"I have been turning that in my mind for several weeks. There is an island south of Porto Rico in the Virgin Group, a barren dot, hated by all seamen for sorry memories of shipwreck and suffering. They call it the Dead Man's Chest."
I remembered the deep, swinging chorus I had first heard in the Whale's Head tavern the night I sought O'Donnell for his daughter. It sounded like a fit place for pirate treasure.
The Irishman frowned.
"What? Dump this gold we have risked so much to win on a sandbar for the first passing fellow to——"
"I have said no man will go there if he can help it."
"I like it not!" scowled O'Donnell. "My friends would have ugly things to say did the stuff slip from our hands in that way."
"'Tis less likely to slip from our hands on the Dead Man's Chest than abroad the Royal James," answered Murray. "Bethink you, chevalier! To begin with, there is Flint to reckon with. He will be nasty, as nasty as he dares, depending upon the temper of his crew and the quantity of rum he has consumed. Second, there is always the chance that we might fall in with a frigate too swift for us. On all scores 'tis preferable to get the treasure off the Royal James. 'Twill give us time to let the hue and cry of the Spaniards die down and to arrange with your friends for its reception."
"Whatever you say, 'tis a miserable alternative," protested O'Donnell. "Let us rather hold north and set the treasure ashore in France."
"To run the gauntlet of French and English cruisers?" my great-uncle demanded scornfully. "'Odsblood, man, you are out of your mind! And when you had landed it, what would you do? How much of it would go to your friends and how much to grease the pockets of French officials? A great treasure is not so easily disposed of."
"Ja," spoke up Peter, "dot's right, Murray. But what goodt is it to go back to Flint? He makes trouble, always he makes trouble—andt if he don't, his men does. It's better you go anodder place."