“See here,” he repeated, “do you recollect when the engineers were draining the swamp, and found a skeleton of some poor old codger who was supposed to be one of the old pirate band that used to hang around New York, a good many dozen years ago?”
Chick started. A pirate! He recalled that the local newspapers had printed several lines of historical fact, hinting that the bones found in the swamp might have been a relic of days of piracy in the harbors and bays, the sea and the Sound, in and around Long Island and New York.
Suddenly something that had never before seemed of importance to him flashed across the youth’s agile mind.
Among the piratical names important in history of activity under the skull and cross-bones, none had stood out more than that of Morgan.
And before him stood a man whose name was “Doc” Morgan!
He suppressed his tendency to utter a cry of surprise at his discovery; his ears became even more intent as he held his voice and his quivering nerves in check.
“Oh, yes, I do recall something about the skeleton and piracy,” the control chief remarked, carelessly.
“Well, now, you do, do you? Is that so?” Doc’s tone was sarcastic. “Do you happen to recall that pirates used to sail in brigantines, and such-like ships? Yes, you do! Sure, you do! And there is a story to the effect that one time an old brigantine was throwed up onto the mud, it was, in a gale, off the very swamp where that skeleton was found!”
“You don’t say!”
“I do say!”