Ship of Gold in the Deep Blue Sea (75 page)

“There was no standard,” said Bob. “It really caused quite a monetary crisis. The easiest way to establish the value of the gold was to have the miner go to an assay office and have it weighed and assayed, then he’d get back either a bar made out of it or he’d get back coins of equivalent value. This is the earliest step in this whole monetary process that we’re seeing in the treasure on the
Central America
, ’cause we have both. We have the raw rocks that started it all. But we also have the bars and the coins made by the assayers out of such deposits.” The coins were rare, because the pioneer mints operated only briefly, some driven out when caught underweighting, some ceasing operations when the San Francisco Mint opened.

Lamb saw coins in Bob’s lab and more coins in storage in a forward hold. “My doubts,” he said, “which very, very, very crucially affect the potential value of what they’re finding, have now been completely allayed. The coins are mostly pretty much perfect and uncirculated.”

Before Lamb arrived at the ship, Tommy, Bob, and Barry had not mentioned the gold bars. Lamb knew nothing about them. Bars of California gold are exceedingly rare because their intrinsic value as bullion was so great that they were melted down and stamped into coins, rather than kept as collector’s items. By the end of the Civil War, few remained. Gold bars created by banks or government institutions are uniform in shape, size, and character. The largest bar of California gold known to exist weighed fifty ounces. The bars recovered from the
Central America
ranged from five ounces to over nine hundred ounces, and there were hundreds of them. And each one, from the chocolates to the brownies to the bricks, came adorned with a unique set of symbols and numbers: In one corner appeared a shiny cut, where the assayer had taken a small sample to determine the gold’s purity and kept the sample as a fee. Then the assayer stamped the bar with his seal, recorded the “fineness” or purity in thousandths, e.g., “891 fine,” or 89.1 percent pure gold, assigned the bar a serial or “identification” number, and gave its weight in ounces. Based on the fineness and the weight and a value of pure gold at $20.67 an ounce, the last number on the face was the value of the bar in 1857. Besides the unique markings on each bar, California gold contained silver rather than copper, which gave the bars unusual brilliance and luster.

One of the largest bars was no. 4051, Justh & Hunter, 754.95 oz., 900 fine, $14,045 value in 1857. Today, in bullion value alone, the bar could be worth almost $250,000.

James Lamb saw bars for the first time in Bob’s small lab. As much of the treasure as he had now seen and heard about, he was not prepared for the sight. “This is the most extraordinary, most incredible, most exciting thing,” he said. “Ever. It’s impossible to describe the significance, the potential monetary value, the general excitement of this find. All of these hitherto extraordinarily rare, desirable artifacts in perfect condition, in huge piles is just … it’s beyond my imagination. If I didn’t have it sitting here in front of me, then I wouldn’t believe it.”

B
Y LATE
A
UGUST
, Judge Kellam had enlarged Columbus America’s legally protected area to include the Galaxy II site, awarded them title to the artifacts they had already recovered, and made the injunction permanent. Nearing the end of summer, the Columbus-America group finally announced publicly that they had found the treasure of the
Central America
. The first article about their success appeared in the staid British journal,
The Economist
, and was followed by a lengthy piece in
The Washington Post
. Tommy appeared on the
Today Show
via satellite.

The crew continued to dive at the site into mid-September, when Hurricane Hugo chased them into port at Wilmington. After Hugo they returned to sea, but the weather remained the worst they had encountered. People calling from shore on the SAT COM could hear the crash of falling dishes and books. Storm after local storm spun across the water and hit the ship, until Tommy finally decided it wasn’t going to get any better for a while. It was time, he thought, to bring the treasure home.

T
HE NIGHT OF
October 4, the
Arctic Discoverer
hung offshore near the sea buoy. The next morning Burlingham was up at five to take over the bridge and head in to the Cape Henry Lighthouse at the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay. In 1857 Captain Johnsen on the
Ellen
and Captain Burt on the
Marine
had followed the same route past the same lighthouse, carrying survivors from the
Central America
. When Bryan and
Tod and the two deckhands rolled out, Burlingham set them to scrubbing streaks of rust from the superstructure until the upper decks of the
Arctic Discoverer
gleamed.

The day was Indian summer blue with a warm sun and just enough chill to freshen the air. Flags flapped in a gentle breeze, and along the river tugboats shouldered up against navy warships to maneuver them into the naval shipyard. As they crossed the Chesapeake and neared Norfolk, the crew began packing and storing their gear, readying the ship for family and friends to come aboard when they arrived at the docks. But they had no idea of the scene that would await them as they rounded the last bend and Burlingham steered the
Discoverer
slowly toward Norfolk’s Otter Berth at the city docks.

When they picked up the harbor pilot, who would steer the ship through the inland waterways, John Moore knew something big was going on. “The pilot came out with a great-looking hat,” said Moore, “and he was wearing a blazer and nice trousers.” Then a news station helicopter flew low overhead, and a police escort boat arrived, and the customs agents boarded and sat down with Burlingham to review the manifest. Moore stood on the deck and watched all of this. “It was kind of exciting,” he said, “kind of a dog-and-pony show when we got there. But you have to admit, it really is a big deal.”

With five days’ notice, Paula Steele had notified hundreds of people who had been involved with the project: family, friends, office workers, and partners; people from all over the country who had contributed to the success. On the dock now over two hundred people mingled in the VIP area: Wayne Ashby in an English driving cap with Fred Dauterman and Tom Jordan; Buck Patton with his wife, Jodi; clusters of younger partners like Don Garlikov, Victor Krupman, and Brad Kastan; Jon Jolly, a mentor of Tommy’s from Seattle; Ken Ringle of the
Washington Post;
Tim Daniels, their insurance man from New Orleans; Larry Stone, who had created the optimal search maps; Don Craft and his wife, Evie; the Thompsons and the Butterworths all; Barry’s mother, Suzanne, and his sister Sally and two of his old journalism buddies, Rick Ratliff and Dave Seanor; Bob’s wife, Jane, and his mother and father, Darline and Larry. The list went on, and the area was filled with people wearing VIP name tags.

Between the VIP area and the water, forming a V on two perpendicular docks, 140 members of the Herndon High School Marching Band stood in their red, white, and black uniforms. The town of Herndon, Virginia, and its high school had been named after Captain William Lewis Herndon of the
Central America
. Coincidentally, the band had won forty Grand Championships in competition with the finest high school marching bands in the country. Near the band stood Norfolk police and security guards, some with M-16s pointed into the air, forming a path from the ship’s berth to the three Brinks armored cars waiting near the dock with their doors open.

Behind the VIP group was a retaining fence, and behind that were several hundred more people and scaffolding supporting cameras and cameramen. The difference between the people in front of the fence and the people behind the fence was that the people behind the fence had come to witness the excitement. The people in front were part of the story, each contributing money, expertise, advice, love, or encouragement.

As the ship glided within two hundred feet of Otter Berth, a cannon fired from the docks and the band burst into John Philip Sousa’s “Stars and Stripes Forever.” The crew stood watching from various places on the decks of the
Arctic Discoverer;
the crowd looking back at them, knowing what they had accomplished, feeling the warm sun of a crisp fall day, and hearing the rousing notes from John Philip Sousa broke into broad grins. It was almost too perfect.

Fred Dauterman described it as “a happening.” “During a lifetime, you don’t have many days that are like a happening,” said Dauterman, “and this was like a happening. Everything just came together perfectly.”

Burlingham backed slowly into the berth, jockeying with his bow thruster to snug up to the dock, his face sometimes framed by one of the port windows on the bridge. The vehicle sat on the foredeck wrapped like a large package in bright blue plastic. The band continued playing a medley of Sousa marches and then songs from Disney, including, “When You Wish upon a Star,” with many in the audience humming the tune and thinking the words. Dreams and dreamers.

The crew could not leave until customs had released them, so they continued to watch the spectacle from the deck, wondering if the people out there on the dock and on the lawn had any idea what had happened
back in little rooms and a warehouse in Columbus, at sea for months, at night during the storms. One deckhand just wanted to see his girlfriend; Tod was anxious to say hi to his parents and his sister; his roommate was thinking about a hot bath and a soft bed that didn’t rock. “The public’s perception of it is a great deal different than what really happened,” said Moore. “The people who were there at the pier, except for the family people, thought, you know, the big, glorious, treasure hunt. They don’t realize the years of work that go into it and all the rest of the stuff that went on. I know certainly the media people there didn’t have a clue what it was all about.”

Still, many people, even some of those who did know much about what had happened, were touched by the scene. It seemed about as close as most of them would get to experiencing heroism. “Tommy’s going to be a very, very, very wealthy man,” said Buck Patton. “A very wealthy man. And he’ll be in the limelight, and I wish it for him—he deserves it. That’s a long time to be in the trenches.”

In addition to being proud of Tommy and the group, a lot of the partners were proud of themselves and their hometown for deciding to back the venture. “I was very happy for Tommy and the group, proud of them,” said Tom Jordan. “I was proud of Columbus, Ohio, and the fact that our community had, in its wisdom, wherever that came from, supported a very successful venture.”

The wisdom came from Wayne Ashby, who had the foresight to appreciate Tommy’s vision, the instinct to move on a hunch, and the realization that all that was needed was some credibility. Watching the festivities on the dock now brought sentimental feelings.

“When they docked,” said Ashby, “that whole scene of the marshals and police lent a lot of realism to it. This is really a special and fabulous thing to have happen in anybody’s life, but I don’t think that this will be the climax of Tommy’s career. I don’t imagine him having as much impact on people’s lives as Bell and Edison, but I can imagine him becoming as well known and famous as Cousteau.”

Customs cleared the ship and the crew, and then on behalf of the federal court, and in keeping with maritime tradition, U.S. marshals boarded the ship and “arrested” the gold. With the gold arrested and safely packed in army ammunition cans, the crew began off-loading the
treasure of the
Central America
. Moore, Scotty, Doering, Tod, Bryan, even the new cook, Mickey, in a tall white chef’s hat and Bermuda shorts, carried the ammunition cans along the line of police and security guards to the Brinks armored cars by the dock.

Near the dock was a podium and a microphone. The mayor of Herndon, Virginia, spoke to the crowd and reminded them of the heroism of the man who was the namesake of his fair city. Then came the mayor of Norfolk to say a few words about his city’s outpouring of kindness to the survivors of the sinking in 1857. The group’s historian, Judy Conrad, had tracked down twenty-nine descendants and relatives of the passengers who had sailed aboard the
Central America
on its last voyage. One was Genevieve Gross, who told the crowd her family’s stories of Alvin and Lynthia Ellis and their three children, how Alvin had bailed so Lynthia, little Alvin, Charles, and Lillie could be rescued, and how long she and others in her family had waited to learn the whole story of the
Central America
. Bob spoke; Barry spoke; the partners smiled a lot, and laughed, and shook their heads in disbelief as they recalled the early conversations with Ashby or Dauterman and then Tommy, and how far the ideas had progressed. Tommy had jotted down a few words the night before, people to remember and thank for contributing their time, resources, courage, and ingenuity. He thanked them all for helping to make the impossible possible.

The armored cars pulled away slowly, the crowd began to disperse, and the VIPs and the media repaired to white tents on the lawn, where Paula had organized a catered buffet for two hundred. That night, Tommy was to appear on
Prime Time Live
, and by late afternoon the front deck of the
Discoverer
was filled with two cameras and a dozen technicians hooking up cables, positioning lights, and checking sound. For their cameras, Bob had displayed some of the gold coins and bars on blue velvet next to an aquarium filled with water. In the aquarium sat a gray silicone block embedded with gold coins sticking out at odd angles, a deteriorated box containing gold coins in three neat stacks, a sixty-two-pound gold brick, and fifteen to twenty gold chocolates and brownies. Two police and a white-shirted security guard paced the deck.