The Semi-weekly leader., 1921-12-14

Fifteen men on the dead mans chest
Yo no no anl bottle of rum.
Drink and the devil had done for the
rest
70 no no and a bottle of rum.
New YOrk.-But there was no roar
ing crew of drunken buccaneers on
board the steam trawler Ripple as
Captain Carmichael, serious, stocky
man with steady eyes and black mus
tache, climbed the short ladder to the
trawler's wee bridge and bawled, Cast
off! !" Deck hands unloOped the lines
from the ancient bOllards on Pier 8,
North river, the propeller wash swirled
under the sturdy little ships counter,
and with Iusty cheer from the crew
the dingy looking hulk steamed down
the river and out to sea.
The treasure-hunting cruise was un-
der way.
Had Robert Louis Stevenson stood
on the wharf and watched this Twen-
tieth century Hispanola puff down
stream and fade away in the harbor
mistS, he would no doubt have gone
straightaway to his desk and woven
of treasure trove as gripping as
Treasure Island" At first glance the
facts might seem less romantic to a
staid observer, but Il. l.. S. would find
characters among the Ripple's crew of
more than twenty, as fascinating as
Long John Silver, the Doctor, the
Squire, Jim Hawkins and Billy Bones
To be sure, the Ripple had no pratt
cal parrot to scream, pieces Of eight,
pieces of eight" but, none the less,
there will be quiet conversations in
the fO'c'sle of the clink of Mexican
gold and the heavy clink of silver bull
lion, and although there is 70 wallet
worn chart of Treasure island with
Its three red crosses and Skeleton
island and Spy Glass hill, yet there
900 treasure buried.
Buried Ten Years Ago.
This treasure was buried ten long
years ago, and not by blowing, swear
ing, cutlass-bearing pirates, but the
ocean itself, and the Ripple's treasure
island is one that would not scratch
the hull of the deepest ship, for it lies
80 fathoms under the surface of the
sea, 55 miles east and One-half north
of Cape Charles.
The story of the "burying" Of this
treasure Is not a long one, and not so
dreadful as 1t might have been, for
not a single life was lost.
May II, 1911, the Ward liner Merida,
crack 19-knot twin-screw steamer
bound from Havana via Vera Cruz for
New York, was lurching through the
dark so or 60 miles off the Virginia
capes. She carried 800 passengers, 21
tons Of bar~silver, kegs of gold coin,
valuable jewelry, and rich cargo of
copper and lead from the Mexican
mines. 1t was whispered about on
board that $2.0O0OOO would hardly buy
the shining stuff packed deep in the
holds.
1t was an ugly night, pitch dark,
made more Opaque by a thick fog
that rolled In toward the capeS and
wrapped everything in a clammy
blanket. Eight -bells-midnight-h
clang- changed over the ship some time
before, reaching the ears of the watch
officer on the bridge In muffled tones,
and he struck his hands together
smartly and peered into the black
ahead. The quartermaster stepped
through the darkness to the bell Ian
yard to give 1t single stroke, for
the dim clock In the wheelhouse stood
at II 80 in the morning. But the gong
never sounded. for at that moment
came a rending crash that pitched off,
Ger and man to the deck and brought
Captain Robertson running to the
bridge.
The Merida staggered, the engine
telegraph changed STOP" and the next