The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1921-10-20

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 a 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 3,
North river, the propeller wash swirled
under the sturdy little ships counter
and with a lusty cheer from the crew
the dingy looking hulk steamed down
the river and out to sea.
The treasure-huntlng cruise was I'M
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
from the fact instead of fancy, a tale
of treasure trove as gripping as
Treasure Island" At first glance the
facts might seem less romantic to a
staid observer, but r. 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,
6 ,f, h,tt
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 10 wallet
worn chart of Treasure island with
its three red crosses and Skeleton
island and Spy Glass hill, yet there
are those on board who saw the s., OUO,-
600 treasure buried.
Buried Ten Years Ago.
This treasure was buried ten long
years ago, and not by blowing, swear
ing, cutass-bearing pirates, but the
ocean itself, and the Ripple's treasure
island Is one that would not scratch
the huh Of the deepest ship for it lies
80 fathoms under the surface of the
sea, 50 miles east and one-haf north
of Cape Charles.
The story of the "burying" of this
treasure is not a long one, and not so
dreadful as it might have been, for
not a single life was lost.
May II, 1911, the Ward liner Merida,
a crack 19-knot twin-screw steamer
bound from Havana via Vera Cruz for
New York, was lurching through the
dark 80 or 60 miles off the Virginia
capes. She carried 800 passengers, q
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 100000 would hardly buy
the shining stuff packed deep in the
holds.
1t was an ugly night, pitch dark,
made more Opaque by thick fog
that rolled in toward the capes and
wrapped everything in cammy
blanket. Eight bels--mdnght
clang-clanged over the ship some time
before, reaching the ears of the watch
officer on the bridge in mullled 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 rending crash that pitched oil.
Ger and man to the deck aud brought
Captain Robertson running to the
bridgt.
Tie Merida staggered, the engine
telegraph changed stop and the next