It was now dusk. The party slipped out from behind the shell-heap, and the leader shouted, “Back water there an’ stop, or I’ll fire.”
No reply was made, but he caught the words, “Pull,pull;” and the quicker dip of the oars told that the rowers heeded.
“Another yard and I’ll fire.”
No word of reply—but, spoken loud and with vengeance, “Pull, damn you,pull.”
“Fire, Jim;” and the huge musket thundered out her volley.
A shriek from one poor devil, the noise of others falling over in the boat, and the striking of oars followed. With oaths and confusion, the outlaws turned their boat and pulled back.
Black Jim stood stiff in the tracks where he had fired, but the big musket lay upon the ground—the recoil had broken his collar-bone.
In the morning the schooner was gone. Week after week went by, and the scattered inhabitants continually expected some descent of the outlaws to take vengeance for their repulse. Jim’s collar-bone was well knit together, and yet there had been no further molestation.
“I guess we fixed ’em. They don’t seem to want to come anymore,” remarked one of the party to a neighbor.
More than six weeks had passed since that one charge of buckshot repulsed the outlaws, and June was half gone. The Bay’s rest spell was come—the time when, day after day, its surface is calm, and the air above it quivers—the time when the Beach goes off to its farthest limit and melts into islands with air inlets between them.
On one of those quiet, dreamy days in June, when all thought of alarm is farthest from one, the identical long-boat which barely two months before had turned back with its wounded, was crossing the Bay, and making, too, directly for the landing by the lime-kiln and shell-heap. The schooner this time lay outside the Beach, and the outlaws had made a portage over with their long-boat. Again someone in that boat knew there was a landing near the shell-heap.
They rowed up till the boat touched the sand, but before all landed, two sailors jumped ashore and went around the shell-heapand into the kiln to discover whether any body of men was lying in wait there. Upon their return, the boat was secured, and the oars were put in position for quick launching. Then, adjusting slashed black bands across their faces, the outlaws took their way up across the lot, making straight for the inn on the north side of the old country road. A dozen rods, perhaps, from the shore, there sprang up what always springs up when any group of sailors take to land—what in general may be called rough fooling. It was started by Nate Crosby, the most irrepressible devil of the whole crew, throwing his leg between those of the sailor who walked beside him, and sending him sprawling to the ground, his face tearing into one of the stunted cedars. As he rose, he plucked the cedar up, and began lashing Nate about the neck and face, and not only did he deal blows at Nate, but also upon those who laughed at the way Nate had thrown him. Whereupon some five or six others uprootedcedars and fell to cracking back, and then at each other.
“What in thunder are you thinking of, you devil’s birds?” said the leader, stepping back among them. “Quit this fooling. We’re darn near in sight of the inn, and instead of keeping your eyes skinned for just what some of us got the last time we tried this thing, you’ve taken to rollicking. Spread out, spread out; don’t bunch up, if you’ve got any wit whatever. Nate, cast away that cedar; cast it away, and come with me to the head of the gang.”
They reached the inn and filed into the front room. There was no one at home but Widow Molly and Judy, and both were at work in the kitchen. The noise and boisterous talk brought Widow Molly to the room in an instant, and Judy, taking one peep, scrambled down cellar and hid herself in a bin.
“Ah! Dame Molly,” said the leader very affably, as she entered, “a surprise to you! What of cheer can ye make us?”
“Mek it damn quick, too,” broke in a rough voice.
“Hold your jaw, you ill-trained cur,” spoke the leader, smiting the upstart flat-handed on the mouth.
Such words, the black bands with fierce eyes looking through, the knives and pistols thrust in their belts, told Widow Molly that the gang of outlaws had landed and were in her house. The thought that she was alone came swift, and she stood a moment stricken and dazed. But quite as suddenly she regained her self-possession, stepped past them into an adjoining room, reached a decanter and glasses, and setting these before them, bade them drink their pleasure.
“More,more,” thundered one outlaw, hammering on the table with the butt of his pistol.
She brought another decanter and glasses. The two decanters were emptied, refilled, and emptied again before the outlaws gave heed to anything else.
“And now, Dame Molly, thou hast well slaked our thirst, can’st thou not bring something to stay our stomachs,” said the leader.
“An’ bring thy silver spoons, too,” said another of the company, who, turning towards her, chucked her under the chin.
Her eyes flashed with resentment at the indignity, and swiftly she whirled a stinging slap in the intruder’s face.
A roar of laughter filled the room, and derisively they cried, “Try it ag’in, now, will ye? Try it ag’in.”
Widow Molly’s heart beat hard. Her breath was catchy, and with her capacious lungs that was a new experience. A way of escape was her first thought. Should she slip out of the kitchen door, run a mile to the nearest neighbor, and give the alarm?
She found no chance to do it, for three of the outlaws followed her into the pantry and then into the kitchen. Nothing was left but to put on the bravest appearance,and she had already done that. Had they been soldiers with muskets, their presence would not have affected her as it did. She was used to muskets. But the dirks, sheath-knives, and horse-pistols that filled their belts gave her a tremor.
Everything eatable the inn afforded she set before them, and although there was considerable of it, it was not sufficient to fill them all. During the whole while, Widow Molly waited on the ravenous crowd, and when the eating came to an end, the leader said, “And now, Dame Molly, produce thy purse and what of gold thou hast besides.” She drew forth her purse and emptied it upon the table. A sailor started towards the table and made a grab, but he was caught by the leader, and shoved back against the wall with a thud.
“Four pound ten,” said the leader, counting it; “and that’s all ye have about, Dame Molly? Search the house from garret to cellar. Hold—two stay in the room with our landlady.”
Forth they burst into all parts of the house, striding up stairs, kicking open doors instead of unlatching them. Clatter and din came from every room. Beds were upturned, drawers ransacked and the contents turned upon the floor, looked over, and then kicked into corners to make room for other examinations. Closets were rummaged, feather-beds and pillows thrown upon the floor, felt over carefully, and then as carefully trodden over, to make sure nothing was concealed therein.
“Look for loose bricks in the fireplaces. See if the hearth-stones are tight down,” shouted the leader, from the head of the stairs.
And with these words, Widow Molly heard Judy’s cries from the cellar imploring mercy from the outlaw who was hustling her about and demanding where the silver was.
“Oh, please, sah, lem me go. Don’t. Oh! oh! don’t.”
“No, sah; no, sah; true es I lib, missus ain’t got no silber.”
“Oh, dear, hab marcy, please, sah; do hab marcy. Oh,oh!— — —you break my poor ol’ arm.”
“Fall on yer knees. Stop your beggin’ for mercy.”
“Yes, sah;yes, sah. Hab a little marcy. Oh!— — —.”
“Clasp yer hands above yer head. Keep ’em up there.”
“Oh, sah,oh!— — —”
“Stop yer beggin’. Another whimper and I’ll pull. Now, you tell quick, where the silver is, or I’ll blow your old black head into mince-meat.”
Judy, shaking with fear, told him.
The outlaw came up out of the cellar, and rummaged where Judy had said. Securing several small pieces of silverware, he came back into the front room. Then for the first time he noticed the gun, with its bright mountings, which stood inthe corner, and walking towards it, he remarked, “That gun’s mine.”
“No,” replied Widow Molly, her affection rising as she thought of him to whom the gun belonged. “You can have anything else. That’s a friend’s gun.”
He took it, and Widow Molly, who had already stepped across the room, seized the gun, and with one strong, quick twist, wrested it from him. Setting it back in the corner, she replied, “That you can’t have as long as I can defend it.”
One of the outlaws who had been keeping her prisoner now tried the same game.All the woman’s soul again stirred within her. She wrested the gun from him, but the struggle was hard and long.
“I tell you,” she said, as she fell back with the gun in her possession—“I tell you,” she repeated between breaths, “that’s a friend’s gun, and I’ll defend it. You can’t have it.”
Then with the gun in her hand she walked directly across the room into an adjoining one, and set the gun behind the door.
In the meantime the leader passed from room to room to see what valuables had been found. The outlaws put into their pockets a few nondescript articles that struck their fancy, but nothing of any great value, and they had searched through everything. For some time there had been cursing at their want of luck, but now that it had become disappointment, their blasphemy was frightful. The whole gang came tramping down the stairs, swearing and threatening in ugly mood,and filed into the front room. Widow Molly, who stood at the farthest side, grew deathly white.
They will now, thought she, resort to some desperate scheme. She took a long, deep breath, and then caught it to stop the flutter of her bosom. “And no one comes!” she almost said aloud in her emotion.
All through the time of their ransacking, she had felt that they would be surprised in their robbery by a company of the townsmen, or that, perchance, some body of horsemen would ride up. Now that hope was wholly gone.
But shouts came from two outlaws in the garret who had been reaching down behind the rafters.
“Gold—gold!” they shouted. “We’ve found it. We ain’tcleandished.”
The outlaws in the front room surged into the hall, and yelled as the finders came jumping down-stairs. The group at the foot of the stairs stood back to give passage,and the finders rushed through into the front room, followed eagerly by the crowd.
Nate Crosby threw upon the table a stout, heavily-filled stocking, drew his sheath-knife, severed the stocking just below where it was tied, and poured the contents out upon the table.
“Stand back,” said the leader, “whilst I count and divide.”
The group very willingly stood back, formed a circle about the table, and grinned and chuckled as the coins were counted.
“One hundred and eighty pounds, all told.”
The leader counted out a pile to each man, setting up the coins as he did so. And when this was done, he handed each man his pile. “The other booty,” he said, “goes into the common lot.”
“And now, my rovers,” continued the leader, “no more marauding for this day. Back to our boat, forthwith.”
“Good-day, Dame Molly. Your hospitality has been right well enjoyed;” and hurrying out of the house, the outlaws struck into a run for the landing.
Widow Molly sank into a chair, and let her arms fall beside her in an exhausted way. After a brief space she summoned energy sufficient to go to the window and assure herself that they were not returning. She was just in time to see them disappear below the curve of the cedar lot. One outlaw at the rear, she noticed, carried a gun. She turned swiftly and went into the adjoining room to see whether the gun had been taken from behind the door. It was gone. Then Widow Molly buried her face in her hands and cried bitterly.
“Devil Dan’l showed that gang the way, you may be sartin’. Who else ’ud know the place and Widow Molly’s name?” was the common remark from Swan River to Penataquit.
The feeling against the outlaws was intense,and a company of men from five leagues along the South Road was organized to be ready at courier’s summons.
For a few days the schooner’s masts were seen outside the Beach, coursing one day westward, and the next eastward—lingering for some purpose off the coast.
Another descent was expected, and the inhabitants conjectured it would be made during the night. Squads of five or six men patrolled their neighborhoods, with horses ready to summon other squads in any emergency.
On the fourth night, the scattered guard-groups noticed, early in the evening, the low beat of the surf upon the Beach. In the course of the night it grew stronger, and the pounding of each huge breaker could be distinctly told.
In those days every man was a weather-prophet, and every man awake that night said, “There’s a big storm off at sea, and we’ll likely get it here.”
The next day broke with a dull sky and araw east wind that betokened the coming of the storm. The wind rose as the day progressed, and mid-afternoon a few drops of rain—the harbingers of the storm—showed themselves upon the window-panes. At that very hour, the schooner, low-reefed, was seen close in under the Beach, scudding westward. It was evident to those who saw her that she was making for some near harbor.
The night came wild and wet. The wind blew great rushing sweeps from the south-east, crowding the water up into the western part of the Bay, forcing it up creeks and over meadows. Between midnight and morning, the wind suddenly shifted into the west, like the banging of a door, and blew with just as great fury. The whole black area of clouds and rain bore back from the west. The gulls alone found life in it.
In three hours the wind wore itself out, but there followed a thick morning, with the Bay and the sky all one wet blend of gray.At noon the dampness lifted, and the Beach showed itself.
Keen eyes were not long in discerning, as they scanned it, two masts and a hull, heeled over. The schooner was ashore—inside the Beach at the Point of Woods.
Scudding west the afternoon before, and now ashore at the Point of Woods and heeled over! What was the inference from the two things? Plainly to every inhabitant, that the outlaws had run the schooner into Fire Island for a harbor, and when the wind made that sudden shift, the vessel had fouled anchor or parted chain and had gone ashore.
That afternoon there was brisk riding to summon the squads of men.
“Now’s our chance, if ever. They’ll hang on there till high tide ’bout midnight, an’ try to get ’er off. But they won’t find as much water piled up there agin at high tide as they went ashore in. An’ to-morrow, after workin’ an’ tuggin’ half the night to no purpose, they’ll conclude toabandon her,” were the rousing words of a man who gathered a small squad at Islip within half an hour after the word of summons came.
By understanding, the place of rendezvous was the old tavern still standing at Blue Point, where the road running south makes a sharp angle and bends to the west.
Two squads came from the west—twelve men. They halted at Widow Molly’s, and rested a short time in that front room. They talked of the ransacking and robbery of the house, and nothing else; boasted of the vengeance they would take out of those “hell-birds;” drank two or three times around, and then set out for Blue Point, assuring the hostess that they would recover her gold.
Widow Molly made no reply to this, but to Captain Ben of thePenataquitsquad, with whom she walked to the door, she said quietly, “Bring back, if nothing else, a gun with brass mountings, which theytook the last thing without my knowing it. It must be on board somewhere.”
A squad came up from Patchogue, and when those from the west arrived at the tavern, there were twenty-six men ready for the enterprise.
Three hours passed in discussing plans and selecting a leader. It could not have been done in less time. Every man hadhisideas, and every man had to be heard. And so the company gradually broke up into groups. One knot of men stood outside the tavern door, a group of five or six were out by the barn, a number walked towards the shore to see just the position the schooner lay in, thinking that a sight of her from Blue Point would suggest the best move to make. When those who walked towards the shore came back, they suggested that all go into the tavern and either all agree upon some plan or give the affair up and go home. In all the discussion two or three self-contained men had kept quiet, knowing evidently that theremust be just so much futile talk, and that when this had become tiresome, the company would adopt any good plan.
Among those who had said very little was Captain Ben of Penataquit. A little vexed, he suddenly stepped into a chair and spoke: “This talk can go on till Doomsday, but it won’t accomplish anything. Now, I know, there has been three or four plans stated; but I propose this as the surest one, though it’ll take longer an’ be harder on us. After dark, muffle our oars, an’ row across the Bay toLong Cove. Land there, draw our boats up an’ cover ’em with sea-weed. At midnight start west along the surf-shore, an’ when we get opposite to where the schooner is ashore, cross the Beach, an’ surprise the crew at daybreak. That’s the main plan. All the rest’ll have to be decided accordin’ to what turns up.”
This plan met a hearty reception; and someone forthwith proposed that CaptainBen be made leader, which was just as heartily agreed to.
It was four miles across to Long Cove, and nearly seven miles down the Beach to where the schooner lay. They took with them such provisions as could be secured, and as soon as twilight had wholly faded, pulled across the Bay. It was past nine o’clock when they made the start, for the days were then at their longest.
They struck the Beach a little east of Long Cove, but followed it up, entered the Cove, and drew their boats up.
“We’ve got plenty o’ time,” said Captain Ben, “an’ we’d better take a bite o’ what we’ve got afore we start. There’s no knowin’ when we’ll get the next chance.”
Standing around the boats or sitting on the gunwales, the men ate and drank and talked. Shortly after midnight they shouldered their arms, crossed the Beach, and began the march westward along the surf shore.
The inner side of the Beach is covered with marshes and meadows, indented most irregularly by the Bay. But along the ocean side there is a smooth piece of strand, six or eight rods wide, and flanked all along by steep sand-hills, which sometimes rise thirty feet high. Along this piece of strand lay their line of march. It was hard travelling, for the sand, unless wet, is not firm, but yields under the foot, and gives forth at every step a creaking note, doubtless caused by the particles of salt that are commingled with the sand.The sounds coming from so many footsteps made one continuous creaking, very much like the sound of a loaded wagon drawn over a snow-packed road.
The surf boomed and pounded, rushed and seethed and swirled, so that thirty rods from the group the noise of their footsteps was swallowed up. The men, though, heard the creaking continually, and it apparently grew louder and more distinct. It seemed to them to be giving the alarm of their coming to the whole Beach.
“I’m goin’ to take to the wet sand,” said a man in the middle of the group. “I’ve had enough of this everlastin’ creak, creak, creak.”
The tide was half-way down, and as he struck for the wet sand, he was followed by the rest of the company. They found the sand firmer, and the walking easier. Now and then a wave would lap up and wet their feet. They were used to wet feet, all of them; but creaking sand at every footstepon a midnight march they could not endure.
When the first streaks of daylight showed themselves in the east, Captain Ben put his followers in file close up under the surf hills. So soon as daylight grew strong enough to define faintly the reaches of the coast, he crept to the top of the row of hills, and reconnoitred the Beach. He could just make out dimly, a mile westward, the masts and hull of the stranded schooner. He backed down from the sand-hill and reported what he had seen.
“About a mile to west’ard, an’ nobody stirrin’ as I can make out. See that your guns are all well primed an’ dry. Keep in close to the hills till we get abreast the spot. And now, forward!”
There were two or three places in the hills in that mile, where the ocean had broken through and poured its waters over low spots of beach into the Bay. Cautiously the men skulked by these openings.
“I b’lieve in bein’ wary,” said a Blue Point bay-man. “There’s no calc’latin’ what we may run upon any minute—mebbe the hull poss on ’em in some o’ these ere hill hollers.”
The daylight was now fast flooding ocean and Beach and Bay. What they were to do must be done quickly.
Captain Ben gathered his followers close in under the bank, while he climbed to the top of the sand ridge and peered over. He saw distinctly the masts of the schooner, but not the hull, as the second ridge of hills cut off his view. He slipped back a few yards, and directed the men to range themselves abreast and crawl over the hill into the next valley or, rather, depression between the surf hills and the middle beach range.
When all were over and down, he gave word to crawl on hands and knees up the ridge before them, and to halt within twenty yards of the top, while he again peered over.
The day was now fully open. The creeping line of men came towards the top of the ridge, and Captain Ben waved his hand backwards for them to stop. The line halted, and every man drew himself up on his knees to watch the Captain.
He had crept not three lengths after waving his hand for the line to halt, when, as suddenly and unexpectedly as if some dead sailor had risen from his grave among those Beach hills, a man stepped over the crest of the hill.
In an instant and with one impulse, the Captain, and those in the line behind him, levelled their muskets at the outlaw.
He was startled, but his senses came quick as Captain Ben growled, “Not a breath from you, you devil, or out goes your brains. Drop, an’ crawl to rear.”
The outlaw dropped upon all fours and crawled to the rear, the men all the while covering him with their muskets.
The moment he reached the line, he wasseized by seven or eight strong hands. Captain Ben was there as quick.
“Gag him.—Not a whimper from you, either!”
The outlaw yielded as he felt a bayonet prick his side and saw a musket lifted above his head ready to stave his skull.
“Bind his hands behind him,” continued the Captain. “Tie his feet—tie his legs above his knees, and muffle him.”
Then they tore the outlaw’s hat into shreds, and with rough hands stuffed these shreds into his mouth around the gag-stick.
Meanwhile, Captain Ben crept to the top of the hill and peered over. No one else was stirring on board the schooner.
The outlaw that was now lying at the bottom of the hollow, bound so that he could not move, gagged and so nearly choked that he could give no alarm, was doubtless the last watch, who at daylight, seeing that all was well, had taken it intohis head to stroll over to the ocean side, and see what was doing there.
“This devil out of the way and no one else stirring, there is every chance of surprising the outlaws before they turn out,” thought Captain Ben.
He, therefore, ordered the men to creep over the hill and down the slope as far as possible, separating all they could in doing so. Then, when he rose, the rest were to follow his example, rush toward the schooner, and board her if possible.
Over they crept and down through the grass, sticking the coarse sedge-stumps into their hands and knees. The time that passed in getting over to the ridge and down to the meadow seemed to them tenfold as long as it really was. They watched the schooner constantly, yet no one was seen stirring on board.
When at last off the slope of the hill and down upon the level meadow, the Captain rose to his feet, and, crouching very low, ran toward the vessel. The others quicklyfollowed his example, all keeping the sharpest eye on the schooner, and ready to fall flat upon the meadow at the least sign of anyone coming on deck.
They were within ten rods of the schooner, when an outlaw, half dressed, stepped out of the cabin gangway. He had just stepped out of his berth, and sailor-like, had come on deck the first thing to look at the weather.
The instant his head popped above the cabin entrance, every man upon the meadow fell flat and watched him.
It was an exciting moment. Though they were lying as close to the ground as possible, there was no rank growth of new grass to conceal them, and had the outlaw cast his eyes upon the meadow where they lay, he would surely have detected their presence.
But although a man is out of his berth, his senses are not at their brightest. He must yawn a little, and stretch himself and clear his throat. All this the outlaw didhis face turned from the Beach and looking out over the Bay.
Captain Ben, seeing this, rose stealthily, and with one vigorous sweep of his arm, signalled the men to rush toward the schooner. There was not a second lost in obeying. The splash of a dozen men in the water, who made for the schooner’s bow in order to board her forward, attracted suddenly the outlaw’s attention, and whirling around, he took in at a glance the whole surprise.
The schooner was harder aground aft, and lay obliquely, with her stern almost touching the meadow bank. To this point Captain Ben and the others of his company ran, and drew their guns on the outlaw.
“Surrender or I’ll pull,” shouted Captain Ben.
“Five minutes to consider,” asked the outlaw, who afterwards proved to be the leader of the gang.
“Not a second,” replied the Captain. “Speak the word, or you’re a dead man.”
The men who plunged for the bow of the schooner had now gained the deck, and were rushing for the outlaw, while those on shore kept their guns levelled on him. Two of the stoutest men seized and pinioned him with the main sheet.
The outlaws below, aroused by the noise, rushed up the cabin gangway just as they had sprung from their berths, bareheaded, barefooted, with breeches and shirt on, but suspenders flapping.
When they sprang from their berths, they caught up whatever weapons came first to hand—pistols, dirks, sheath-knives. In their excitement two attempted to come through the gangway at the same time, and one of Captain Ben’s men, seeing his advantage, instantly clubbed his musket and struck. The blow hurled both the outlaws back upon those rushing up behind, and thus cleared for a second the gangway stairs. Down rushed the man with a bayonet on his gun, followed by others. A pistol-bullet gouged a piece out of his left arm, but hekept his man at bay. By this time all the rest of the townsmen were on board, and crowded, as many as possible, into the cabin. The fight grew fierce. The cabin became filled with smoke from the shots fired. But there was no chance to reload, and the butt of the musket was used with horrible execution. Blood flowed and bones were broken. The struggle, however, lasted but ten minutes. In that short time most of the outlaws lay stunned upon the cabin floor; the others had been pressed into berths and corners, and pinioned. And so soon as those upon the floor showed any signs of reviving, they were bound strongly. A few irons were found on board, and these were used as far as they would go. The outlaws were put under guard, and given over to some colonial officials, but into just what custody is not now known.
The schooner was searched from stem to stern that very morning, and booty of some value secured. Not a pound, though,of Widow Molly’s gold was brought to light. In the cabin, however, in a conspicuous place, hung the gun with brass mountings.
And that night the part of the company that went westward stopped at Widow Molly’s, and Captain Ben handed her the gun. The men lingered an hour in the front room, and drank the hostess’ health again and again.
When they had gone and the house had become quiet, Widow Molly took her candle and the gun and went into the kitchen. She cleaned and polished it, working till her candle was low in the stick. Sometimes a tear fell, but they were the tears that overflow from a bounding heart.
A few evenings after, the young squire came. They sat and talked into the quiet stretches of the evening. Then Widow Molly brought him the gun. As he took it he kissed her, but not one time only as at first. And when the squire carried thegun home, she who had guarded it to her utmost went with it, but no longer Widow Molly.
John was a hand in the paper-mill at Islip in the twenties. The old mill is still standing in the western part of the village, near the road. One might almost touch it with the whip when driving by. It represents something of the Islip of the twenties which was far different from the Islip of to-day—a quiet, steady-going village, with no incoming of summer residents, and no flutter of gay summer life. A few sportsmen made their way thither in the season, but it was a hard day’s stage ride from South Ferry and too far away to attract even one or two of the many who were accustomed to leave New York during the summer. It was a quiet, steady-going place, and John was a quiet, steady-going hand, working in the millevery day. He had worked there several years with apparently no thought of doing anything else. He liked the place. The merry rumble, the cool moist air always prevalent, the stream always rushing underneath turning the wheels, and ever slipping on down the creek and spreading out into the broad bay. And the tons and tons of paper that were made and kept going off somewhere John took great pride in.
But one morning John went to his work in the mill with his mind no little disturbed. Nothing had happened out of the ordinary. His folks were all well and had gone about their work that morning in the usual way, with no apprehension of the idea absorbing his thought. He alone was disturbed. It was plain to see at the mill that his mind was preoccupied. He talked little. He did not so much as whistle once in going up and down stairs about his work that day. In the night he had had a singular dream, and he thought it over and over all day. When he left the mill atsundown, he had determined that if he should dream the same thing again he would prove the dream.
Several days passed and the impression on his mind had somehow lost its force.
But just a week later to the night, he dreamed again very vividly that at the Point of Woods there was treasure buried between the west end of the woods and the hills which flank the ocean.
The next day he narrated all the particulars of his dream to an intimate friend, Peter by name; and telling him further that as this was the second time he had dreamed the same thing he purposed to get a mineral-rod, go on the Beach, and search over that spot of ground.
Pete’s imagination became inflamed also, and he agreed to go with him.
But where was a mineral-rod to be got, or who knew how the magical thing was to be made? If one had a mineral-rod, it was an easy matter to hold it with both hands and walk over ground in which goldor silver was buried. When one came with it near a place where precious metal was hidden, tradition had always asserted that the rod would bend and twist in one’s hands and point toward the place of concealment; and such was the mystic attraction between any mass of gold or silver coin and the rod, that no matter how firmly held it would bend down straight when directly over any spot where money was buried.
John knew further from common tradition that this rod was always a crotch cut from a witchhazel bush. But just what additions or modifications were connected with it he had never heard.
He sought out, therefore, the oldest men and talked with them about buried treasure and mineral-rods, and in this way came upon more minute information. He followed up every clew, and at last heard of an old crone living in the middle of the Island who knew how mineral-rods were made, and who in her younger days hadused one—proving its power, by holding one in her hands and traversing the garden to find some silver coins which had been concealed there as a test, detecting them at last hid in a cabbage-head.
John went to see her, reaching her cot at dusk and coming home in the evening. To do this he walked sixteen miles.
At first she was reticent.
“It ain’t no use to talk of mineral-rods with no gold nor silver to look at nor to feel of.”
There was no other way. So John put all the coins he had into her hand, and then she revealed her secret to him. Not only this, but she encouraged him when he told her of his plans. She related what she had done in her younger days when she lived in other parts. And more, she exacted a promise from him of some share of what he would surely find on the Beach.
“It had always been said,” she remarked as he was leaving, “and I’ve heerd it time an’ time agin, thet Kidd buried money onthet Beach as well as on Gard’ner’s Islan’. Nobody hed found any as yet, because nobody hed s’arched in the right spot. It hed come down from gineration to gineration thet he was along the South Beach many times, an’ thet he come in the inlets an’ got supplies of the Injins; an’ where could he bury treasure thet would be safer than on thet Beach? an’ if I was a younger woman, or even now at my age if I hed less rheumatiz, I’d go on to thet Beach an’ live there, an’ I’d s’arch it fur miles with a min’ral rod.”
In his lonely walk home he repeated the directions she had given him to fix them in his mind, for the old crone had been garrulous and had wandered from the particular subject again and again.
“Find a large witchhazel growing in moist, springy ground—near a stream was best. Cut a branch shaped like the letter Y, with prongs rather larger round than a man’s thumb, and leave the bark on. In the prong running down from the fork andnear the end remove the bark and gouge out a hole large enough to hold a good-sized goosequill, which must be got from a pure white goose. Fill this quill with quicksilver and cover it tightly with kid. Then put this into the hole in the end of the witchhazel crotch, pack a little cotton around it, and replace the bark.
“He must carry a lucky bone in his pocket the while, and carry it with him for days before using the mineral-rod, as well as while using it. All must be done secretly, and no other person should see any part of the process. The rod must be concealed, and it was best to wrap it in an old coat till the spot of search was reached. When going to dig for treasure he must take nothing that had been used—always a new spade or shovel.”
John repeated these directions over and over in his walk through the great woods which are gone now almost completely.
The bay and the ocean to the south, the heavy forests north of the line of hamletsalong the shores of the bay—such were the conditions at that time. To-day one can picture and realize those conditions to some degree,
“Among the groves at Mastic.”
“Among the groves at Mastic.”
The heavy forest engendered one sense of mystery, the sea engendered another. It is, then, no matter of surprise that in those days superstition and imagination had their rude votaries, and that there were more of this class than we are willing in these years to admit.
It was a month before the mineral-rod was completed, and then a fortnight more went by before all other arrangements and provisions for the expedition were made ready.
At last John and his friend Pete, who believed as confidently as he in buried treasure and the magical power of the mineral-rod to reveal the spot, sailed out of Doxsee’s creek and headed their craft for the Point of Woods.
It was a long sail, as they had to beatall the way across. When they reached the beach, they drew their boat up close to shore and made everything as secure as could be. They had plenty of time, for the daylight still lingered. And as they could not begin their search till after it was fully dark, they concluded to go to the tract of beach, look it thoroughly over, and determine where they would begin the search, and what should be the plan of walking over it with the mineral-rod.
This plan they discussed at great length.
“It’s my opinion,” said Pete, “that the only good way to do is to select some place as a centre, and then walk around this making your circle bigger all the time.”
But John opposed this strongly saying, “I don’t believe the mineral rod’ll work as well that way; and what is more, you’re likely to miss going over a good deal of ground, for it’s a pretty hard thing to keep the right curve when you’re several rods out from the centre.”
“But can’t you make the circles smallerand close together,” replied Pete, “and then some of the ground’ll be searched over twice?”
“No,” answered John; “there’s too much hit-and-miss about that. The best way, and the only right way is to begin on the top of the ridge of them surf hills and walk lengthwise of the Beach, just as near a bee-line as possible; and when you’ve gone over one length of the ground, then turn and walk back within two feet of the first line, and so on till you’ve gone over the hull ground to the edge of the woods.”
Each one held firmly to his own opinion, but John had the advantage in that he had proposed this quest and had made the greater part of the preparations for it.
Darkness had now fully settled. The wind blew out of the east, clear, dry, and cool. The stars shone with the lustre of a cold sky. Large and small, each glistened distinctly in the great dome. The night was beautiful, yet neither of these menappreciated the beauty or the mystery that surrounded them.
Unable to agree, they had returned to their boat. John took out the mineral-rod wrapped in an old coat, and Pete took the two new shovels and threw them over his shoulder. John led the way, and they walked over to the top of the hills.
“Accordin’ to my dream,” spoke John, “this is far enough west to begin. Stick one shovel down here, and the other we’ll use at the east end in the same way so as to keep track of what we’ve been over. We’ll have to change the shovel at each end every time till we get over to the edge of the woods.”
Pete pushed the shovel into the sand, and John undid the coat and took out the mineral-rod. He was excited as he grasped each branch, pushed out his arms, and held the rod in proper position. His hands trembled as he started, and the tighter he grasped the rod—one of the conditions necessary for him to observe—themore his hands shook. He walked carefully over the uneven surface of the ridge till he reached the eastern limit according to his dream. Pete drove the shovel into the sand at this end, and they began the search back. Slowly back and forth they walked these long bouts, working laboriously down the slope of the hills. It was tiring work. John’s attention was strained again and again. Time after time he would stop, retrace his steps and walk a second time over some spot, going very slowly indeed and clutching the mineral-rod so tightly that the tremor of his hands deceived and balked him. Often he would become so perplexed that he would put the rod into Pete’s hands, send him back to the starting-point, and then walk behind him till the uncertain spot had been passed and Pete had said he could feel no bending down or pointing of the rod. The more, however, Pete was called upon to use the rod, the more uncertain he himself grew. Sometimes they both fell to doubting,and then it took them more than an hour to traverse one length of beach and back. To add to their excitement, they were approaching the middle part of the Beach, the very place where they believed they would surely find an indication of buried gold.
The night, however, had gone faster than they were aware. The day was breaking faintly in the east, and when searching up to the top of a small hillock, they suddenly noticed the dawn.
The search they both knew must be conducted at night.
What was it best to do?
“We’ve got to stop, make marks of some kind to show us where we left off, and come back again at dark to-night and go over the rest of the ground.”
So they wrapped the mineral-rod up in the coat, heaped up a little mound of sand where both shovels stood, took these, and made their way to the boat.
They were hungry, but they did notdelay to eat. It was best for them, they felt, to get away from that part of the Beach.
Accordingly they got their boat under way, and as they sailed eastward along the Beach, tired and chilly, they ate their breakfast. After they had sailed four or five miles they headed out into the bay. When the sun was well up, they put about and steered directly for the Beach. On the flats they anchored, lay down in their boat, and went to sleep.
Just before dusk that night they were back at the Point of Woods. As soon as the day had completely gone they stood up the shovels in the mounds they had made at daybreak that morning, undid again the mineral-rod and began anew the search. They worked carefully for three hours, becoming at times confused, as on the previous night, and frequently retracing their steps and going over many places a second time. They had worked their way, however, nearly over to the outskirtsof the wood. John had come to a small hillock, perhaps four feet high, and was walking up over it when suddenly he felt the end of the rod drawn strongly down. He could not mistake this. Some decided force had pulled the end of the mineral-rod down, and it pointed obliquely to the hillock.
“There’s no doubt this time,” he said as he stepped back a few paces, feeling as he did so some decrease in the force exerted upon the end of the mineral-rod. “You get the shovel to the west and bring the old coat here. I’ll get the shovel behind us. This, I tell you, is the very spot.”
Each of them was highly excited as he came back to the hillock.
“Hold on,” said John as he restrained Pete from striking his shovel into the sand. “Let’s begin together, and remember that come whatever will, not one word must be spoken while we’re digging—not a sound till we’ve got what there is here completely out of the hole.”