J. Allan Dunn

“ THE big room of the Golden Galleon at Santo Domingo, the principal port on the southern coast of the island of the same name, rang with the repeated last line of the piratical ditty. Bane’s men were ashore with gold to spend and ardent appetites to be appeased. That morning they had sighted a man-of-war sailing north through the Windward Passage between Santo Domingo and Cuba, scouring the Caribbean on false information, and they were secure in their revels. ”

“ Look ye, the captain runs the ship, ’tis true, but the quartermaster, Scarry-Dick Denton, he is our tribune. The captain can undertake nothing that we, through Denton, do not approve. Thirty shares for Bane, the rest for us, divided man for man with an extra share for Scarry-Dick. Why, lad, ’tis the life! ”

“ I know the place. I have piloted and turtled amid the Bahamas from Little Abaco to Turks Islands. I know them all. I could tell your skipper of a passage through the Jumento Cays, a passage from the northwest to a lagoon with an islet in the center. ’Twas shown to me by a Carib Indian for a turtling ground. I dare swear ’tis known to no white man but me. And, to the south and east, an outlet.”
“A passage through the Jumentos from the northwest! Now, you are the lad for us! Bane drinks above with Denton and the mates. They are set in gambling but they will listen to such a tale. ”