on it about no candleholders, no gold of any kind. De Annisquam’s second mate was talkin’ drunk, and some fella hears him, but he’s drunk, too, and he tells his buddy and adds a little spice to de tale to make it more interestin’, and de buddy—you can count on him bein’ into de rum and whiskey, too—he tells somebody else and puts in some seasonin’ of his own, so by de mornin’ of her sailin’, it’s all over town dot she carryin’ seven solid-gold candleholders for a church in Vera Cruz, when, we all come to find out bye ’n’ bye, she wasn’t never bound to Vera Cruz in de first place. She was Tampico bound with dot horse limmament dot blinded Jimmy Wakefield and me.”

Another long silence followed this revelation, Will and the Braithwaites exchanging glances, each trying to absorb the fact that they had sailed one thousand six hundred and forty-four miles in pursuit of a legend, a drunkard’s ancient lie.

“Now how come you four lookin’ all of a sudden like you lost your best buddy?” asked Artemis.

“We intended,” Nathaniel began, and then, deciding that intended wasn’t the word he wanted, said they had hoped to find the Annisquam and salvage her treasure themselves.

“Say, Will, any more dot Bermuda rum left?”

“Not much,” said Will, and with what was now an almost reflexive movement, passed the bottle across his midriff into Artemis’s hands.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!”—Will, looking stupified as Artemis poured the contents over the taffrail.

“Lookin’ out for you, same as I would my own boys. You must of been drinkin’ dis hooch all de way from Maine, ’cause it clear to me you thinkin’ like rummies. You think dot divin’ for salvage on a sunk ship is like divin’ for conch or sand dollars? Now I know you first-rate sailorin’ men, got to be, doin’ what you did, but salvage divin’ ain’t no job for boys. Job for men, and men who know what de hell dey doin’. Oh, dom glad I told you dot story was dot and no more—a story. ’Cause if I didn’t, den you been goin’ out dere and get yourselfs drowned, and den when I get to heaven and see your papa dere, I got to explain why I didn’t tell you the truth, and my one eye wouldn’t hold on his.”

Nathaniel felt suddenly diminished.

Eliot hopped off the cabin top and said in the tone of a prophet vindicated:

“Didn’t I tell you, Nat? Way back in North Haven? That it was a job for professionals and you were nuts to think we could?” Then, to Artemis: “I told him. Before we even started out, I told him.”