Evening Republican, Volume 22, Number 159, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 July 1919 — Page 2

PIECES of EIGHT

BEING THE AUTHENTIC NARRATIVE OF A—TREASURE DISCOVERED IN THE BAHAFIAg ISLANDS IN THE YEAR-'-rgoa GIVEN TO THE PUBLIC

by Richard Le Gallienne

“WAIT A MINUTE!"

Synopsis—The man who tell this story—call him the hero, for short— Is visiting his friend, John Saunders, British official in Nassau, Bahama Islands. Charles Webster, a local merchant; completes the trio of friends. Conversation' turning upon burled treasure, Saunders produces a written document purporting to be the death-bed statement of Henry P. Tobias, a successful pirate, made by him in 1859. It gives two spots where two millions and a half of treasure were buried by him and his companions. The conversation of the three friends is overheard by a pockmarked stranger. The document disappears. Saunders, however, has a copy. The hero, determined to seek the buried treasure, charters the auxi 1 lary schooner Maggie^,Darling. The pock-marked man is taken on as a passenger for Spanish Wells. Negro Tom catches and cures a. "sucking fish” as a mascot for the hero; It has the virtue of keeping off the ghost the pirate who always guards pirate- treasure. On the voyage somebody empties the gasoline tank and the hero starts things. He and the passenger clash. He lands the passenger, .who leaves a manifesto bearing the signature, "Henry P. Tobias. Jr.’’ With a new crew, the Maggie Darling sails and is passed by another schooner, the Susan B. The hero lands on Dead Men’s Shoes. The "sucking fish” proves a mascot Indeed and carries the hero through a fight, which Is followed by several funerals. He searches for buried treasure and Old Tom falls into a pirates' cave. The cave contains the skeletons of two pirates and a massive chest—empty save for a few piece of eight scattered on the bottom. The hero returns to Nassau and by good luck learns the location of Short Shrift island. Webster buys the .yawl Flamingo, and he and the hero decide to search Short Shrift Island for the treasure.

CHAPTER ll—Continued. There were far more blacks than whites down on Bay street, but here there were nothing but blacks on every side. The roads ran in every direction, and along them everywhere were figures of black women shuffling with burdens on their heads, or groups of girls, audaciously merry, most of them bonny, here and there almost a beauty. There were churches and dance halls and saloons —all radiating, so to say, a prosperous blackness. At first the effect of the whole scene was a little sinister, even a little frightening.. The strangeness of African jungle, was here, and one was a white man in it all alone among grinning savage faces. Rut for the figures about one being clothed, the illusion had .been complete; but for that and the kind-hearted salutations from comely' \ white-turbaned mammies which soon sprang up about me, and the" 3 groups of elfish children that laughingly blocked one’s progress with requests —no t in any weird African, dialect but in excellent English—for “a copper, please.” This- request was not above the maidenly dignity of quite big and buxom lassie One of these, a really superb young greatpre. asked for “a copper, please,” but with a saucy coquetry befitting her adolescence. “I’ll give you one if you’ll tell’ me where the ‘king’ lives,” said I. “Ole King Coffee?” she asked, and then fell into a very agony of negro laughter. Recovering, she put her finger to her lips, suggesting silence, and said:

“Come along. Til show you!” And walking by my side, lithe as a young animal, she had soon brought me to a cabin much like the rest, though perhaps a little poorer looking. “Shh! There he is!" and she shook all over, again with suppressed giggles. I gave her a sixpence and told her to be a good girl. Then I advanced up a little strip of garden to where I had caught a glimpse of a venerable white-haired negro seated at the window, as if for a great open book in his hands. This he appeared to be reading with great solemnity, through enormous goggles, though I thought I caught a side-glint of his eye, as though he had taken a swift reconnoitering glance in my direction —a glance which apparently had but deepened his attention and increased the dignity of his demeanor. Remembering that he was not merely royal but pious also, I made my salutation at once courtler-like and sanctimonious. “Good day to your majesty,” I said; “God’s good, God looks after his servants.” - “De Lord is merciful,” he answered gravely? “God takes care of his children. Be seated, sar, and please excuse my not rising; my rheumatism is a sore affliction to me.” I was not long in getting tjp the subject of my visit. The old man listened to me with great composure, but with, a marked accession of mysterious tor portance in his manner. jr

“It’s true, sar,” he said, when I had finished, “I could find it for you. I could find it for you, sure enough; and I’m de only man in all de islands dat could. But I should have to go wid you. and it’s de Lord’s will to keep mfe here in dis chair wid rheumatics. De rods has turned in dese old hands many a time, and I have faith in de Lord dey would turn again—yes. I’d find it for you; sure enough. I’d find it if any man could —and it was de Lord’s will. But rnebbe I can see It for you widout moving from dis chair.” “Do you mean, brother, that the Lord hns given ynuksecond sTght?” “Dat am it! Glory to his name, hallelujah !” he answered. “I look in a glass ball —so; and if de spirit helps me I can see clear as a picture far under de ground—far, far away over de sea. It’s de Lord’s truth, sar—blessed be his name !” I asked him whether he would look Into his crystal for me. With a burst of profanity, as unexpected as it Was vivid, he cursed “dem boys” that had stolen from him a priceless crystal which once had belonged to his old royal mother, who, before him, had had the same gift of the spirit. But, he added —turning to a table by his side, and lifting from it a large cutglass decanter of considerable capacity, though at present void of contents —that he had found that gazing Into the large glass ball of its stopper produced almost equally good results at times. First he asked me to be kind enough to shut the door. • ’ We had to be very quiet, he declared ; the spirit could work only in deep silence. And he asked me to be kind enouglf to close my eyes. Then I heard his voice muttering, in a strange tongue, a queer dark gobbling kind of words, which may have been ancient African spell-words, or sheer gibberish such as magicians in all times and places have employed to mystify their consultants.

I looked at him through the corner of my eye—as doubtless he had anticipated, for he was glaring with an air of inspired abstraction into the ball of the decanter stopper. So we sat silent for I suppose some ten minutes. Then I heard him give another deep sigh. Opening my* eyes I saw him slowly shaking his head. “De spirits don’t seem communicable dis afternoon,” he muttered tilting the decanter slightly on one side and observing it drearily. “Do you think, your majesty,” I asked with as serious a face as I could assume, “the spirits might work better—if the decanter were to be filled?” “Mebbe, sar; mebbe. Spirits is curious things; dey need inspiration sometimes, just like ourselves.” “What kind of inspiration do yqu think gets the best results, your majesty?” “Well, sar, I can’t say as dey is very particular, but I’se noticed dey do

This He Appeared to Be Reading With Great Solemnity.

seem powerful' ’tached to just plain good old Jamaica rum.” “They shall have it." I said. I had noticed that there was a saloon a few yards away, so before many' more minutes had passed I had been there and come back again, and the ilecanter stood ruddiiy filled, ready for the resumption bf our seance. Biit before we began I of course accepted the Peer’s invitation to join him and the spirits in a friendly libation. Then —I having closed my eyes—we,

’ THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND. -

began again, and it was astonishing with what rapidity the thick-coming pictures began to crowd upon that inner vision with which the Lord had endowed his faithful follower! Of course I was inclined now to take the whole thing as an amusing imposture; but presently, watching his face and the curious “seeing" expression of his eyes, and noting the exactitude of one or two pictures, I began to feel that, however much he might be inventing or elaborating, there was some substratum of truth in what he was telling me. „ The first pictures that came to him were merely pictures, though astonishingly clear ones, of Webster’s boat, the Flamingo, of Webster himself, and of the men and the old dog Sailor; but In ail this he might have been visualizing from actual knowledge. Yet the details were curiously exact. Presently his gaze becoming more fixed: “I see you anchored under a little settlement. You are rowing ashore. Dere are little pathways running up among de coral rock, and a few white houses. Seems to be a forest; big trees —not like Nassau trees —and thick brush everywhere; all choked up so thick and dark, can’t see nut’n. Waft a minute, dough. Dere seems to be old houses all sunk in and los’, like old ruins. Can’t see dem for de brush. And wait —Lord love you, sar, but I’se afraid —I seem to see a big light coming up trough de brush from far under de ground—just like you see old rotten wood shining in de dark —deep, deep down. Didn’t I tell you de Lord gave me eyes to see into de bowels of de earth? —it’s de bowels of de earth for syre —all lit up and shining. Praise de Lord—it am de gold, for certain, all hidden away and shining dere under de ground—” “Can’t you see it closer, clearer?” I exclaimed involuntarily; “get some idea of the place it’s in?” The old man gazed with a renewed intensity. “No,” he said presently, and his disappointed tone seemed to me the best evidence yet of his truth, “I only see a little golden mist deep, deep down under de ground; now it is fading away. It’s gone; I can only see de woods and de ruins again.”

This brought his visions to an end. The spirits obstinately refused to make any more pictures, though the old man continued to gaze on in the decanter stopper for fully five minutes. CHAPTER 111. In Which We Take Ship Once More, The discovery which —through mj’ friend the dealer in “marine curiosities”—l had made, or believed myself "to have made, of the situation of Henry P. Tobias’ second “pod” of treasure, fitted exactly with Charlie Webster’s wishes for <mr trip, small stock as he affected to take in it at the moment. _J—_ “Short Shrift island” lay a few miles to the northwest of Andros island. Now Andros is a great haunt of wild duck, not to speak of that more august bird, the flamingo. Attraction number one for the good Charlie. Then, though it is some hundred and fifty miles long and some fifty miles broad at its broadest, it has never yet, it is said, been entirely explored. Its center is still a mystery. The natives declare it is haunted, or at all events inhabited by some strange people no one has yet approached close enough to see. You can see their houses, they say, from a distance, but as you approach them, they disappear. Here, therefore, Seemed an excellent place- for Tobias to take cover in. Charlie’s duck-shooting preserves, endless marl lakes islanded with mangrove copses, lay on the fringe of this mysterious region. So Andros was plainly marked out for our destination.

Sailor had watched his master getting his guns ready for some days, and, doubtless, memories stirred in him of Scotch moors they had shot over together. He raised his head to the night wind and sniffed impatiently, as though he already scented the wild duck on Andros island. He was impatient, like the rest of us, because, though it was an hour past sailingtime. we had still to collect two of the crew. The two loiterers turned up at last and, all preliminaries being at length disposed of, we threw off the mooring ropes and presently there was heard that most exhilarating of sounds to anyone who loves seafaring, the rippling of the ropes through the blocks as our mainsail began to rise up high against the moon which was beginning to look out bver the huge block of the Colonial hotel, the sea wall°pf which ran along as far as our mooring. A few lights in its windows here and there broke the blank darkness of its facade, glimmering through the avenues of royal palms. I am thus explicit because of something that presently happened, and which stayed the mainsail in its rippling ascent.

A tall figure was running along the sea wall from the direction of the hotel, calling out, a little breathlessly, in a rich young voice as it ran: “Walt a minute there,’you fellows! Wait a minute!” - We were already moving, parallel with the wall, and at least twelve feet away from it, by the time the figure—that of a tall boy, cowboy-hatted' and picturesquely outlined in the half light—stopped just ahead of us. He raised something that looked like a bag In his right hand, calling out “Catch” as he did so; and, a moment after, before a word could be spoken, he took a flying leap and landed' amongst us, plump in the cockpit and was clutching first one of us and then the others to keep his balance “Did it, by Jove!” he exclaimed in a beautiful English accent, and then

started laughing as only absurd daredevil youngsters can. “Forgive me!" he said, as soon as he could get his breath, “but I had to do ft. Heaven knows what the old man will say “You’re something of a long jump!” said Charlie. “Oh! I have done my twenty-two and an eighth on a broad running jump, but I had no chance for a run there,” answered the lad, carelessly. “But suppose you’d hit the water instead of the deck?” “What of it? Can’t one swim?” “I guess you’re all right, young man," said Charlie, softened; “but ... well, "weW'fioFTflSnggers.” ' The words had a familiar sound. They were the very ones I had used to Tobias, as he stood with his hand on the gunwale of the Maggie Darling.

Before a Word Could Be Spoken, He Took a Flying Leap.

I rapidly conveyed the coincidence—and the difference —to Charlie. It struck me as odd, I’ll admit, that our second start, in this respett, should be so like the first. Meanwhile, the young man was answering, or rather pleading, in a boyish way: call me a passenger; I’ll help work the boat. I’ll tell the truth. I heard—never mind how —about your trip, and I’m just nutty about buried treasure. Come, be a sport. We cap let the old guv’nor know, somehow . . . and it won’t kill him to tear his hair for a day or two. He knows I can take care of myself.” ‘’SWell I said Charlie, after thinking awhile in his slow way, “we’ll think it over. You can come along till the morning. Then I can get a good look at you. If I don’t like your looks we’ll still be able to put you off at West End; and if I do —well —right-ho ! Now, boys,” he shouted, “go ahead with the sails.” Once more there was that rippling of the ropes through the blocks, as our mainsail rose up high against the moon and filled proudly with the steady northeast breeze we had been waiting for. So two or three hours went by, as we plunged on, to the seething sound of she water, and the singing of our sails, and all the various rumor of wind and sea. After all, it was a good music to sleep to and, for all my scorn of sleeping landsmen, an Irresistible drowsiness stretched me out on the roof of the little- cabin, wonderfully rocked into forgetfulness. My nan came to an end suddenly, as though some one had flung me out through a door of blue and gold into a new-born world. There was the sun rising, the moon still on duty, and the morning star divinely naked in the heaven. _ And there was Charlie, his broad face beaming with boyish happiness, and something like a fatherly gentleness in his eyes, as he watched his companion at the tiller, whom, for a half-asleep moment of waking, I couldn’t account for, till our start all came back to me, when I realized that it was our young scapegrace of overnight. Charlie and he evidently were on the best of terms already. Old Tom had been busy with breakfast and soon the smells of coffee and freshly made “johnny-cake”. and frying bacon competed not unsuccessfully with the various fragrances of the morning. Breakfast over, Charlie filled his pipe, assuming, as he did so, a judicial I filled mine and our young friend followed suit by taking a silver cigarette case from his pocket and striking a match on the leg of his khaki knickerbockers with a professional air. “All set?” asked Charlie, and, after a slight pause, he went on: “Now, young man, you can see we are nearing the end of<the island. Another half-mile will bring “us tq West End. Whether we put you ashore there, or take you along, depends on your answers to my questions.”

• I The unexpected passenger proves interesting, even though the treasure seekers are strangely blind. ' (TO BE CONTINUED.)

• M. little widow with dimples is a dangerous thing.

EDDIE CICOTTE, WHITE SOX PITCHER, DISPLAYS HIS SUPERSTITIOUS STREAK

Superstition is a great little institution, especially as applied to baseball players. One could no more separate the average player from his belief in the uncanny world of magic than one could argue Buck Weaver out of a base hit. There is the case of Eddie Cicotte, for instance. After what has happened to this eminent shine ball and knuckle ball expert this year, ball players will be more securely intrenched in the beliefs that sway their activities and influence the action of their managers, writes George S. Robbins in Chicago News. Cicotte Is Superstitious. “Eddie, I w T ant you to pitch the first game of the year,” said Kid Gleason, addressing Cicotte. “I’d rather not, boss,” replied Cicotte, “Why not —what’s the argument?” asked the Kid. Then this famed flinger unfolded the most amazing story that the Kid had heard in many a day. Gleason, who doesn’t believe in superstition, just had to listen to Eddie. “You see Kid, when I’ve pitched an opener I’ve had a rotten season,” explained the foxy Cicotte. d “I appreciate the honor of being asked to hurl the first game and all that, but I don’t care for the honor—l want to win. When I’ve not pitched the opener I’ve won.” Grants His Request. Gleason was reluctant to accede to this amazing request. The first impulse of the scrappy leader would have been to give a ball player a nice little cuff, reminding him painfully of his infiiscretton. Cicotte, however, stands ace high with the Kid and

CREDIT GIVEN DAVE SHEAN

Thought by Other Members of Boston Red Sox to Have Possible Pennant Winner. Dave Shean is thought by the other members of the team to have made the Red Sox a pennant winner last year. Dave stepped into Jack Barry’s shoes and filled them very acceptably. Shean is not as young as he used

Dave Shean.

to be. - He waited a long time before being accorded the major league recognition it is now conceded that he deserves. Dave knocked around in the minors for quite a while. He even tried his hand at managing the Providence team of the International league. And he was a good manager. He had been up in the National league once with Boston and turned back. Three years ago he came up again with Cincinnati.

Gleason recalled that a game wop the second day of the season was just as valuable in the team standing as one captured on opening day. “You win, Eddie!” replied this veteran conditioner of athletes. That is why the preseason dope of Cicotte’s pitching the opener all went awry. Williams hurled the first game and Eddie the second. Gleason was skeptical about the superstition business, but was eager to find out whether Cicotte was working on a lucky hunch. Eventualities have proved that Eddie was laboring on a lucky tip. Victorious in 1917 Season. As the dope ran, 'Cicotte failed to pitch the opening game in 1917 and the world knows what happened. He liberally sifted through the circuit with his mixed assortment of slab wares like a shell through a shack of straw. The preceding season Cicotte started the ball rolling in the American league for the Sox and he had a mediocre season. In 1918 Cicotte pitched the opener for former Manager Rowland. One’s memory doesn’t need to be refreshed to recall what happened last year. Cicotte traveled fifty-one innings without a run being scored behind his slabbing. It was counted among his unlucky years. With a small portion of the 1919 season reeled off. Cicotte looks to be invincible on the hill. His delivery seems Identical with that of 1917, when he won the league flag for Chicago hands down. Cicotte today is the most feared pitcher in the American league, just as he was in 1917 when he didn’t z pitch the first game for the Chicago Sox.

DIAMOND NOTES

Little Rock has released Pitcher Harry Coveleskie. He could not come back. * • ♦ • The Cardinals on paper appear capable of better ball than they have been playing. ♦ * * Everett Scott of the Boston Red Sox has been doing some heavy batting of late. Umpire Murray was bombarded with cushions at Minneapolis.' Better cushions than pop bottles. ♦ * ♦ When it comes to making two and three-base hits, the American league has a great advantage on the National. - J. P. Austin, the veteran of the St. Louis Browns, is back on third base and leadoff man in the batting order, * • • J., Leiten Aitcheson, a pitcher and outfielder of Maryland - Agricultural college, has been signed by the Brooklyn Dodgers. ♦ ♦ • S. S. Smith, the Brooklyn pitcher who recently returned frorjn service overseas, appears to be in championship form. I* * * E. J. Pfeffer of Brooklyn and 0. A. Causey ,of the Giants are having a great race for leading pitcher, in the National league!. 1 • • • Leslie Nunamaker was awarded $4,500 for injuries received in an iutomobile accident last December. The St. .Louis catcher sued for $15,000. • • • Although little is said about the fielding of Z. A. Terry and, G.‘ W. Cutshaw of the Pittsburgh Nationals,' they are putting up a splendid de* fensive game ground second base.