Then the details for identification of the sites left something to be desired in particularity.  But that, I reasoned, rather made for Tobias’s veracity than otherwise.  Were the document merely a hoax, as John continued to suspect, its author would have indulged his imagination in greater elaboration.  The very simplicity of the directions argued their authenticity.  Charlie Webster was inclined to back me in this view, but neither of my friends showed any optimism in regard to the possible discovery of the treasure.

The character of the brush on the out-islands alone, they said, made the task of search well nigh hopeless.  To cut one’s way through twenty miles of such stubborn thickets, would cost almost as much in labour as the treasure was worth.  And then the peculiar nature of the jagged coral rock, like endless wastes of clinker, almost denuded of earth, would make the task the more arduous.  As well look for a particular fish in the sea.  A needle in a haystack would be easy in comparison.

“All the same,” said I, “the adventure calls me; the adventure and that million and a half dollars—­and those ’Dead Men’s Shoes’—­and I intend to undertake it.  I am not going to let your middle-aged scepticism discourage me.  Treasure or no treasure, there will be the excitement of the quest, and all the fun of the sea.”

“And some duck perhaps,” added Charlie.

“And some shark-fishing for certain,” said John.

* * * * *

The next thing was to set about chartering a boat, and engaging a crew.  In this Charlie Webster’s experience was invaluable, as his friendly zeal was untiring.

After looking over much likely and unlikely craft, we finally decided on a two-masted schooner of trim but solid build, the Maggie Darling, 42 feet over all and 13 beam; something under twenty tons, with an auxiliary gasolene engine of 24 horse power, and an alleged speed of 10 knots.  A staunch, as well as a pretty, little boat, with good lines, and high in the bows; built to face any seas.  “Cross the Atlantic in her,” said the owner.  Owners of boats for sale always say that.  But the Maggie Darling spoke for herself, and I fell in love with her on the spot.

Next, the crew.

“You will need a captain, a cook, an engineer, and a deck-hand,” said Charlie, “and I have the captain, and the cook all ready for you.”

That afternoon we rounded them all up, including the engineer and the deck-hand, and we arranged to start, weather permitting, with the morning tide, which set east about six o’clock on July 13, 1903.  Charlie was a little doubtful about the weather, though the glass was steady.

“A northeaster’s about due,” he said, “but unless it comes before you start, you’ll be able to put in for shelter at one or two places, and you will be inside the reef most of the way.”

Ship’s stores were the next detail, and these, including fifty gallons of gasolene, over and above the tanks and three barrels of water, being duly got aboard, on the evening of July 12, all was ready for the start; an evening which was naturally spent in a parting conclave in John Saunders’s snuggery.