Soon after gold had been brought to Europe from the New World and the rush for riches had begun, Ramon Salazar, who had amassed a comfortable fortune as a trader in old Madrid, but in whose veins coursed the spirit of the Crusaders, sold all his possessions and, having invested them in trade goods, sailed for America.
He landed on the east coast of Central America, but soon made his way over the difficult trail that led to the Pacific.
Ramon Salazar was a man of honor. He did not go in search of Aztec gold, nor did he lend aid to those shameful robberies of natives that still lie black on the pages of Spanish-American history.
Having made his way to the west coast, where he hoped to be forever safe from British and Scotch buccaneers, he set up a trading post and prospered.
Having learned of the rich pearl fisheries, he made a study of the matter and at last fitted out a schooner for the purpose of pearl fishing. Hiring divers and securing the protection of a Spanish man-of-war, he lingered long over those shallow waters whose submerged sandbars were rich with pearl bearing mussels.
He prospered again. Some pearls were sold, but the richest and choicest were kept in a box of beaten silver beneath the berth in his own stateroom. The room was not left unguarded night or day.
“Some bright morning,” Ramon Salazar was fond of saying, “I shall take that box and sail away for sunny Spain. Then who cares what further riches the New World may still hold? But first,” he always added, “I must have more pearls, larger pearls, a great pearl of pearls.”
So he lingered, until one day a startling thing happened. The east coast had long been infested by buccaneers. The west had been free. But now, out of a clear sky, one day as Ramon Salazar dined with the commander of the man-of-war, a boat load of marauders boarded the pearl fishing schooner, overpowered those on board, hoisted sail, and firing a shot across the bow of the man-of-war, they took to sea. And on board that schooner was Ramon Salazar’s treasure of pearls.
“What sort of box was it that held the pearls?” Pant asked a bit breathlessly.
“Oh, my boy,” was the old Don’s reply, “that was long ago. Who can say? It was of beaten silver, perhaps as long as a man’s forearm, and as thick as such a box should be.”