Mexico roughly speaking, though many hundred miles from land. It is
shifting all the time though, I understand, and a ship that once gets
into it never gets out. The weed just holds her in its grip till she
rots. Bluewater Bill told me that, after his ship drifted into it, he
counted ten steamers and four sailing vessels drifting idly about on
the brown expanse that spread like a desert on all sides. But the most
remarkable of all, according to his story, was a high-pooped,
castle-bowed affair with three masts that the tattered sails still
hung to. According to him she was a real, sure-enough galleon. One of
the old treasure vessels that used to ply the Spanish Main."

"Oh, I say, Billy, you don't believe such a yarn as that, do you?"
burst out Frank and Harry, both at once.

"Well, I don't know," replied Billy, "the fellow seemed serious enough
and I am half inclined to believe he was telling the truth. He wanted
to get somebody to finance an expedition to go down there and prove
that he was not falsifying, and give him a small share of the treasure
he is sure the vessel is laden with, in return for his information."

"In other words he is seeking a backer for an enterprise that looks
ridiculous on the face of it," commented Frank.

"I'm not so certain of that," went on Billy. "Look here," and with the
air of a conjurer producing a card from the empty air, he dived into
his pocket and then, after a moment's fumbling, held out a round gold
coin for the boys' inspection.

"A Spanish pistole!" exclaimed Frank, as his eyes fell on the dull
yellow metal of the golden coin.