The Frontier, May 1926 — page 29: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“Come,” said the skipper. ‘“Vot iss it yet?” “Why,” roared the quartermaster, “they took the ship. Donovan, I mean, and that Jenkins, and the others.” The story was soon told. The mate had placed Johannsen in charge of filling the ship’s water casks from the river—a clear, sparkling stream above the mouth—and he, with Killifer, Gunderson and young Newell, had been rowing back and forth in one of the gigs throughout the greater part of the morning. “On our last trip,” Johannsen con- tinued, “just as they slung up the last keg, why, this Donovan whips out a pistol, leans down over the bulwarks, and shoots young Newell through the head. ‘Just to show you we mean business !’—that’s what he says. At the same time there’s Jenkins, Fallon, Dumphey and Martin a-leanin’ over with pistols, too. ‘One move,’ says Donovan, cool as ice, ‘and your goose is cooked.” What could we do but sit there like so many fish? Well, just then the cookee, McNulty, he slings a knife, but Fallon gives him both har- rels. ‘That's two dead,’ says Donovan, never battin’ an eye. Bither and the cook, d’y’mind, came runnin’ on deck, but when they sees the lay of the land, they stops dead. And then Donovan tells us wot’s wot.” “Vell?” prompted the skipper, his face grim and pale. “Why,” said Johannsen, ‘“here’s what he says: ‘Come aboard,’ he says, ‘and join us, as has the food, the ship, and knows where the treasure is. Or else,’ he says, ‘yott can go ashore, and give my compliments,’ he says, ‘to that there square-head, your capting, and tell him what’s what. And that’s this,’ he says. ‘All hands what want to join Cap’n Donovan is free to do so and share food and treasure. Them that won’t can eat coconuts. As for the THE DEVIL'S CALDRON treasure, I'll talk to your capting soon as he shows a flag o’ truce,’ ” Then, explained Johannsen, they had been allowed to row ashore, with the warning that they would be given but one minute to get out of gunshot after they had beached, Fallon and Martin came with them, keeping them covered with pistols, and returned to the ship later with the gig. “I put you in der log for t’ree honest men!” cried Van Tassel, with un- wonted warmth. “And I won’t forget it if we get out of this!” Uncle George declared, shak- ing each man by the hand. “Now, by the Lord Harry, let’s see what he has to propose.” Zea) RUDGING onward a iN again toward Drake’s Bay, with the men growling behind us, we re- viewed the situa- tion. It was now plain that Donovan had withheld the chart from me, in the first place, to obtain an opportunity to insert his own markings, after cutting off the original notations by Jerry Blunt. At the outset, we reasoned, he may merely have intended to safeguard his own interests in bargaining for a ship. But later, having sounded out the impressionable Jenkins thoroughly, he had worked out a bolder scheme. We knew now that the mate had suc- ceeded in getting at least three accom- plices aboard—Fallon, Dumphey and Martin—and had but to wait for a favorable opportunity to seize the ship. “Why, they would probably have taken her last night, while we slept, if the men hadn’t come aboard,” said the judge. Uncle George spat vindictively. “Doubtless,” he acknowledged. “Oh, I’m not so surprised now at Donovan, when I think it all over,” he contin- F h 0 ail Ret I \ w Jed 4 ge ae \/ , ye. i ° j/ : BY ti AS 19 ued. “Though I’ll admit he took me in, all over. But that mate—that Jen- kins—” He choked, and sputtered. “To think I planned to give him a ship!” Glancing at the captain just then, I saw tears rolling down his cheeks. “Dot poy!” he muttered, wiping the tears away hastily, with a shamefaced air, “I—vy, I treat him like a son.” Coming out on the sandy beach at last, we saw that the Anthony Wayne, now lay broadside on to the shore. She had been anchored forward as well as aft, and her starboard guns were uncovered. With her graceful lines, and her white hull with its streak of red, and all reflected in the clear water beneath her, she was a picture to thrill the heart of any sailor; but now, instead of our own colors, an improvised Jolly Roger was floating from her peak, A drunken chanty came to us across the waters, and as we drew nearer Fal- lon feaned over the bulwarks and tossed a bottle into the bay. “How'd you like a mouthful o’ that, honest men?” he shouted derisively. No one answered him. But Cap- tain Van Tassel, after a word or two with my uncle, fastened a handker- chief on a cutlas, and waved it. The signal was answered promptly by Donovan, who had been sitting with Jenkins under an awning on the poop. Moving like a trained athlete—for of course he had not injured his ankle in the least—he ran down the gangplank, followed by Fallon and Bither, and put off in a gig. “Vell,” said the skipper, when the buccaneers had come within a few yards of shore, “vot do you brobose?” Donovan, the scoundrel, eyed us with an insolent smile. He had wrapped a gaudy polka-dotted scarf around his head; a yellow sash, with two silver-mounted pistols thrust in it, girdled his waist; and 1f ever there / Magda s, RY <SriGcOim 0)(0)(0)