{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_56576/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_56576","id":"gutenberg_56576","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/56576","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Fire Island (N.Y. : Island)","Legends -- New York (State) -- Suffolk County"],"text":"Produced by Stephen Hutcheson and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nproduced from images generously made available by The\nInternet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n    [Illustration: \"A BARRIER OF SAND STRETCHING FOR TWENTY MILES ALONG\n    THE SOUTH COAST OF LONG ISLAND\"]\n\n\n\n\n                            LEGENDS OF FIRE\n                            ISLAND BEACH and\n                             the SOUTH SIDE\n\n\n                                   BY\n                          EDWARD RICHARD SHAW\n\n\n                                NEW YORK\n                       LOVELL, CORYELL & COMPANY\n                          310-318 Sixth Avenue\n\n                            Copyright, 1895,\n                                   by\n                       United States Book Company\n\n                             _TO MY FRIEND\n                         WILLIAM S. PELLETREAU\n                         OF SOUTHAMPTON, L. I._\n\n\n\n\n                                PREFACE.\n\n\nThese stories embody only a small part of the folk-lore and tradition\nthat pertained to the Great South Bay. They were told by a class of men\nnow gone. Fact, imagination, and superstition--each contributed its\npart. In the tavern, among groups of men collected on shore from\nwind-bound vessels, at gatherings around the cabin fire, and in those\nsmall craft that were constantly going from one part of the bay to\nanother, not only these tales, but others, irrevocably lost, were\nelaborated and made current in days homely and toilsome yet invested\nwith an atmosphere of romance.\n\nMany of the illustrations in this volume are reproductions from\nphotographs taken by Mr. R. Eickemeyer, Jr., medallist of the Royal\nPhotographic Society, on his visits to Long Island. The artistic\nexcellence of Mr. Eickemeyer's pictures is widely known, and the author,\nin appreciation of his interest and kindness, desires to make here\ngrateful acknowledgment.\n\n  Bellport, Long Island,\n      June 25, 1895.\n\n\n\n\n                                CONTENTS\n\n\n                                                                     PAGE\n  The Pot of Gold                                                      11\n  The Bogy of the Beach                                                41\n  The Mower's Phantom                                                  59\n  Enchanted Treasure                                                   96\n  The Money Ship                                                      115\n  Widow Molly                                                         142\n  The Mineral-Rod                                                     188\n  Notes                                                               208\n\n  \"_On old Long Island's sea-girt shore,\n  Many an hour I've whiled away._\"\n\n\n\n\n                            THE POT OF GOLD\n\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nFire Island Beach is a barrier of sand, stretching for twenty miles\nalong the south coast of Long Island, and separating the Great South Bay\nfrom the Atlantic ocean.\n\nTo reach it, you must make a sail of from three to seven miles, and once\nupon it, you find it a wild, desolate, solitary spot, wind-searched and\nsurf-pounded.\n\nIts inner shore is covered with a growth of tide-wet sedge, with here\nand there a spot where dry meadow comes down to make a landing-place.\n\nThe outline of this inner shore is most irregular, curving and bending\nin and out and back upon itself, making coves and points and creeks and\nchannels, and often pushing out in flats with not water enough on them\nat low tide to wet your ankles.\n\nA third of the distance across the Beach, the meadow ends and sand\nbegins. This slopes gradually up for another third of the distance, to\nthe foot of the sand hills, which seem tumbled into their places by some\nmighty power, sometimes three tiers of them deep, sometimes two, and\nsometimes only one.\n\nThese sand hills are the most striking features of the Beach. The\nbiggest of them are not more than sixty feet high, yet so hard a feat is\nit to climb to the top, and so extended is the view below you--on one\nside the wide Bay, on the other, the ocean stretching its restless\nsurface to the horizon--that you feel yourself upon an elevation tenfold\nas high.\n\nThrough these hills the wind makes a great galloping, whirling out deep\nbowl-shape hollows among them, and piling the shifting sand upon their\nsummits. Now and then you will notice a hill with its shoulder knocked\noff by the wind, and a ton of sand gone no one can tell where. In every\nstorm their contour changes, and yet their general formation is so\nsimilar at all times that the change is seldom thought of. A coarse\nspear-like grass finds a sparse growth upon them, and does what it can\nto hold the sand in place; but it has a hard time of it, as its blades\nburied to their tips or its naked roots often testify.\n\nBut there is one part of this Beach that is ever much the same. It is a\nbroad, shelving strip of sand between the hills and the sea, where the\ntide rises and falls, pounding and grinding, year in and year out--the\nplay-ground and the battle-ground of the surf.\n\nOn a summer's day, I have seen this surf so low and quiet that one could\nlaunch a sharpie upon it, single-handed, and come ashore again without\nshipping a quart of water. At other times it is a terror to look at--a\nsteady break of waves upon the outer bar, with row after row coming in,\nrearing and plunging as they strike the shore. In such a sea there is no\nlaunching yawl or surf-boat, and no coming ashore.\n\nWhen the tide is on the right moon and the wind has blown a gale from\nthe southeast, the strand is entirely submerged, and people upon the\nmain shore three miles away can see the surf breaking over the Beach\nhills.\n\nSuch a riot of sea and wind strews the whole extent of beach with\nwhatever has been lost or thrown overboard, or torn out of sunken ships.\nMany a man has made a good week's work in a single day by what he has\nfound while walking along the Beach when the surf was down.\n\n\"The Captain\" knew all this and had patrolled that Beach scores of\ntimes.\n\nTen years had passed since the first time which laid the habit of\nwandering along the surf-shore apparently in search of whatever the sea\nhad cast up. Sometimes a spar, sometimes sheets of copper torn from a\nwreck and carried by a high surf far along the strand, sometimes a\nvessel's gilded name, at other times only scattered drift-wood were the\nrewards of these lonely walks.\n\nPeople about the neighborhood where the Captain lived, knew that at one\ntime or another he brought these relics from the Beach; yet no one\nsupposed that the finding of them was related to his life in any other\nway than mere happen so. Anyone who went upon the Bay at all was likely\nto land at the Beach. Once there, it was a natural impulse to go across\nand walk along the ocean side; for, at that time, early in the thirties,\nit was widely believed that the sea had wealth, and often threw it up\nupon the shore. Never, however, was it in the least surmised by the\nCaptain's neighbors that these solitary excursions had woven themselves\nin as a part of the texture of his life.\n\nHad, though, these good neighbors been quick to perceive they would have\nnoticed one characteristic of the Captain, sufficiently manifest at\ntimes--that he was always in the best of spirits when a storm was\nraging. At such times he had been heard to remark, \"This is a wild day,\nmy friend, but just such days is needed.\"\n\nAnd it was not till years afterward that neighbor Rob'son actually\nunderstood the import of a strange remark made to him by the Captain one\nstormy night, when the wind blew fiercely from the south-east, and drove\naslant the thin rain which the low scudding black clouds let down.\n\nMr. Rob'son had been belated and was hurrying to get home. The Captain,\nmeeting him, called out in the most cheerful of tones, \"Hello, is that\nyou, neighbor Rob'son?\" and giving him time for merely a bare \"Yes,\" he\ncontinued, \"This is a monstrous night. Do you hear the ocean pound over\non the Beach? There'll be tons of sand shifted to-night--tons of it;\nmore'n all the men out on a gen'ral trainin' day could shovel in a year.\nYou're in a hurry, I see, neighbor. I ain't. I'm in no haste to get\nin-doors. A great night like this fits me. Somehow it puts new spirit\ninto me.\"\n\nWas it the storm that made the Captain's heart so buoyant and his mind\nso cheerful? or was it because such days and nights made more certain\nthe realization of that secret hope which had possessed him for years?\n\nSo secret was this hope that even his wife surmised nothing of it; for,\nhappily, she was not one of those unfortunate women who are endowed with\nsatanic intuition, and whose lives thereby are made miserable until they\nhave followed up and chased into clear daylight all the dusky suspicions\nthat flit, perchance, into their minds.\n\nBut although a matter-of-fact wife, she had, it must be confessed,\nnoticed more closely than her neighbors the effect a storm had upon her\nhusband; and she had learned to put off until such a time those various\nlittle requests about the house, which appear in a man's eyes so great a\nmatter to get about, and which he usually puts off and shirks with an\nunaccountable dread. Every little change, therefore, she needed, of\ndriving a nail here, putting a shelf there, or the mending perhaps of a\nchurn-dasher, he cheerfully made at those times; and she would often\nremark to him, \"It's astonishin' how much you'll get done on a stormy\nday, and the harder the storm the more you'll manage to get through\nwith.\"\n\nIf, however, these odds and ends were not finished during the storm,\nthey were suffered to go over, as the Captain was certain to leave home\nearly the next morning; and to any neighbor who chanced to inquire for\nhim, the reply was made that he had gone upon the Bay.\n\n\"Gone upon the Bay.\" That expression was in those days a most convenient\none for a bay-man. The persistent following of the Bay for a livelihood\nat the present time causes each man to hold closely to one kind of work.\nBut then, there was no telling when a man set out from home how his day\nwould be spent--he might go oystering or gunning, he might cast his nets\nor waste his time sailing in search of what he deemed better luck.\nVarying conditions of wind and weather and tide offered, one day, one\nthing, and the next day, something else; and what use a bay man would\nmake of his day grew out of these conditions and his own ambition.\n\nThe Captain, however, on the morning after a storm, paid no attention to\nwhat these conditions offered till he had visited the Beach and sought\nagain the realization of his hope. He never failed to be on there early\non such mornings, to see what the wind and the sea had done.\n\nAnd so it turned out upon this very day. There had been a sudden and\nviolent storm the previous night, and the Captain had crossed the Bay\nand was making one of his solitary patrols of the Beach.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nAcross his shoulder was thrown his gun, as this he always carried with\nhim. And although he took no silver with him, as certain gunners were\nknown to do, to substitute for lead should there occur any emergency\nbearing the suggestion of witchery about it, yet he felt, in some way\nwhich he did not care to examine, more comfortable with his gun in his\nhand. He knew well all those stories of witchcraft and mystery about the\nBeach which superstition and imagination had set afloat in various\nlocalities along the \"South Side.\" How the witches would come at night\nand rattle the latch upon old Uncle Payne's gunning house, and how the\nowner fastened the latch with a shilling piece, crept in the window, and\ninvariably loaded his gun with a silver sixpence to blaze away at these\nmidnight revellers, should he hear the slightest indications of their\nfreaks. And how gunners, taking the surest aim at the wild duck that\nflew to their decoys, had oftentimes been baffled in hitting them,\nfinding, in such instances, the shot roll out of the barrel as the gun\nwas lowered. And how many a gunner carried a lucky-bone in his pocket as\nan amulet against such sinister misfortune.\n\nHe had heard, too, of that sheltered spot on the north-west side of\nWatch Hill, inclosed by a clump of old bayberry bushes and low cedars,\nwhere searchers for money had occasionally gone with a mineral rod; and\nwho, whenever they began to probe for treasure, were always frightened\naway by a huge black snake that wriggled itself up the stem of a bush,\nand stretched out at full length along the top of the foliage, darting\nits tongue and hissing as if guardian of the enchanted spot. And more\nmarvelous still, the tradition of a stone, circular and flat, bearing\nupon its surface the image of a man's face, that had at times been run\nupon, near the Point of Woods, but which never could be found when\ndeliberate search was made for it.\n\nWhile the Captain thought he put no real credence in these stories, yet\nhe felt more or less apprehensive when upon the Beach. A sense of mystic\nawe, which he could not explain always possessed him there, and\nnotwithstanding his disbelief in witchcraft, he would sooner have\nabandoned his quests than forego the companionship of his gun.\n\nAll the morning long, that idea which had come to him with strange force\nten years ago, and which had engendered the secretly cherished hope, was\nuppermost in his mind. So strongly did it dominate his thoughts when he\nwas alone by the ocean that it had forced itself into words. Over and\nover again he stated it as he talked to himself, adding this time one\ntradition, the next time another. No one was near to hear it. The very\nutterance cheered him and fed his hope.\n\nBecoming somewhat tired in his patrol, for he had already walked fully\nseven miles, he ascended one of the sand dunes to reconnoitre the Bay,\nand assure himself whether any boat was making towards this part of the\nBeach. He saw only two or three sails abreast of Patchogue, and these\nwere bound westward. Feeling, therefore, that he could take the time, he\nthrew himself down to rest.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nThe day was clear and bright, with a light breeze astir. The wide Bay\nwas blue in the sunlight. Near the hither shore he saw a long file of\nwild ducks sweep a graceful curve and flutter down upon their feeding\nground. On the farther shore stretched the stately woodland, its whole\nextent broken only by the meadows about the creeks, and the few patches\nof green that revealed the scattered farms. This was all the prospect.\nNo church spire stretched itself upward as a landmark, no village showed\nwhite along the shore, no fleet boats with pleasure-seekers sped here\nand there.\n\nHis weariness soon passed, and as he descended to resume his walk, the\nsand, flowing down the steep hillside as fast as he trod, set his\nthoughts back again upon the old theme. \"The sand on this Beach is all\nthe time a changin'. What are hollows now 'ill be hills in a few years.\nSea and rain and wind are all the time at work. The wind, though, puts\nin the most time. How soon it 'ill sweep out a hole and carry the sand\nup the side of a hill anybody knows who has been on this Beach in a\nblow. It handles sand in about the same way it drifts snow.\n\n\"No, I'll never dig for treasure, and I've no belief in mineral rods.\nToo many fools have used 'em. Watch Hill has all been dug around ag'in\nand ag'in, and never anyone found a shillin' for all their potterin'. If\nthere's anythin' valu'ble buried on this Beach, sometime or other it\n'ill be laid bare--that Money Ship wa'n't off and on here so many times\nfur nothin'--there's got to be treasure here, and who's more likely to\nfind it than me? No man watches this Beach closer, and nobody knows I'm\nwatchin' it, either. It'll come, too, one of these days! If a man's\ndetermined enough and only holds on long enough, what he's desirin' and\nhopin' for is sure to come round, else he wouldn't feel so sure about it\nall the time all through him. It'll come, it's sure to come, and then\nI'll build my vessel.\"\n\nThis had been the Captain's theory. He _had_ held on. Never in the least\nhad he slackened hope.\n\nDuring the storm the tide had run high, surging up and washing away the\nfoot of the sand hills. As far as his eye could reach, he saw the\nprecipitous side of hill after hill. This very condition led him on a\nmile or more farther than he generally walked. And then, as no\nfootprints but his own were to be seen anywhere on the crisp sand, he\ndetermined to go on still farther. He had walked perhaps half a mile,\nhaving lapsed into that state of reverie apt to come upon one who has\nurged himself beyond the accustomed limit of toil, when suddenly,\nthrough the drowsiness of his mind, a perception, unheeded at the time\nby the other senses, flitted back, awakening and concentrating all the\nfaculties upon itself. In a moment he turned about, saying, \"I believe\nI'll go back and see what that actually was that looked like a piece o'\nblack glass midway up the bank.\" Reaching the spot, he stepped up the\nslope and began to dig away the sand. He saw at once that it was a small\nglass or earthenware pot of a blackish color, which settled quickly as\nhe dug.\n\n\"Ah,\" exclaimed he, \"the day's here! The day's got here at last!\"\n\nClasping it in his hands, he weighed it, so to speak, lifting it up and\ndown till his surprised senses needed nothing more to convince them. He\nexamined it, but found no mark upon it, not even upon the resin with\nwhich it was sealed. Suddenly a strange alarm rose up within him, and he\nfeared someone would come upon him. He obeyed his first thought and\nlooked quickly eastward and then westward along the surf shore, but saw\nno living form. Someone, though, might be crossing the Beach and might\nat any moment appear on the crest of the hill just above him. Before the\nthought which suggested this had really passed, he began digging a place\nin the sand, and in it he set the heavy pot. The hole, however, was not\ndeep enough, and he lifted the pot out. But thinking it would take too\nlong to dig the hole deeper, he put the pot back again, took off his\ncoat, threw it over the spot, and laid his gun atop of these. With steps\nas agile as any youth of twenty, he climbed up the slipping sand to the\ncrest of the hill and looked keenly over the Bay. He found himself as\nsecure from interruption as when an hour or more ago he lay down to rest\nand enjoy the scene. In a second he had returned to the hole and was\nlifting out the pot, determined to open it at once.\n\nDoubts, however, thrust themselves upon him. \"Why had he taken so much\nfor granted? What was really the need of all his alarm? After all the\njar might only be filled with bullets or shot.\"\n\nBut another thought crowded closely along with these doubtful ones. \"No,\nit couldn't be. He hadn't at last espied this jar--the only thing that\nmet his hope for the countless times that he had walked along this\nshore--to find in it only lead. It had treasure in it of some kind. He\nwas sure of it. His feelings told him so.\"\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nOpening his jack-knife he began to cut away the resin from the mouth of\nthe jar, making slow progress with the hard covering. At length he\nreached the stopper, and tried to pry out the thick cork, but with such\nhaste that his knife-blade broke, and he was forced to cut down on one\nside of the stopper. Deeming he had been a long time opening the jar,\nhis old alarm returned, again suggesting that someone might be\napproaching. A second time he scanned the shore in both directions,\ncovered the jar with his coat, ran up the steep and looked over the\nBeach and over the Bay. No sign of approach or molestation was anywhere\ndiscernible. Condemning the alarm that had so wrought upon him in\nstronger terms than is necessary to use here, he returned to the spot,\nand this time, instead of kneeling, sat down and took the jar in his\nlap. Not a great while elapsed before he had cut away enough of the cork\nto thrust in the blunt edge of his knife. A pry, a deeper thrust,\nanother pry, and out came the thick stopper. But now he was startled,\nfearing that he had opened some magical jar, and was, at last, to be\nentangled in that witchery he so strongly discredited; for, strange to\nrelate, upon looking in, he saw something that resembled either lint or\ncotton, and which no sooner had the air touched, than it slowly lost its\nsubstance and vanished. His affright went, however, as quickly as the\nmysterious exhalation, for there lay the coins of gold, as bright as on\nthe day when Tom Knight, the buccaneer, afraid the town magistrate would\nsearch the Beach and find them evidence against him, had sealed the\ncoins up in the jar, and hid it among the hills.\n\nHe tipped the jar aside to disturb the coins, observing as they slid\nover, other traces of the lint or cotton, which had evidently been used\nto pack the coins in layers, either as security to the jar, or to muffle\nany clink that would excite suspicion in removal. But his purpose in\ntipping the jar was not to witness the exhalation of the fluffy\nsubstance--he had another object in view. So, canting the jar first\ntowards him and then from him to secure as varied a change of the\ncontents as possible, he peered to the very bottom. Nothing there but\ngold, the yellowest of gold.\n\nReaching in with two fingers, he brought out a coin between them, and\nbegan to examine it. The date, 1783, was all that was familiar to him.\nLooking at the other side, he recognized the image of a crown, and under\nit, upon a shield, figures of lions, standing on their hind legs, with\nlong tails curved like the letter S. Was it English money? The letters,\nHISPAN-ET-IND, around the edge, were unintelligible to him. He turned\nthe coin back to the date side. Here was the profile of some rotund\npersonage, and over his head, CAROLUS III. DEI-GRATIA. It was the\n_third_ of some monarch, that was evident enough; but the DEI-GRATIA was\njust as puzzling as the letters on the other side. Reaching in for\nanother coin, he read the date, 1799. Above was a slightly different\nprofile, the same name, but after it was IIII. instead of III. He drew\ncoin after coin from the jar until he had several in his hand. Except\nthe dates they were in the main alike. He conjectured that they were\ndoubloons--Spanish doubloons; and his conjecture was right. Satisfied\nwith the examination he had made, he piled the doubloons in a column in\none hand, and with the other, lifted the pile and let them drop, one by\none, to hear the solid chink. This, however, did not reach up to the\nheight of his feelings. So he spread out his coat, and made, with a few\nblows of his hand upon the yielding sand underneath, a concave surface.\nThen lifting the pot, he poured out the coins in a glittering stream.\nTheir fall was musical, and when the last one fell, he scooped up double\nhandfuls, held them high, and let the dazzling stream run again.\n\nIt was the first golden dream realized since the days when Captain Kidd\nwas said to have buried his ill-gotten treasure in countless spots upon\nthat Beach. How would that gold have dazzled the sight of all those\nargonauts who had made so many continuous but fruitless searches for the\nmoney reputed to be hid among those sand hills! What exultation would\nthe sound of those falling yellow disks from the old mint of Mexico have\nwrought in those who had dredged persistently but in vain upon the bar\nwhere the long-boats of the Money-ship upset, or those who by moonlight\nand by starlight had walked to and fro over the hills, grasping the\nmineral rod, and digging where its delusive twitch indicated, until\nweary with toil and disappointment.\n\nWhile the Captain's whole attention was completely absorbed in this\nrevel with his gold, a coasting vessel had been approaching. It is true\nthat the schooner was a mile or perhaps farther from the shore, \"but\nwith their spy-glass,\" thought the Captain, as he discovered the vessel,\n\"those on board can plainly see just what I've got here.\" Hurriedly\ndipping up handful after handful, he slid the coins carefully into the\njar, and after the stopper was replaced, wrapped his coat about it,\nreached his gun, and disappeared over the hills.\n\nWhen he came to his boat, he tied the coat securely about the jar with\nodd strands of rope, and placed the prize carefully under forward. When\nnight fell, it was his intention to make towards home.\n\nThe south-west breeze had gathered with the day, and blew freshly even\nfrom the Beach shore. Out in the Bay, where it had wide, unhindered\nscope, it had added to itself, pushing the waves before it, and urging\nthem with such impetuosity that their crests grew flurried and broke\ninto white, foamy caps. Every leaf on the \"South Shore\" was astir,\nfluttering and tugging in the moist wind; and the trees bended and\nstraightened to trim all their spread of canvas to the sweeps of the\nbreeze.\n\n\"Ruther rougher than I care for tonight,\" thought the Captain, \"but the\nwind'll fall after the sun sinks; I'll give it time.\"\n\nThe color had gone from the few strips of cloud that lay about the\nsundown spot, and the gray twilight arch stretched across the west, as\nthe Captain cleared away for home. Along the eastern sky, well up, a\nglow of dull orange spread itself, and creeping up to the glow and\ngradually transmuting it, was a cold blue, the blue of advancing\nnight--a color so rare that it is matched nowhere else than on polished\nsteel when the blacksmith tempers it.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nThe Captain steered with a strong and steady hand, and watched his sail\nwith a vigilant eye. But give heed as closely as he might to his craft,\nthere played with his fancy the glowing rays of distant Fire Island\nLight. It had just been built. Again and again its gleams, falling on\nthe dark side of some tumbling wave, caused the Captain to turn his head\nand look over his shoulder to the source whence they came. The light\nwas, in truth, no guide to him on this night, but thoughts of the time\nwhen it would be, kept recurring. He called to mind going in and out of\nFire Island Inlet years ago, before a light-house was ever proposed, and\nof how difficult a place the Inlet was to enter after nightfall. But\nnow, no matter how thick the night, bring that light to bear north-east,\nand one was inside and out of harm's way. What an advantage it was! He\nthought, too, of how he should see it far ahead, when making a run\nhomeward from Coney Island; of the times he should have to lie anchored\nwithin the inlet waiting for fit weather to go out, and how\ncompanionable that light would be sending out its bright rays on wild,\nstormy nights.\n\nAll that the Captain fancied came true in the years that immediately\nfollowed. Speedily the timbers of a vessel were got out and set up, and\nduly \"The Turk\" was launched. What odd notion dictated the name was\nnever known. It was thought, though, by many of his neighbors that some\nname suggestive of that which made the long-wished-for vessel a reality,\nshould have been given her. Indeed, there was no little comment about it\nat the time, and much protest whenever the vessel was discussed. It was\noverlooked, however, in this instance as it had been in several others,\nthat the Captain held views and ideas quite opposite to those of most\npeople who knew him; for what one of these neighbors, had he conceived\nthe idea of finding buried treasure, would have done as the Captain did,\nand waited for the wind and the sea to dig it for him?\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\n\n\n\n                         THE BOGY OF THE BEACH\n\n\nStrange things happen on that Beach and have happened. My experience was\nno new one, but it takes hold of a man, nevertheless, and he can't shake\nit off for months. Ever since white men frequented that Beach, some one\nat intervals has undergone the same foreboding experience.\n\nIn the early part of the last century a whaling crew, half Indians, had\ntheir hut east of Quanch. They used to land and come off at the point\nthere, where the water is deep, called Whale House Point till this day.\nFrom the days of the earliest settlement, whaling crews used to go on\nthe Beach. They would live there during the season and watch the sea day\nby day, ready to launch their boats and push off whenever they saw a\nwhale blow. Their supplies were brought from the north side of the\nIsland, and fires were built on Long Point as a signal for the crew to\ncome off. The Long Point of those days is now Ireland's Point, which\npushes out into the bay a mile, about, west of the mouth of Carman's\nriver.\n\nWhen a fire flashed up at night, part of the crew would row across the\nbay, heading directly for the fire. After they had put the supplies in\ntheir boat and were ready to return, they would throw sand on the fire\nand put it out. Soon after it disappeared a fire would blaze up on the\nBeach to guide them back. In that way Fire Place got its old name. That\nwas a name that had something behind it and never ought to have been\nchanged.\n\nThis crew had been expecting for three days the signal fire. They were\ngetting short of supplies. People didn't get around lively in those\ntimes, you know. The trouble was that they hadn't much to get around\nlively with.\n\nFor two nights until nearly midnight--all this I heard from my\ngreat-grandfather--the crew had set a watch on the top of Quanch Hill to\nlook out for the signal fire upon Long Point. Now the curious thing\nabout this is that a man named Jonas was the watch both nights. The\nfirst night was his regular watch, but the second night he volunteered\nto take the place of another member of the crew. The men in the hut\nspoke about this during the evening. None of them, however, knew that\nJonas's idea was to satisfy himself as to whether the strange experience\nhe had had the night before would repeat itself. That Beach, you know,\nis one of the most lonely places in the world. There are times when it's\nawful on there. Take it on a dark night with the wind wild and the sea\nmad.\n\nThat night Jonas made up his mind to walk eastward a mile and a half.\nFrequently he would go down in the hollows and stop to listen. He heard\nthe sound of the wind in the grass, and the beat of the surf--each of\nthese distinctly. And yet something more. His heart began to thump and\nhis own breathing interfered with his judgment. He tried hard to listen.\nCould he be deceived? he asked himself. Suddenly he turned and walked to\nthe top of a hill where no grass grew. He got his breath and then held\nit. He heard even the delicate beat of the particles of sand blown by\nthe wind, and he was sure that besides he recognized what he had heard\nin the hollow. He could not be mistaken. Farther away now, moving among\nthe hills--almost gone, then quite gone. The thought occurred to him\nthen that he had forgotten he was on the lookout. Immediately he scanned\nthe horizon to the northeast of him but discerned no spot of flickering\nred. He looked up at the stars to see how far they had moved westward.\nSome drifting clouds obscured two or three stars he knew best, so he\nwaited till the clouds had shifted, and then he knew it was near\nmidnight. There was no use to watch longer, for those who brought\nsupplies never made a fire after midnight. He turned to make his way\ntoward the hut. He had not taken three steps, when he stopped and stood\nstock-still again. He heard distinctly the rumble and beat of the surf,\nthe sifting of the sand, the sound of the wind in the dried beach grass,\nyet plainly apart from these something else. It moved on the wind\nrapidly away and away, and was gone. But as he stood thinking of it, it\ncame again, stronger than before. This time not eastward of him, but\nclearly westward. His head grew hot. It moved farther and farther to the\nwest, rising and falling, then with sudden increasing force stopped\nabruptly. He made his way to the hut and crept into his bunk. It was two\nhours before he got to sleep.\n\nThe next morning a whale was sighted close in shore. The crew launched\ntheir whale-boat and put off for him. They calculated where he would\nnext rise and rowed to the spot. He came up lengthwise of the boat, just\nfar enough ahead to smash it with his flukes. It was a right whale, and\nthey strike sideways, you know, with their tail.\n\n\"Stern all,\" was the order quickly uttered. A short distance back, they\nwhirled the boat around, and then pulled at the order. Whale-boats, I\nsuppose you know, are sharp at both ends.\n\nBefore they were in position, however, to row straight on to the whale\nand keep clear of his flukes, he started. Quebax, the harpooneer,\nfastened his oar, grasped the harpoon, rose up in the bow and threw it.\nIt was a long throw, fifteen feet, but it was the only chance. The\nharpoon entered the side of the whale and must have held securely. But\nthe whale turned suddenly and struck the boat with his head. The crew\nsprang overboard just in time, for the next moment the whale stove the\nboat into flinders. The wind, so it happened, favored them, as it was\nblowing directly on shore. All the crew reached the Beach except Quebax.\nHe was missing, nor was his body ever found. The bow of the boat, to\nwhich the line was fastened never came ashore, so it was thought that\nQuebax got entangled in the line. It was toward the end of the\nseason--this whale would have made their sixth--and the disaster broke\nup their whaling for that year.\n\nNo man of that crew felt the great sense of relief at leaving the Beach\nthat Jonas did, and never after would he go on there to remain\novernight. He said nothing at the time about his weird experience among\nthose Beach hills the night before Quebax was lost, but in later years\nhe told it all.\n\n\nAnd then, again, I have heard it said that for several nights before\nthat awful catastrophe at Old Inlet, at the time of the War of 1812, the\nsame strange calling and shouting was heard among the hills.\n\nOld Uncle Payne, whose gunning house stood east of Molasses Island Point\nnear Quanch, declared that twice in his life he heard at midnight the\nmoaning in the hills, and each time thereafter had found bodies washed\nashore.\n\nBut at Fiddleton, at Watch Hill, and through all the hollows there, down\naround Pickety Rough, even on Flat Beach, the eerie holloing, the\nshouting and calling, unlike any human voice, that was heard on\ndifferent nights, suddenly changing, too, from one spot of the beach to\nanother, foreboded the drowning of those fifteen buccaneers from the\n_Money Ship_ and the burying in the sea for all time of their blood\nspent treasure. Yet having heard all this, though years before, I joined\nthe first life-saving crew of Station No. --. The season then was a\nshort one. Regular patrols of the Beach with exchange of checks for\ntally was then a thing undreamt of. Only in thick, foggy, or stormy\nweather did we walk the Beach. I can't see any use of patrolling that\nBeach in good weather and wearing the crew out. To my thinking all that\nis necessary on bright days or on clear starlight and moonlight nights\nis to keep a man on the lookout with a good glass beside him, and so\nsave the crew; for there come times when the rescuing of life depends\nupon the reserve strength of the men. Yes, there come emergencies on\nthat coast when power of endurance is the important, the decisive thing.\nThe way to meet such unexpected demands and emergencies is to give the\ncrew a chance to store up reserve force, power to hold on, to make a\ngreat effort for a night and a day, perhaps. This is what counts when a\nvessel is ashore far more than any regular patrolling, with the men on\nthe go bright weather as well as bad weather.\n\nWe had pretty good weather that year till after the holidays had passed.\nThen there came a spell of thick weather. I remember distinctly how it\nset in. The day had been a very bright one, with a tinge of warmth in\nit. But at nightfall an ominous murky drift of cloud gathered in the\nsouthwest, a lee set for a northeaster.\n\nThe order was given for patrol that night, and the eastern beat fell to\nme. When the tide began to rise the wind hauled northeast by east and\nblew lightly down the coast. It didn't seem to portend snow, but the\nweather began to thicken. I faced the wind and walked briskly, but it\nbit my face and searched under my clothing as only a northeast wind will\ndo. When within a quarter of a mile of the end of my beat, I struck a\nmatch and held it between my two hands as a sort of a shield, and let it\nburn. If you have never tried this, you have no idea how far such a\nlight may be seen in the darkness or how large a spot of light it\nappears to make. Lanterns are of no account on that Beach. No lantern\nwill burn when a high wind is blowing sand before it. They choke up and\ngo out. And as about the only time when they would be of use is when\nthey won't burn, they're not carried. Then, after all, it's no place for\nthem. They'll do round the barnyard, but the coast is no place for a\nlight, down almost on the surf's edge, bobbing and moving along in the\ndarkness.\n\nI lit another match and still another, but got no answer, so I concluded\nthat the patrol up from the next station was returning. I reached the\nend of my beat, and waited some time under the lee of a hill, and near\nmidnight began my patrol back. Passing a deep opening between the hills,\nmy attention was attracted by a low moaning. At first I gave little heed\nto it. Then later I walked up to the top of one of the hills that flank\nthe strand all along and listened. I faced the wind; then I stood back\nto it. I turned my ear in every direction, even bent my head down to\nrender my hearing more acute. I could not distinguish any strange sound.\nNo sooner, however, had I descended to the strand and resumed my walk\nthan the moaning began again, seeming as before to be just over behind\nthe hills. It was continuous but uneven, like the wind. It moved down\nthe Beach as I walked, just abreast of me apparently, but over behind\nthe hills, considerably farther, however, toward the bayside when I\npassed any low spot of beach. When within half a mile of the station, it\nwas gone. I noticed instantly when it ceased.\n\nAn experience of this kind disturbs a man's soul, and the more he fights\nit the greater trouble it becomes and the more uneasiness it gives him.\nBut I said nothing about it at the station.\n\nThe thick weather continued. A seething, boiling surf was running,\nshowing that there had been a big storm off shore. Such a surf always\nindicates that. We couldn't see much beyond the outer bar for several\ndays.\n\nIn the next patrol at night I felt sure I should hear the moaning again,\nand I did. It followed abreast of me on my patrol out, and was gone as I\napproached the meeting-place at the end of my beat. But on my return it\ncame again and followed in the same way as before. I didn't stop once to\nbother with it, but kept walking steadily back. It left me when about\nthe same distance from the house as on the first night.\n\nThe next night my patrol began at midnight on the short beat to the\nwest. I heard nothing out of the usual course of nature till I got\nwithin three-quarters of a mile of the half-way hut. Then I heard not\nonly the moaning, but other noises not human, and a clapping or beating\nas with two flat sticks. All this was confined to one spot, and I could\nlocate that spot exactly: in a rather deep hollow, with three hills\nbutting up around. The wind from some cause always drew down into that\nhollow and kept its whole surface smooth, not a spear or root of grass\nthere, and as round as the inside of a cup.\n\nAs I heard the voice, its hideous changes, which at times seemed to run\ninto a part of some strange and weird tune, and the clapping along with\nit, I knew that all this foreboded some dreadful thing.\n\nHot flushes came over me and I sweat at every pore. But I kept on\nwalking just as steadily as I could. I didn't want to quicken my pace a\nbit, and I had to hold myself down in order not to do it. I left the\nnoises and clapping farther and farther behind, till at last I could not\nhear them. They didn't move, however, but remained right in that hollow.\nAt length I came to the place where the half-way hut was, and turned up\nfrom the strand to go to it.\n\nThis hut stood well up in a sort of narrow pass that opened in a\nnorthwesterly direction through the surf hills. You could see the hut,\ncoming from the east, but not from the west. It was built of old timbers\nand covered with seaweed and sand.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nI entered, glad to get in there, and began to blow up a fire from the\nembers left by the patrolman from the west. I loaded my pipe and lit it,\nand the fire gave me some cheer. I stayed there an hour, I should think,\ndreading awfully to go. But the thing had to be done, so I buttoned up\nmy coat and started. As I came down to the strand suddenly I caught\nsight of something coming toward me dripping wet. The strength went out\nof my legs as quick as lightning, and my knees gave way. I nerved myself\nup at once, and there was need of it, too, for a voice--a human\nvoice--called to me for help. It was a sailor who had just crawled up\nout of the surf. Instinctively I looked off shore and saw a vessel on\nthe outer bar. She was not there an hour back, when I passed by.\n\nThe sailor sank down exhausted after he called to me. I helped him into\nthe hut and blew up the fire.\n\n\"Are there any others?\" I asked.\n\n\"No,\" he replied, \"I am the only one.\"\n\nI laid on more fuel, left him, and walked along shore, looking into the\nsurf with the keenest eye I had. I set off lights, but no answer. Then I\nwent back to the hut, and the sailor had recovered sufficiently to give\nme a full account of how the vessel came on.\n\n\"We had thick weather for several days,\" he said, \"and had lost our\nreckoning. We struck heavily on the bar off here, sounded, and made up\nour minds that we were on Nantucket Shoals, and that the only thing for\nus to do was to land. We hauled the boat up on the leeward side, the men\ngot in, and I stood on the rail to cast off. Just as I had thrown down\nthe painter, a big sea, coming round the stern of the vessel, struck the\nboat and turned her bottom side up. It happened in less than no time,\nfor I had let go and had to jump. I struck on the bottom of the yawl and\nslid off into the sea. When I came up and put out my arms to swim, I\nstruck an oar in front of me. This saved me. With it I worked toward the\nshore, but there I had a fearful struggle. Eleven times the waves threw\nme up on shore, but the undertow was so strong it carried me back each\ntime. My strength was about all gone. The twelfth time a large wave\ncarried me farther up. I felt the moving sand under my feet, and, with\nthe last remnant of strength, I dug both hands and feet into the sand\nwith all my will, and just kept myself from being carried back again. I\ncrawled up on the shore and rested. When I got up to look around, I saw\na crack of light from the fire in this hut, and I staggered toward it.\"\n\nI summoned the rest of the crew, and we had tough work the rest of that\nnight and for some days afterward.\n\nBut I was always apprehensive after this experience and it weighed on my\nmind. So in the spring I left the Beach, concluding that what I had\nheard and seen was enough for one lifetime.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\n\n\n\n                          THE MOWERS' PHANTOM\n\n\nIn the eighties of the last century, on the sparsely settled old country\nroad north of Yaphank, two mowers were arranging, one August evening, to\ngo to the Beach next day, and cut the sedge upon a neighbor's meadow.\n\"We must make an 'arly start,\" said Raner. \"By sunrise we ought 'o be\nwell through the Gore in the Hills. Arter wants that piece o' sedge all\nlaid to-morrer, ef we be men enough to do it.\"\n\n\"How be you goin' 'cross?\" asked Layn.\n\n\"In the ol' hay-boat. I got her ready at Squasux week ago yisterday.\nJosh Alibee is to meet us there, so there'll be three on us, you see. A\nbig day's work, but we'll take suthin' along to brace us up while we're\ndoin' on it.\"\n\nThe sun next morning was not more than an hour high, when these mowers\nhad embarked in the hay-boat for the Beach. The light breeze of that\nmuggy August morning, blowing a trifle on the fore-quarter, carried them\ndown the river so slowly that in order to gain time they plied the oar.\n\nThe scene which lay about them has changed but little in almost the\nhundred years which have passed since that morning. The river's course\nto the Bay was just as zig-zag then as it is now. Eastward lay the same\nbroad meadows, skirted by that dense barrier of foliage--the Noccomack\nwoods. Westward there stood upon the river bank where the Squasux road\ncame down, a long, low one-story house, and below this the meadows\nextended to the distant woodland. As the sunlight fell aslant upon these\nmeadows, they presented all those lustrous gradations of yellow and\nbrown that may be seen in the early sunlight of an August morning\nto-day.\n\n\"There, put away yer oar, Josh; the breeze stiffens,\" said Raner, as\nthey neared the mouth of the river.\n\n\"Thet ere's warm work,\" exclaimed Josh, as he finished the stroke and\nlaid aside the oar. \"I'll tek a swaller, I believe.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" replied Layn; \"put that jug back. It's too 'arly in the day to\nbegin swiggin' at that. You'll hev need o' ev'ry drop o' your share on\nthe Beach.\"\n\n\"A couple o' swallers 'ill mek no diff'rence one way nur t'other. Not a\nsol'try horn hev I hed yet to-day, an' I've pulled the hull way down the\nriver, whilst you've sot thar, yer elbows on yer knees,\" replied Josh,\nas he tipped the jug and drank.\n\n\"Pass it along,\" said Raner. \"Our ends hev all got to be kep' even\nto-day.\"\n\nRaner and Layn each drank, though lightly, and passed the jug back to\nJosh, who, remarking, \"It took all t'other swaller to wet my throat,\"\ndeliberately tipped the jug and drank continuously as he walked forward\nto put it in its place.\n\nThe hay-boat went slowly, and the time passed tediously to men who were\nambitious to be at their day's work. Of this Raner himself furnished the\nbest evidence, as he stood by the tiller, treading from side to side,\nand knocking one foot against the other.\n\nThe present generation has little notion of what the sailing of those\ndays was, particularly in the flat-bottomed, square-ended hay-boats.\nWith a free wind, the course could be pretty well kept, but with the\nwind abeam, leeway became almost equal to headway, and wide calculations\nand allowances had always to be made. Layn had this in mind when he\nsaid, \"Give the Inlet a wide berth or I'm afeard the tide'll ketch us\nan' draw us through.\"\n\n\"She'll clear it, an' a plenty to spare,\" replied Raner.\n\n\"You better not be too sure 'bout that. I, for one, don't want 'o fare\nez them Swan Crick fellers did.\"\n\n\"What Swan Crick fellers?\" enquired Raner.\n\n\"Why, Mott an' a nother young feller--I dun know what his name wuz.\nHain't you heer'd 'bout 'em?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Well, I hed 'em on my mind when I said, 'Give the Inlet plenty o'\nroom.' You ain't heer'd on it, then? Well, this ere young Mott and\nt'other feller started out the Crick to sail their hay-boat somewheres\neast o' the Inlet. Ol' man Mott hed built the boat, an' hed put cleats\non the edges under 'er sides, to keep 'er from slidin off to leward. She\nsailed smart, an' hung on to the wind purty good, I b'lieve. The ol'\nman, though, tol' 'em to look out fur the Inlet, an' give it a rattlin'\ngood distunce. But, by George, 'fore they knowed it, they wuz goin'\ntoward the Inlet. They tried might an' main, puttin' out poles an' doin'\nev'ry thing they could, to steer'er to shore, but no use. They couldn't\nreach bottom, fur she kep' right squar' inter the middle o' the channel,\nan' out she went.\n\n\"The poor devils wuz wild. The wind, what thar wuz on it, wuz blowin'\nfrom the nuthard. They lowered sail, but out to sea they kep' on goin'.\nFinely, arter they got out sev'ral mile, the wind changed to the\nsuthard. They histed sail, pinted 'er straight on, an' beached 'er on\nthe surf-shore off abreas' o' Muriches, an' the ol' man went down thar\nan' wracked the very boat he'd jist built.\"\n\nJosh, who had sat with his gun across his knees during Layn's account of\nthis mishap, now resumed the work of cleaning his gun, upon which he had\nput all his time since clearing the mouth of the river. Priming the\nmusket, he raised it to his shoulder, took an imaginary aim, and\nremarked: \"She's in royal trim now fur any bunch o' snipe thet shows up\non the medder.\"\n\n\"Where did you come upon that buster of a fire-arm?\" inquired Layn, in\njest.\n\n\"Thet ere fire-arm, le' me tell you, hez been proved. She's seen\nsarvice, but thet wuz afore I got 'er.\"\n\n\"Hain't she seen sarvice sence you've had 'er, ur plaguey nigh it?\"\ncontinued Layn.\n\n\"Seen sa--ar--vice sence--I've--hed 'er?\"\n\n\"Yes, by George, yes.\"\n\n\"You're talkin' to me in riddles.\"\n\n\"Why, Joshua,\" broke in Raner, \"hain't there been orchards girdled, a\nbarn burnt, an' thirty horses made way with by some on you Punksholers\nnot a great while back?\"\n\n\"Exac'ly,\" said Layn. \"That ere hints the matter, Josh. Wuz that ere gun\none on 'em that wuz drawn on Judge Smith, an' would a' done the mischief\non 'im, hedn't his wife happened to keep atween him an' the winder\nwhilst he wuz ondressin' a-goin' to bed?\"\n\n\"Thar wuzn't but three on 'em at thet ere bus'ness, an' is it your idee\nto hint thet I wuz one on em? Ef it be, thet's hittin' devlish\nnigh--_devlish nigh_; an' I'm blasted ef I don't tek thet up,\" replied\nAlibee, spitting in his hands and stepping up to Layn.\n\n\"Nay, Joshua, nay; couldn't that flint-lock a been there without you, or\nat any rate, afore you owned it?\" spoke Raner, to pacify Alibee.\n\nLayn discerned that he had gone too far in his attempt at accusation,\nand so in a bantering way, continued, \"You said yer musket had seen\nsarvice. You wan't in the Rev'lution'ry War, nur even in a skirmish. The\nwicked thing some o' you Punksholers meant to do on Judge Smith is known\nto the hull Town, an' you wuz a braggin' 'bout the sarvice yer gun hed\nseen. What harm wuz thar, by George, in askin' you, straight out an'\nout, ef that wuz the sarvice she hed seen?\"\n\n\"A devlish lot o' harm, when a man wa'n't thar, nur nowheres near thar,\nnur never hed an idee o' bein' thar,\" replied Josh.\n\n\"Trim in the sail now, an' quit your sq'abblin',\" spoke out Raner.\n\"There, that'll do. Now she p'ints up better, an' ef she don't slide off\nover much, we'll make our landin' spot without a tack. Ah! that's a\nstrong puff.\"\n\nRaner looked to windward thoughtfully a few minutes, and then began to\nwhistle. The breeze, the onward motion of the boat, and the movement of\nthe waves stirred his feelings, and he whistled on for a full half-hour.\n\nAs the craft approached the Beach, there came into view spots of meadow\n\n  \"Where merry mowers, hale and strong,\n  Swept scythe on scythe their swaths along\n  The low green prairies of the sea.\"\n\nThese scattered groups had been upon the meadows all night, ready to\nbegin at sunrise the toil of the day. And toil it was too--toil that\nrequired an iron muscle and iron endurance. Yet, toil and moil though it\nwere, beach-haying was always a welcomed season. It broke the monotony\nof farm life. There was the sail to and fro, the breeze from the sea in\nits first freshness, the beat of the surf, the wide view on every side,\nthe visit to the ocean at night, and often a race with the slow-creeping\ntide to determine whether the mowers should lay their stint, or the\nwater usurp their place.\n\nThe three mowers had made an early start and were in good season, but\nthe sight of others at work roused their anticipations of the day's\nlabor, and Layn suggested, \"Let's give our scythes a thorer goin' over.\nWe'll save time by it.\"\n\nThey did this, and then Josh said to Raner, \"Shell I put an edge on\n_yer_ scythe?\"\n\n\"No,\" was the reply. \"I'll do that fur myself. You come aft an' take the\ntiller.\"\n\nOver the ocean, low down on the horizon, lay a bank of fog. The mowers\nnoticed this, and Raner remarked, \"It may lay there all day, or it may\nclear away an' be gone when the sun gits higher and the day warmer.\"\n\n\"Thar's no tellin' nuthin' 'bout what it'll do, you'd better say,\"\nreplied Josh, with a laugh.\n\nAll along they had feared the wind would fail them when well over under\nthe Beach. But it continued to blow; and in as good season as the mowers\nhad hoped, they reached the meadows. Josh stood forward, anchor in hand,\nand jumping ashore, walked the full length of the cable and planted the\nanchor deep in the soft meadow soil. The old sail was quickly furled,\nand the three mowers, with scythes and traps, set out for Arter's lot.\nRaner led the way, carrying, besides his scythe, a rake and hammer and\nwedges to hang anew the scythes, if need were. Layn was almost abreast\nof him, managing with some difficulty his scythe, a pitchfork, and a\nrunlet of water; while Josh followed a short distance behind with the\njug. Watching his chance, he lifted the jug and stole a draught.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\n\"Le' me see,\" said Raner, approaching the place of their day's work.\n\"Accordin' to the last division, the stake o' every lot stands on the\nwest side, an' the numberin's on the east side o' the stake.\"\n\nA little examination showed which Arter's lot was, and then Raner said,\n\"We'll strike in here.\"\n\nThis was not the order to begin cutting, but for those immediate\npreparations which can be made nowhere else than on the exact spot. And\nso there followed driving of heel-wedges, twisting and ranging of blade\nwith handle, stretching out of the foot to determine whether the\nscythe-point was too far out or too close in, and last, a stroke in the\ngrass for final approval.\n\n\"We're all ready, then, be we?\" asked Raner. \"Well, I'll lead. Josh, you\ncome arter me; an' Layn'll be last;\" and getting into position, the\nlusty mowers struck their swaths. Regularly the graceful strokes fell,\nsucceeded by the hitching step forward.\n\n\"Ah! my scythe's doin' purty work, I tell you,\" remarked Raner. \"How\ndoes your'n cut, Layn?\"\n\n\"Royally.\"\n\n\"An' your'n, Alibee?\"\n\n\"Never better.\"\n\n\"We're all well under way, then, an' the grass's in fair condition. Can\nwe lay it by night, think you, Layn?\"\n\n\"I guess so; but by King George, we've got 'o keep movin', le' me tell\nyer.\"\n\n\"Alibee, can you stan' it to keep 'er joggin' all day long at this\ngait?\"\n\n\"Thet's what I come fur, I b'lieve, to do a day's work with the rest on\nyer.\"\n\nThere had been some sort of an understanding between Raner and Layn when\ndriving to the landing, that Alibee, who was a loud boaster, should do\nsuch a day's work as he had seldom done. It is easy, therefore, to see\nwhy Raner was so particular about assigning him the middle place. Raner\nand Layn were both excellent scythes-men, and with one to lead and the\nother to drive, Alibee must keep their pace all day.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nAlibee, be it said, was not an energetic man. Some of his acquaintances\ncalled him a \"blower.\" Had he been hired to go to the Beach and take two\nmen with him to cut a plot of grass, there would have been mowing done\nas a matter of course; but the day, nevertheless, would have passed\neasily enough. The bouts would have been short ones, with a spell of\nwhetting at each end. There would have been halts here and there, while\nhe looked to see how the grass lay ahead, and whether it was down much\nor tangled. And when such pretexts failed, Alibee would have found it\nencouraging to count just how many swaths had been cut, and calculate\nhow many more remained to be done. At midday, too, a long nooning would\nhave been taken, with likely a stroll to kill a mess of snipe. Let,\nhowever, a few months pass, and beach-haying become the topic of talk at\na tavern gathering, and with what noisy bragging would Alibee recount\nwhat he and two others accomplished in two days last summer.\n\n\"There's the first bout round,\" remarked Raner, \"an' now whet up fur the\nnext.\"\n\n\"An' wet up, too,\" broke in Josh.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" seconded Layn; \"a good horn all round.\"\n\nAll drank; but Josh was last at the jug, and improved his opportunity.\n\nEach man took up his scythe again, wiped the blade with a wisp of grass,\nand struck with drawing motion his rifle along the blade. Every blow\nsent out those ringing notes--the test of good steel.\n\nThe whetting over, _zithe--zithe--zithe--_went the scythes once more,\nthe graceful strokes beating again their triple measure. But before the\nmowers had finished their second bout, the outposts of the fog, which\nlay banked low over the ocean when they were crossing the Bay, came and\nsettled about them. So intent, though, were the mowers upon the work in\nhand, that the fog's insidious presence was not noted, till making the\nlast stroke out, they straightened up and looked around. They could not\nat first realize the change. When they had struck in at the other end of\nthe swath, their view extended over miles--the wide Bay and the blue\nshore beyond, lay to the northward; west and east stretched the meadows\nwith their sinuous edges; to the south were the Beach hills and the gap\nthrough them, affording a glimpse of the ocean. What wonder is it, then,\nthat the mowers, bending down and watching intently to see where the\nnext stroke should fall, lost consciousness of their surroundings, and\nwere, the first instant on looking up, bewildered to see the\nimpenetrable gray on all sides?\n\n\"Well, I sw'ar,\" spoke Josh. \"This ere's sudden--I'll be darned ef I\nknowed where I wuz for a second ur two.\"\n\n\"Nuther did I,\" replied Layn. \"At fust, I tried to git my bearin's, an'\nit bothered me, fur thar wuzn't no bearin's to be got. Then I come to my\nsenses, an' knowed I wuz right here on the medder mowin', with this ere\nbank o' fog all round us.\"\n\nA fog, as everybody knows, plays all sorts of tricks with the judgment.\nA man may drive over a road a hundred times and think himself acquainted\nwith every turn and hollow, with every clump of trees, with every bank,\nrock, or bunch of shrubbery by the roadside; but let a dense fog come\ndown, and memory at once refuses to match the new impressions with the\nold. The hollows are deeper and the bends of the road more abrupt, the\nclump of trees has shifted its position or has entirely disappeared, and\nevery rock and bunch of shrubbery becomes a strange object. If he begins\nto doubt, his judgment is completely upset, and he concludes he has\ntaken the wrong road.\n\nA man may have sailed from shore to shore of a body of water so often as\nto feel almost confident of doing it with eyes shut; let, however, a fog\nsettle and blot out every surrounding object, and ten to one he will\nconclude, before he has sailed a mile, that he has not kept his course,\nor that the wind has shifted. Then it is all up with him; confusion and\nuncertainty follow, and there can be no telling where he will make land.\n\n\"What's it goin' to do, Raner?--hang here all day like this?\" asked\nLayn.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\n\"It acts to me, with this light wind a blowin', as ef there'd be lots o'\nfog adriftin' all day. But fog or no fog,\" replied Raner, \"we mus' keep\na steppin'.\"\n\nAt Raner's suggestion the stroke was resumed, and the mowers gave no\nfurther heed to the fog whose mysterious depths had shut them in, and\nsevered, as it seemed, all connection with the little world they knew.\n\nRound and round they mowed, bout after bout, swinging their blades with\nthe same lively stroke. For three hours Alibee stood the driving well,\nand then all of a sudden he broke out with, \"This 'ere ain't\nsquar'--it's urgin' the thing a little too much. My scythe's losin' her\nedge; the ol' rule is to whet at ev'ry corner, an' drink at ev'ry\nround.\"\n\n\"Well, ain't we drunk at ev'ry round?\" answered Layn; \"an' I took notice\nthet you swilled ez long ez any on us.\"\n\n\"Thet I'll 'low,\" said Josh; \"but we ain't whet at ev'ry corner. Thet's\nmy p'int. Th' ain't nuthin' much made, ez I kin see, by drivin' so like\nthe devil. You'll wear me threadbare afore sundown, keepin' me here in\nthe middle. It's the hardest place to mow in, by a darn sight.\"\n\n\"Joshua,\" said Raner, \"I thought you Manor men wuz all such cracked\nmowyers. Here's Layn an' me, we're only common mowyers, an' you can't\nkeep your end up with us, hey?\"\n\n\"Yes, I kin,\" replied Josh; \"but what's the use o' killin' yerself. We\ncan't cut this ere medder to-day nohow, an' I don't see the use o'\nworkin' hard ez you kin swing, an' goin' home middle to-morrer to do\nnuthin' all the arternoon. By gosh,\" he continued, sighing, as if partly\nexhausted, \"I'm darned ef I don't b'lieve some sort o' contrivance could\nbe rigged up to do this ere mowin'.\"\n\n\"What sort o' a contrivance, Josh?\" quickly inquired Layn.\n\n\"Why, thar could be three ur four scythes hitched on to a post to swing\nround, an' cut twice ez fast ez we're doin' on it. An' one o' these ere\ndays some ere feller'll rig up jist sich a machine.\"\n\n\"Not in our day, Joshua,\" laughed Raner.\n\n\"No, no; not in our day,\" repeated Layn, joining in the laugh.\n\n\"Your laughin' don't 'mek no dif'runce. I tell ye, I b'lieve it'll come\nyit.\"\n\n\"Why don't you try it yerself, ef yer so confident?\" asked Layn.\n\n\"I'm bedarned ef I don't b'lieve I could, ef I hed time, an' tools, an'\nall the traps thet's wanted fur sich things. Them scythes, don't ye see,\ncould be rigged to go roun' jist like thet;\" and here Alibee cut a\nstroke to show what he meant. \"Yes,\" he went on, growing earnest over\nhis vague idea, \"you could rig jist about three strappin' good scythes\non to a post to swing roun' jist ez easy ez thet;\" and here again he cut\na dashing stroke.\n\n\"What a cussed foolish idee that is, Josh,\" spoke up Raner, a little\nvexed at the absurd notion. \"How the devil, I'd like to know, would you\nmake the post go?\"\n\n\"Thet ere could be done somehow ur nuther. Thar'd be a way hit on, if a\nman taxed his noggin' long enough,\" replied Josh, hesitatingly.\n\nRaner and Layn again both heartily laughed, and Josh said nothing more\nupon the subject. Whether, though, it was his remonstrance, or whether\nRaner thought they would thereby be able to cut more grass, he gave word\nat the next corner to stop and whet. This change put Josh in better\nspirits, for when the whetting was finished, he remarked, \"Thar's only\njist one thing a lackin', and thet's the jug. Ef thet ere jug could only\nfoller us roun', we couldn't ask no more.\"\n\n\"Ef it did,\" said Layn, \"you'd be all the time a guzzlin'.\"\n\n\"I ain't no bigger guzzler than you be,\" retorted Josh.\n\nThe morning wore on, and it seemed to Alibee that noon would never come.\nEvery stroke went against his will. At one time he was on the point of\ndeserting, and leaving Raner and Layn there to drive each other; but\nseeing how dense the fog was, and remembering he had no other way of\ngetting off the Beach than to walk three or four miles east to the\ngroups of mowers they had passed in the morning, and fearing that he\nmight get lost should he attempt this--a thought which made him\nshudder--he held himself in control. The fog at this time was so thick\nthat one could not distinguish an object four rods away, and the\nimpossibility of measuring with the eye what had been cut, and what yet\nremained of the plot apportioned for the morning, was disheartening to\nAlibee. To his mind it seemed an endless cutting in a prison of fog. If,\nhowever, he had lost calculation and had thereby become dispirited, the\nplot was lessening just as rapidly as if in full view from start to\nfinish. And shortly after midday, the mowers walked up the last narrow\nstrip, leaving the morning's stint all laid.\n\n\"Now fur a chance at what victuals we fetched along. You go to the\nhay-boat, Josh, arter our pails, while Layn an' me heap up some o' this\ngrass to set on whilst we're eatin'.\"\n\n\"Gi' me a swaller fust,\" replied Alibee; and after satisfying his\nthirst, he started for the hay-boat.\n\nTen minutes passed, and out of the fog came a voice, \"Which way be yer?\nHow fur be I frum the boat?\"\n\n\"This way o' you, an' to the nuthard,\" replied Raner. \"Don't you hear\nthe surf to suthard o' you?\"\n\nGroping about a little longer, he found the boat and soon came out of\nthe fog with the dinner pails.\n\nThe mowers, to state it as they would, lost no time in falling to. Their\nfare was plain--plainer, indeed, than was usual at home. But though\nplain, the labor near the sea had whet their appetites, and they ate\nwith keener relish than at their own tables. Then, too, the jug came in\nand played its part rather more freely than it would have done at home.\nThey talked of the morning's work, and discussed the probabilities of\ncutting the rest of the meadow that afternoon and getting away for home\nbefore sundown.\n\n\"We ain't laid but little more'n a third on it,\" remarked Layn. \"It's my\nopinion we'll hev to stay here on the Beach all night, an' cut the\nbalance 'arly to-morrer mornin'. Then, ef thar's any wind, we kin reach\nSquasux landin' middle forenoon.\"\n\n\"Thet's the idee exac'ly,\" replied Josh. \"Tek it easy this arternoon,\nquit work arly, an' I'll hev a chance to git a bunch o' snipe. We kin\ngit home at noon to-morrer at thet rate, jist ez easy ez you kin toss up\nyer hat.\"\n\n\"What 'o you say 'bout it, Raner?\" asked Layn.\n\n\"Well, I wanted to git off to-night, but ef we're goin' to do it, we've\ngot to cut faster this arternoon then we hev this mornin',\" replied\nRaner.\n\nA half hour was all the time taken for dinner. Layn carried the pails\nback to the boat, and the mowers finished their rest by whetting their\nscythes carefully, giving them a keener edge than they would take time\nfor in the midst of work.\n\n\"Ef we're all ready fur work ag'in,\" said Raner, \"we'll cut in this\nd'rection this arternoon. Down here an' up ag'in on the west side o' the\nlot, ef we kin see where the west side o' the lot is.\"\n\nAlibee fell into his old place without a word of complaint. Raner began\nwith the stroke he had maintained all day, but it was evident that\nAlibee intended to make his stroke in slower time, while Layn was not so\nanxious to drive him as he had been throughout the morning.\n\nAn hour passed, and Raner, after pacing over what yet remained uncut,\nremarked, \"We can't poke along in this way, ef we've got any idee o'\nlayin' this piece afore night. We come on here to cut, an' fur my part,\nI want to git done and hev it over with.\"\n\n\"This 'ere's good 'nough,\" replied Josh. \"Let it go et this.\"\n\nThe wind, they noticed, was blowing stronger, and the fog began to sweep\npast them in dense scuds, at times suddenly growing thin as if about to\nclear away. Occasionally a yellowish tinge overhead gave indications\nthat the sun had almost broken through, but presently a thick scud would\ncome and shut the mowers in again. Thus, with fantastic behavior, the\nfog came and went. Two or three times, when it came the thickest, and\ndarkened rapidly about them, they broke their stroke and looked around.\n\n\"Fust it's dark an' close, then it's lighter, then it'll come in agin\nthick, an' then, the nex' thing, the sun all but breaks through it. What\na witchin' sort o' an arternoon it is,\" said Layn.\n\n\"I'd a darned sight ruther it ud gether itself up an' shower. Then\nthar'd be some likelihood o' the sun's comin' out an' dryin' on it up,\"\nreplied Josh. \"This ere thick an' thin, dark an' light, I don't like.\nRaner,\" he continued, \"you couldn't a picked a wuss day.\"\n\n\"I never knowed sech a day afore in my life,\" spoke Layn. \"Miles o' this\nfog has been runnin' by us all day long, an' this arternoon it's a\nloomin' itself up an' meltin' away ag'in in all kinds o' shapes.\"\n\nThe long swaths they were now mowing lay in direction to and from the\nocean, and the place where the bouts ended and the indispensable jug\nstood in readiness, chanced to be so situated with reference to the gap\nbetween the hills that it afforded a view directly out upon the sea. The\nnature of the fog made this view more or less indistinct, at times\nshutting it entirely out of sight. Here the wind would bank up the fog,\ntwist it into fantastic shapes, and blow them all away, only to summon\nmore of the pliant medium and heap it up again into more grotesque\nmasses. The mowers, dull as their perception was, at last saw this, and\nit wrought upon their minds. The feeling kept coming up that the\nappearances which the fog assumed through the gap were due to some kind\nof witchcraft. All the superstitious stories they had ever heard about\nthe Beach vividly recurred to them, and these idle tales now assumed the\nvery force of truth; and so they approached each time the spot that\nopened up the view, with increasing dread. They slighted their whetting\nat this corner, and would not have stopped at all had the jug been\nelsewhere. Alibee's apprehensions that what he had seen through the gap\nboded evil to them, were the first to get the upper hand of him, and\nsuddenly stepping ahead and cutting the first stroke, he broke out, \"By\nthunder, gi' me a chance to lead _once_. I'm darned ef I'm going to stay\non this ere Beach to-night, nohow.\"\n\nRaner and Layn were startled by this sudden freak of Alibee's, but they\nfell into line and followed with quicker stroke than they had heretofore\nmade. Alibee proved himself equal to the place he had assumed, and the\nnext corner was quickly reached. Here the whetting was done with new\nenergy, and the scythes flew again.\n\n\"Keep 'er up, Josh,\" urged Layn; \"we're hard on ter you. I ain't got a\nbit more notion then you hev o' stayin' on here all night.\"\n\nThey came round again to the dreaded corner. Alibee grated his teeth as\nhe thought of it, and his breathing was hard enough to be heard by the\nothers. Coming out first and looking seaward, the very thought he\nintended not to mention slipped from his control, and he spoke out,\n\"Thar she is ag'in.\" But recovering himself to some extent, he turned\nquickly about and continued, \"Layn, you lead this time. Then it'll fall\nekal on all on us. Ev'ry man's got a dif'runt stroke, an' ef he leads\nonce, mows in the middle once, an' follers once, he gits a chance one\ntime ev'ry three, to swing his nat'rul stroke.\"\n\nStepping to the jug he took it up and, shaking it, resumed, \"I swar, we\nain't got but 'bout one good horn apiece, and thet puts us in a\nhell-sight wuss fix then we're in now.\"\n\nThey drained the jug to the last drop, and bent again to their work. The\npace they were keeping was exhausting, but they never slackened. Another\nbout was finished within a dozen strokes, when Layn burst out, \"Here we\ncome ag'in to thet blasted gap. My blamed eyes won't keep away from it\nwhenever we git roun' here.\"\n\n\"_You've_ seen it, then, hev yer?\" asked Josh.\n\n\"Hang it, yes,\" replied Layn; \"an' I've tried _not_ to, fur three times\nnow.\"\n\n\"So hev I, an' I seem hell-bent to look thet way whenever I git roun'.\"\n\nRaner said not a word. It was his turn to lead, and he started in\nwithout suffering the talk to go further. They were working to the\nutmost of their strength. Layn and Alibee cut wider swaths than at any\nprevious time. They reached the end, and Layn said, \"Raner, you go to\nt'other end, an' roun' thet corner, so we kin mow by thar without\nstoppin'. Josh an' me'll cut across this ere end, so's not to lose no\ntime.\"\n\nRaner complied; but the others noticed that instead of returning the\ninstant he had accomplished the purpose, he stood a moment and looked\nout through the gap.\n\nWhen he returned, Layn could not refrain from asking, \"Did you see it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Raner, \"an' I swar I don't like it.\"\n\nThey plunged into work again with greater determination. It was in this\nway they kept their courage up; for every time they stopped to whet,\ntheir feelings were in a turmoil. The very pace they were working put\nthem in all the worse condition. But the plot was lessening rapidly, and\nso they drove themselves on. Strange to say, some time passed without a\nword further in allusion to what had been seen. But while there was for\nthis short period a dogged spell upon them to say nothing more about\nwhat each was sure the other had seen, the very bugaboo in their minds\nmade all the more headway because of their silence; and in spite of\nthemselves, they kept glancing through the gap, when they cut across the\nend where the empty jug lay. The expedient of curving that end did not\ndispel their alarm, for when they rounded the broad curve, some sinister\ninfluence impelled them to look seaward.\n\n\"She's fog color,\" abruptly exclaimed Josh, startling both Layn and\nRaner, and causing them to look at the same instant. \"She's got ev'ry\nstitch spread, too.\"\n\n\"An' still headin' right squar' on, I sw'ar,\" said Layn. And pointing,\nhe continued, \"Raner, do you see? We ain't got no sich breeze a blowin'\nhere ez she's got thar.\"\n\n\"What the hell's dif'runce, tell me, does that make with _her_? That\nwizard o' a ship 'ud have fair wind an' plenty on it, ef she wuz sailin'\ndead to wind'ard.\"\n\n\"Now, she's gone ag'in,\" spoke Alibee, \"an' thet's what she's done\nafore.\"\n\nThe mowers began a new bout, and Raner remarked, \"Such things, hell take\n'em, have been seen afore, though a long time back. I heerd tell on 'em\nwhen I wuz a boy. It's a spectre o' some ship Kidd has sunk with all her\ncrew on board, a ha'ntin' this coast. Thar's no tellin' what the\nmischief'll come out on it all to us, ne'ther. He wuz off the Inlet thar\nsev'ral times with the 'Royal Eduth.' I've hearn, time and ag'in, o' how\nhe come in the Inlet with his long-boat, an' got game o' the Injuns, an'\nthe devil may know how many lives he put an end to when off here.\"\n\nThe mowers came again to the bout leading up to the broad curve. Alibee,\nwho a moment ago had said, \"I'm all o' a cold sweat,\" looked out upon\nthe ocean and exclaimed, \"By the very devil himself, see how much nigher\nshe's in! Confound ef I want 'o stay here an' cut much longer.\"\n\nThis exclamation produced but one result--a wider swath. They had\nplunged into deeper stroke that afternoon after every expression of\nfear, for the mowers tried, in the prodigious effort put forth, to\ndrown, for the moment, their apprehensions. But the drafts they had made\nupon their strength were now telling upon them sorely. They could not\nsustain the effort, and soon lapsed into a slower stroke; and although\nthe bout was considerably shorter, they were a third longer in cutting\nit. Though wrought to the highest point with fear, they were powerless\nto resist the bewitching influence to look seaward as they mowed round\nthe curve. This time that strange shape, looming up again, struck terror\nthrough them.\n\n\"By heavens,\" gasped Alibee, \"how much closer in is she a comin'? An'\nlook! look! thet's a woman standin' on the rail thar, for'ard, white ez\nthe ship. Not another soul on board, ez I kin see.\"\n\nThe mowers stood gazing a second with scythes poised, and then finished\ntheir strokes. Just around the curve Alibee stole a glance behind him.\nWith piercing tone he cried, \"Good God! thar's thet woman, on the hills\nyunder, comin straight fur us; an' the ship, look! she's bow on. Quick,\nquick, run fur the hay-boat.\"\n\nHurriedly they gathered their traps and ran to the boat, casting looks\nbehind every few steps. They had left the jug--the empty jug--but not a\nsecond could be lost. They threw their scythes into the boat, Alibee ran\nfor the anchor, and came running back with it, dragging the cable after\nhim. Raner and Layn in their excitement had already pushed off the boat,\nand Josh, splashing through the water, tumbled on board, anchor in hand.\nIn an instant the mowers had disappeared in the fog.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\n\n\n\n                           ENCHANTED TREASURE\n\n\nPurty nigh a hull week that ship hed been seen manoovrin' outside the\nBeach. Fust, she'd 'pear to be purty well in, an' then she'd be way off\na'most out o' sight; an' so it went, off an' on, off an' on. The\nneighbors--thar wa'n't many on 'em, the houses bein' scatterin'--hed\nseen 'er; an thar wuz a good deal o' conjectur 'bout what she could be\ndoin'. Nobody could tell. Thar wusn't no war--ef that hed 'a been,\n'twouldn't 'a been 'tall puzzlin' what she wur a-manoovrin' at on the\ncoast. On a Friday arternoon she dis'peared, an' nothin' wuz seen o' her\non a Saturday. Sunday mornin' arly, I looked over to the Beach, but\ndidn't see anythin' o' the ship. She'd gone fur good, we concluded.\n\nLong middle forenoon, John an' me made up our minds to go to the Beach.\nIt wuz hossfootin time, an' that night wuz full moon. We put up suthin'\nto eat, an' told the folks to hum that we wuz goin', an' didn't\ncalc'late to be back till long towards nex' mornin'.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nOur plan wuz to sail over, saunter long the Beach that arternoon, an'\n'bout nightfall git a pen ready to put the hossfeet in, an' when the\nmoon wuz up an' the tide flood, ketch all the hossfeet we could. That's\nthe best time o' the month to ketch 'em--full moon and flood tide.\nHossfeet, you know, crawl up in pairs on to the shore at the height o'\nthe flood. You wade along an' find 'em in the edge o' the water; throw\n'em up onto shore high and dry, an' stick their tails into ground.\nThey're fast, then. You got to work quick, 'cause the nick o' the tide\ndon't stay on long. It's git all you kin afore they go off. When they're\ngone, you kin take your own time in loadin' 'em into the boat, ur\nputtin' 'em into pen till you kin take 'em off.\n\nJohn an' me intended to put 'em in a pen, let 'em be thar till we could\nbring on the scow to load 'em into, and then tow 'em off. One year we\ngot purty nigh three thousan' hossfeet in one night. It's excitin' work\nto wade along, lookin' close to see 'em, fur the water's dark an'\nthey're dark; ur else hittin' 'em with your feet, an' then reachin' to\nfind 'em. You got to be more'n car'ful, though, 'bout one thing, an'\nthat's not to git their tails stuck into yer feet ur hands. Ef you do,\nan' it goes in deep, ten chances to one you're a \"goner.\"\n\nWell, John an' me expected to mek a big haul that night. We went down to\nthe landin', an' fussed 'roun' thar, gittin' the old skiff ready. We\nwarn't in any hurry, fur we hed all day afore us. 'Twur one o' them\nshiny, quiet June days, an' it bein' Sunday made it 'pear all the more\nso.\n\nThe Bay wuz ez blue ez could be--the water wuz becomin warm--that's what\nmade it blue. Thar wuz only a little mite o' wind, jist enough to fill\nthe sail.\n\nI remember that sailin' ez plain ez if it all happened yisterday. I\nsteered part o' the way, then John took hold, an' I stretched myself out\nin the skiff. The sun shun warm--that kind o' pleasant warmth that you\nwanted to let soak in an' in.\n\nThe skiff slid for'ard easy--no tuggin' an' jumpin'; the waves--the\nwater wuz only roughened a little--rippled an' slapped up alongside,\nsoundin' holler to me in the bottom of the skiff, an' the water bubbled\naroun' the rudder--that's 'bout all thar wuz to it, but somehow I could\n'a sailed on for a fortni't.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nThe tide wuz low when we got across, but we had no diffikilty to git\nclose to the medder, ez John steered up into a dreen. We took out the\nmast, rolled the mutton-leg sail round it, an' drawed the skiff up into\nthe grass. Then we eats somethin', put the rest o' our victuals away\ntill night, an' went over to the surf shore. Thar we set down a short\nspell, jist ez ev'rybody does, I guess, when they go over to the ocean\nan' have a plenty o' time to spar', ez we hed. Fin'ly we begun our walk\n'long shore to see what we could find.\n\nThis ere walk 'long shore wuz one reason why we'd come over to the Beach\nin the forenoon. I don't remember how fur we walked, but we sauntered\nalong an hour or so--the sun wuz quite a piece to the west--when all on\na sudden John p'inted off shore an' says, \"Jess, look-a-thar. What do\nyou mek o' that? Thar she is ag'in standin' right onto shore.\"\n\n\"That's her,\" says I; \"that's the same ship, an' she ain't a-beatin'\nnuther, with the wind this way.\" I somehow kind o' felt that that ship\nwuzn't standin' close in fur no good puppose, and I didn't care to be in\nsight on-shore, ez thar hed been no end o' strange things done on that\nBeach fust an' last. I thought quick o' what, accordin' to all accounts,\nhed happened in my granther's days, an' even thirty year back, in my\nfather's, so I says agin to John, \"Come, let's git up in the hills out\no' sight.\"\n\nIn less 'an no time, we slipped round the hills, climbed up one on 'em\nto where we could jist peek over, an' laid down. The ship kep' a comin'.\nShe didn't seem to change her course by a yard's breadth. Ev'ry sail wuz\nspread an' pullin', an' I tell you she wur a purty sight to look at.\n\n'Fore long, John says, \"Jess, that vessel's got some puppose, an' we'd\nbetter go east.\"\n\nSo we scooted 'long behind the hills, an' ev'ry low gap atween the hills\nwe come to, we'd stop car'ful an' look out to see ef the ship kep' on\nthe same course. Ev'ry time we looked out, she wuz nigher an' nigher.\nWhen we'd got a stretchin' good piece east we didn't run any further,\nbut crawled up a low hill to take a good look-out agin. By this time,\nthe ship wur pretty well in. Afore long, she rounded up into the wind,\nclewed up her squarsails, an' anchored.\n\n\"What're they doin' now, John?\" I asked; \"kin you mek out?\"\n\n\"Lowerin' a yawl, it looks like to me,\" he says.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nAn' so they wuz. In a short time the yawl pushed out from the ship, an'\nthen I could see plain enough what it wuz, an' that some on the ship's\ncrew wuz comin' ashore in that ere yawl.\n\nWe hunted round fur a place to hide, 'cause we knowed they couldn't be\na-comin' ashore fur water. There wuzn't no water to be got. Behind us\nwuz a clump o' cedars purty thick, so we run 'long a windin' holler, an'\ncrep' up into that bunch o' low cedars. When we looked out, the yawl wuz\nbehind the hills; but purty soon it come into range near shore, an'\ndisappeared ag'in, fur the way on it wuz, thar wur a small gap 'tween\nthe hills that give us this sight o' the yawl. Arter the yawl got across\nthat gap, we waited a long time--I tell you it wuz long--afore we see\nanythin' more on 'em. We got scared a-waitin'; fur how could we tell but\nwhat they wuz mekin' towards us? While I'd got sort o' tired a-strainin'\nan' lookin' here an' thar, an' fell to conject'rin' what under the sun\nwuz goin' to turn out on it all, John says all on a sudden, \"Jess, look,\nthar's one on 'em on yunder hill.\"\n\nI looked quick, and thar stood a sailor with a spy-glass searchin' in\nev'ry d'rection. We crouched flat, scratchin' our hands an' face in\ngittin' under the branches near ground. We'd a been layin' down all the\ntime, but a spy-glass is purty fur-sighted, an' we knowed it, so we\ncrawled under the branches to be all the more out o' sight.\n\nIn jist about three minutes the sailor wuz gone. Then we hed another\ntime o' fearin' what 'ud come next, but soon some men 'peared on the top\no' the hill. Thar wuz five on 'em. I breathed hard, an' so did John,\ntill we see they wurn't comin' towards us. They wuz carryin' somethin'\n_heavy_, ez they'd stop, set it down, an' take turns. An' when they\nchanged what they wuz carryin', they changed shovels. They hed shovels\nwith 'em, for these we could see plain enough.\n\nThese five men went onwards to a hill in the middle of the Beach--the\nhighest hill within sev'ral miles--an' stopped on the side o' it toward\nthe ocean. They stopped a long while an' 'peared to be takin' certain\nranges. Fin'ly they begun to dig. Ev'ry single one o' the five wur\na-diggin'. The bank o' course kep' a growin', and got so high, ur the\nhole got so deep, I dun know which, that we couldn't see 'em any longer\na-diggin'. Nex' they all come out, took what they hed fetched with 'em,\nand put it into the hole. Then thar wuz a long halt--all on 'em down in\nthe hole. Not one on 'em wuz seen fur a long time. That time they wuz\nout o' sight so long that John proposed to skulk to our boat.\n\nBut I says, \"No, we wun't run no risks.\"\n\nHe wuz afeard, an' so wuz I. We hadn't even our old flint-locks with us.\nThey would a'boostered up our courage consid'rable. I wuz right, though,\n'bout stayin' where we wuz. We shouldn't a hed time to get halfway to\nour boat, 'fore they come up out o' the hole, an' begun to shovel the\nsand in agin. I couldn't mek out but four shov'lin', but I never thought\nmuch on it at fust. When the hole, though, got purty nigh full--you\ncould sort o' tell by the banks--I couldn't then mek out but four men. I\nstrained an' looked till there wuz dark spots a-swimmin' 'fore my eyes,\nand then I whispered to John--for we wuz to the wind'ard on the\nmen--sayin', \"John, how many do you mek out a-shov'lin'?\"\n\n\"Four,\" says he, \"only four, an' I been countin' 'em agin an' agin.\"\n\n\"That's all I kin mek out uther. Didn't five on 'em come ashore?\"\n\n\"I know thar wuz five,\" says John; \"I see them five jist ez plain ez I\nsee them ere four now. I counted five on 'em in two dif'runt places.\"\n\nThe hole wuz filled, they spatted on the sand with their shovels--that\nere made me all the time think o' buryin' somebody--an' then them four\nsailors went back to the yawl.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nJohn an' me waited and watched another long, tejus time--I suppose they\nwuz a-waitin fur the best chance to git their yawl through the surf.\nIt's easier to come on, you know, than it is to git back agin.\n\nThrough that ere gap 'tween the hills, though, we see the yawl ez they\nrowed off to the ship, and we breathed consid'rable easier. Anchor wuz\nhuv up, the sails unclewed, an' the ship tacked off to suth'ard.\n\nThe days is long that time o' year, an' it wuz well onto sundown afore\nthe ship got under way. When we see she wuz headin' off, we made fur our\nskiff.\n\nWe gin up all idee o' hossfootin' that night. It wuz too bad to leave\nthe Beach, but we hed no mind to stay thar. We wuz mighty afeard, you\nsee, an' thar's no use o' denyin' it--the thoughts o' what become o'\nthat fifth man wuz boogerish; so we put for hum.\n\nIt would 'a been one o' the very best nights for hossfootin'. The tide\nwuz high, an' the moon come up over the Beach big an' full; but the\nBeach lay all dusky an' dark under the moon, an' the night seemed owly.\nWe laid our course straight across. It wurn't pleasant sailin', though,\nez it hed been in the mornin'; fur the waves kep' mekin' moanin' noises\nan' guggling's all 'round the boat. I wuz chilly, an' my feelin's\ncrawled over me, and kep' crawlin' over me till we got to the landin'.\n\nThe folks wuz su'prised to see us. We got hum 'bout bed-time, an' told\nat once what we'd seen; an' instid o' gittin' off to bed 'arly, ez we\nal'ays did Sunday nights to git a good start Monday mornin'--instid o'\ngittin' off to bed, we all sot up an' talked a long spell about it.\n\nWhen I went to bed I couldn't go to sleep, 'cause I kep' thinkin' over\nthe hull matter. That day an' that ere bright night hev al'ays seemed to\nme jist like two days into one. Thar wurn't any daybreak, fur the\nmoonlight wuz ez bright ez daylight, an' you couldn't tell when one went\nan' another come. I s'pose though, arter all, that wuz a nat'rul thing\nin June, when the sun rises 'arliest in the year; but I never noticed it\nafore ur sence.\n\nTwo ur three days arterward, some o' the neighbors stopped to the house\nin the edge o'the ev'nin', an' mongst other things that wuz talked over\nwuz that ere ship; fur, you see, she hed been noticed by all the people\no' that section the week afore, an' now she wuz gone--nothin' more'd\nbeen seen o' her. I told what John an' me hed seen, an' so the story got\nafloat. All summer long, way into fall, neighbors an' people livin'\nquite a distance away would stop and ask me 'bout it--full a dozen men\nfrom the middle o' the Islan' stopped, fust an' last, to ask me if it\ntwan't the same ship some o' their mowers see, one foggy day six weeks\nlater on, when they wuz on the Beach cuttin' salt hay. Winter nights, we\nnow an' then would git to talkin' it over 'round the fireplace. Well,\ntime went on, an' young people ez they growed up would ask me to tell it\nto them.\n\nI've told it a good many times--a good many times. You see, it wur over\nfifty year ago sence it happened.\n\n\"Did anybody go to the spot an' see what wuz buried thar?\"\n\nSome dare-devils from away West somewheres tried to dig thar. They took\na clear night with only a little wind a-blowin' an' a few clouds afloat,\nbut when they got fairly to work, it grew pitch dark, an' foggy, ez\nquick ez a candle goes out. The air got so thick they couldn't scarcely\nbreathe, an' then a skel'ton ghost with a dagger in its hand, that hed\nsome kind o' pale flame creepin' an' burnin' on the blade, 'peared right\nabove 'em. It stood a minute an' shook the dagger, an' then begun to\nmove 'round 'em, comin' nearer an' nearer, till the men run headlong fur\ntheir boat, shakin' cold, they wuz so scared.\n\nI heerd one on 'em say, ten year arter, that that wuz the only time in\nall his life his hair ever stood on end.\n\nBut nobody round here never dug thar. They never even probed thar. They\nnever tried the min'rul rod thar nuther, ez they did sometimes in other\nspots. Ev'rybody roun' this ere part o' the Islan' knowed better. The\ntreasure buried thar wuz enchanted treasure. Nobody meddles with\nenchanted treasure that knows what enchanted treasure is.\n\n\"What made it enchanted?\"\n\nThat fifth man wuz a pris'ner they'd taken frum some ship they'd run\ndown, robbed, an' destroyed with the rest on the crew. They'd got ready\nto come ashore to bury treasure, an' they ordered him to go long with\n'em to help do it. He went, doin' his part o' the work jist ez ef he wur\none o' the gang.\n\nThey go ashore, mek up their minds 'bout the spot, take their ranges so\nthey kin come back to the spot when they want to, an' then begin to dig.\nWhen the hole is dug deep enough, they set the treasure into the hole,\nan' all stan' in thar aroun' it. The leader o' the gang tells the\npris'ner that he's got to stay by that ere treasure an' guard it, so\nnobody kin ever git it but them.\n\nThey mek him sw'ar with some kind o' an oath that he will. Then they mek\nway with him, an' put his body over the treasure.\n\nThat's why we couldn't mek out no more 'an four men goin' back when five\ncome ashore. Them four men murdered the fifth one, an' in so doin'\nenchanted the treasure.\n\nIt wuz sealed in human blood, an' the devil himself wuz thar in full\ncharge. An' that's why thunder an' lightnin' comes, an' spectres is\nseen, an' the treasure sinks lower an' lower, an' the hole caves, when\npeople hev tried to dig up enchanted treasure. An' that's why, too, so\nlittle buried treasure hez ever been found, 'cause pirates mos' al'ays\nenchant it, an' sometimes enchant it double. They murder their\npris'ners, an' bury 'em, knife in hand, settin' on the treasure to guard\nit.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\n\n\n\n                             THE MONEY SHIP\n\n\nSeventy years ago two boys, one seven years old and the other twelve,\nmade a trip with their father up the Great South Bay. They had been\npromised that when it became necessary to land and mend the nets, they\nmight run across the Beach to the ocean.\n\nSo, one afternoon when the nets were spread, away the boys scampered,\ndragging their outstretched hands through the tall grass. But coming\nupon a damp spot of meadow when a third of the way over, they were\nobliged to turn their course. In doing so, they chanced to look behind\nthem, and seeing how far they were from the boat and how small it\nappeared, they were afraid, and had half a mind to turn back. But the\nyounger lad caught sight of the large, leafy stalks of a great rose\nmallow, a few steps ahead, spreading the broad petals of its passionate\nflower out to the sun and the breeze.\n\n\"See them big flowers,\" he said, to his brother.\n\nForgetting their fear, both ran to the spot, plucked a handful, and\ncontinued their way to the ocean.\n\n\"They ain't got any smell,\" said the older, \"but they're a pretty\ncolor.\"\n\n\"Let's get a lot when we come back, and take 'em home,\" suggested the\nyounger.\n\nBut the showy flowers, deprived of the abundant moisture which their\nroots continually send up, soon wilted and lost their fresh, tropical\nbeauty. Surprised and disappointed at this, the lads threw them down and\nquickened their steps. So anxious were they to get across, that the\nBeach seemed much wider than they had ever imagined. At last they\nreached the ridge of hills that lie on the inner side of the surf\nstrand, shutting out all view of the ocean, and toiled to the top. The\nhills seemed very steep and high to them, for in all their lives they\nhad never been away from the low and level south side of the Island.\n\nReaching the top, that far and mighty prospect of the great deep burst\nupon them. It was a sight they had expected to see, but a sight of whose\naccompanying grandeur they had not formed the least conception. They\nstood silent, each for the time unconscious of the other, while the\nfeeling which comes in the presence of the sublime surged up within\ntheir minds.\n\nYoung hearts, though, do not give themselves up long to such emotions,\nand wear their freshness out with pondering, as older people do. With\nthese boys, the spell was brief; but during it the great sea had\nbreathed its infinite benediction upon them, arousing within them\nfeelings unstirred before. The usual traits of boyhood, however, soon\nasserted themselves, and the boys ran down the slope and began to gather\nshells and skim them into the surf. They did not, though, whirl away\nevery shell, but, now and then, thrust a pretty one into their pockets.\nAnd with the shells they often saved smooth white stones that had been\nbathed and polished by the sea.\n\nTiring of this play, they turned to making marks and figures, and\nwriting their names in the wet sand. Then they threw themselves down and\ndug holes in the wet sand with \"skimmauge\" shells, and banked the sand\nup over their feet and hands.\n\n\"I wonder where that ship's going and how far away she is?\" said the\nyounger lad.\n\n\"Oh, fifty miles--for you can't see anything but her sails, and only a\nlittle of them,\" answered the other.\n\nThen the younger asked if that wasn't the end of the world where the sky\nwent down into the ocean. And watching the low clouds that floated along\nthe distant horizon, he fancied that they were going off to the end of\nthe world.\n\n\"May be,\" he spoke, \"they're going after rain--clouds have some place\nwhere they keep their rain. How slow they're going! When they get the\nrain, they'll hurry back. Why, then they almost fly. Ain't you seen 'em\nfly on a stormy day when they're low down, and you could almost see\nthrough 'em? I guess they hurry to scatter the rain over more ground.\"\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nThe elder brother paid no heed to these fancies, but began to roll his\ntrousers up above his knees as high as he could pull them. The younger\nquickly did the same, for there were no shoes and stockings to be\nremoved, as bay-men's boys, in those days, went barefooted in summer\ntime.\n\nThen they played along the strand, running down as the waves withdrew\nfrom the shore, and as one broke again, and reached up rapidly with its\nliquid hands, they would run from it. At length, a wave stretched its\nfoamy arms farther up, and caught them ankle deep. The charm of playing\nwith the watery being was broken, and now they waded down, standing\nknee-deep to feel themselves settle as the undertow scurried past them\nwith its freight of sand. At last, a larger wave came unawares, and wet\nthe elder brother's trousers, changing quickly the current of his\nthoughts.\n\n\"Come,\" said he, \"father told us not to stay over here long. We must\nhurry right back.\"\n\nThey ran westward to a low spot between the hills, and turned through\nthis pass. As they were following the winding around the edge of a hill,\nsuddenly the older brother grasped the younger's arm, and stopped short\nbefore a spot where no grass grew--a slight hollow swept out by the\nwinds.\n\n\"See them bones!\" he exclaimed. \"They're men's bones. There's a\nhand--and over there's a skull. See it rock! See it! I'm afraid. Let's\nrun.\"\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nAway they ran in their fright, coming out of breath to their father, and\ntelling him with much gasping what they had seen.\n\n\"Well,\" he replied, \"before we get underway for home this afternoon,\nI'll go with you and see what it was. Let me think. This is near the Old\nHouse. It's easy enough to account for the bones over there; but the\nskull's rocking--I guess you imagined that.\"\n\n\"No, sir, father, I saw it go just like this--first one side and then\nthe other,\" replied the elder son, as he suggested the rocking by the\nmotion of his hands.\n\n\n\"The skull don't rock now,\" said the father, when they reached the spot\nin the afternoon. He picked up the skull, and looking in, saw that a\nmeadow mouse had built its nest there.\n\n\"Yes, boys, I guess you were right. I've no doubt now it did rock.\"\n\nAnd looking again at the skull, he saw that there were double teeth all\naround on each jaw. A horror ran through him at the thought. He cast the\nskull away, and turned to leave the spot, taking his boys by the hand.\nHalf-way to the boat he spoke, saying: \"That was a pirate's skull and\nthem was pirates' bones. I heard when we first moved up to this part of\nthe Island something about pirates being buried over on the Beach. This\nmust be the place. I never inquired into the partic'lars. I don't like\nsuch things, and don't want to know 'bout 'em. If you do, wait till you\nget older, and then inquire into it. It's bad for you to know such\nthings now.\"\n\nThe incident of coming upon the moving skull made so profound an\nimpression upon the elder lad that his curiosity got the better of him,\nand in less than two days after reaching home, he had found someone who\nknew about what actually had taken place where the scattered bones lay,\nand who, moreover, directed him for fuller information to old Captain\nTerry. It was several years, though, before the lad really set about\nfurther inquiry, there being circumstances which wrought seriously\nagainst it. In the first place, Captain Terry lived several miles\ndistant, and had the lad walked up to see him, there was the possibility\nof his being away from home, or if at home, too busy to answer the\nquestions of an inquisitive boy. A walk of ten miles to Captain Terry's\nand back would deter most boys of their curiosity. Then, too, the walk\ndemanded no little courage of a boy who must go alone, or at best, with\nsome companion of his own age; and should they be detained, causing a\nreturn after dark, there were to be passed one or two places along the\nroad of such repute that a boy underwent an ordeal in his own mind in\npassing them, even in broad daylight.\n\nClam-Hollow, deep, damp, and dismal, the narrow, crooked road, wooded\nclosely by tall and sombre pines, all interwoven with their thick\nunderbrush, was the scene of many a marvelous happening, which\nneighborhood talk attributed to that locality; while Brewster's brook,\nnear which the slave murdered his oppressive master, exercised a still\nstronger influence of fear and horror over the mind of every boy who had\never been past it.\n\nBut when the youth had grown towards manhood, and had forgotten the\nfoolish fears and apprehensions of boyhood, when he was doing what he\ncould to make his way in life--sometimes a laborer on farms, sometimes a\nboatman on the Bay--he heard, at casual times and places, so many\nallusions and fragmentary accounts of the buccaneers whose bodies lay\nburied westward of the Old House, that he was led to make full inquiry,\nand to get at the truth as near as might be. Not only was old Captain\nTerry's recital heard, but all information that threw any light upon the\ntragedy was gleaned and treasured, and when an old man he related the\nfollowing:\n\nVery early in the present century, a ship hove to off Montauk, and set\nashore a man.\n\nShe had, doubtless, made her landfall near the Inlet, had skirted the\ncoast eastward, attracting no attention whatever--unlike in this respect\nthe ship that the two brothers who went on the Beach \"horse-footing\"\nthat June Sunday saw anchor close in, send her yawl ashore, and bury\ntreasure, spilling human blood upon it in the act.\n\nWhen the landing was made the ship stood out to sea and made long tacks\noff and on, gradually working westward along the coast.\n\nThe sailor set ashore was a man of tall and powerful frame. He brought\napparently nothing ashore with him, and no sooner had he gained the dry\nstrand than he set out at a brisk pace, making his way westward over the\nnarrow and rocky peninsula. When half the distance to Napeague Beach, he\nstopped near a large rock and made certain observations. This done, he\nsignalled to the ship, and was answered by the clewing up of the\nforesail. Then he recommenced his walk towards the village of\nAmagansette. It was dusk when he reached that village, and his first\nmove was to find where he could spend the night. His applications for\nlodgings were repeatedly refused by the inhabitants, and that evening\nand for a week thereafter, the most prominent topic of village talk and\nconjecture was the stranger who had sought lodgings at so many doors.\n\nWhere he passed the night is not known. But the next day, at East\nHampton and at South Hampton, the question was frequently asked, \"Did\nyou see the stranger that went through the village this morning?\"\n\nPerhaps no ordinary event in those days would have attracted more\nattention at these villages than the appearance and disappearance of an\nunknown man. Who he was, what his errand might be, where he came from,\nand whither he went, were matters of speculation for days; and in this\ninstance there was an additional incentive to curiosity, for the\nstranger's dress showed him to be a sailor, his manner was rough, his\nface was cruel in expression, and he held no further word of\nconversation than was barely necessary to supply his wants.\n\nIt is said that after leaving these villages the stranger was seen\nmaking observations on the coast somewhere below Ketchabonack. Of his\njourney westward, nothing more is known, until he was passing over that\nlong, sandy, and solitary tract of road which lies between Forge River\nand The Mills. Here he stopped, and made some inquiry of Mr. Payne, an\nold soldier of the Revolution.\n\nWhen the stranger departed, the family at once asked, \"Who was he?\"\n\nThe reply made by old Mr. Payne was significant. \"That I can't tell; but\none thing I can--whoever he is, he has been in human slaughter.\"\n\nAt one of those villages where the Great South Bay broadens to a width\nof four or five miles, this man was set across to the Beach. To some of\nthe residents thereabout he was known, and so, moreover, was the fact\nthat, for a long period, he had been away from home--_piloting_, it was\nreported. His wife and also his daughter, a young woman of defiant mien,\nsaucy speech, and, it is said, of unwholesome reputation, dwelt alone\nupon the Beach, at what from early colonial days had been called the Old\nHouse, but which, since the tragedy of that awful night, has more\nfrequently borne the name of the iniquitous family.\n\nFor two days the ship had been sailing east and west, standing off and\non shore, awaiting intelligence from him. He saw her the morning he\nlanded on the Beach, but could not signal, as the man who set him across\ndid not return at once. Then, too, after he had gone, two vessels loaded\nfor New York passed within an hour and a half of each other, on their\nway to Fire Island. Late in the afternoon--the earliest moment he deemed\nsafe--he signalled to the ship that he had reached the spot where all\nhad agreed to land, that circumstances and surroundings were opportune\nfor their purpose, and to hold in position as best possible till\ndarkness settled.\n\nAll, however, was not favorable. There were indications of an\napproaching storm--indications that portended its sudden approach. The\nswell on shore, too, was rising and rolling in with stronger volume.\nThey were in a bad position, and well they knew it. There was not\nsea-room enough, with a south-easterly storm, in that angle of the\ncoast. But what cared that reckless crew now about their ship, other\nthan she must not go ashore within sight or reach of where they proposed\nto land.\n\nNight came, and a fire flamed up on the shore, built low down near the\ntide mark, that the hills might hide all view of it from people upon the\nmain-land. It was the signal when to leave ship and where to come\nashore. According to the understanding on ship-board off Montauk, the\nfire was to be set three rods westward of the best spot of beach to\nland, within half a mile of the Old House.\n\nThere was hurry on ship-board. Time pressed, for the edges of the storm\nwere upon them. Two of the ship's yawls were lowered, made fast\nalongside, and into these were passed canvas bags, containing coin and,\nit is supposed, other valuables. Each member of the crew had secured in\nsome manner upon his person his own share of the results of their\nhazardous and wicked doings. When the yawls were ready, the crew made\nefforts to scuttle the ship, so that she might sink during the night.\nBut, doubtless owing to the haste imposed by the coming storm, these\nefforts did not promise success; and fearing that the vessel, when\nabandoned, would be driven directly ashore, orders were given to take in\npart of the sail, leaving in trim just spread of canvas enough to keep\nthe ship in the wind. Then, heading her seaward and lashing the helm to\nwindward, the buccaneers embarked in the yawls and pulled towards\nshore--seventeen men in all, abandoning a life of robbery and murder,\nbut bringing with them the booty such a life had secured.\n\nNearing the shore, they saw by the fire-light the form of their\naccomplice. No other man was with him, and yet the forms of two other\npersons were seen in the circle of light which the fire radiated out\ninto the dark. There was shouting to and fro of how to come on, and\noaths and harsh accusations besides--why he had been so long, and why\nhad he signalled them on when a storm was already in the rigging. The\nsurf was threatening, but it was too late now to make any other\ndecision. With strength of oar they held themselves in position,\nwatching the right moment to take the best wave and ride in. But whether\ndirections were misunderstood, or whether in the darkness there was\nmiscalculation, the yawls swamped upon the bar, throwing the seventeen\nbuccaneers into the rushing surf. It was a despairing, mad struggle for\nlife, with piercing cries and blasphemy heard above the booming of the\nwaves. Two buccaneers, Tom Knight and Jack Sloane, gained the shore.\nOthers sank soon, while yet others, quite exhausted, might have been\nrescued. But treachery, calculating its chance, stepped in and did foul\nwork. Then what horrible exertion went on all that night! What hot\nsearch was kept up for lifeless forms as the sea tossed them up! How,\nwhen discovered, were they pulled out of the edge of the surf, and\nclothing rifled! And then, to cover it all, their bodies were dragged to\na hollow among the hills, and there buried. The storm set in before the\nnight was half gone, and a wild day followed, keeping from the Beach any\nboatman that chance might have led that way.\n\nTom Knight and Jack Sloane, not a fortnight thereafter, made their\nappearance upon the main shore, and spent money freely. They came and\nwent, again and again, always spending with the same lavish hand,\nthrowing down, it is said, a Spanish dollar for the most trivial\npurchase, and invariably refusing any change.\n\nRumors that some horrid deed had been committed were soon in\ncirculation, and conjectures of what had happened upon the Beach were\nmany and various.\n\nA town magistrate, hearing these, began an inquiry. He sent constables\nto the Beach with warrants to arrest the family and everyone else in the\nhouse. Only the mother and the daughter were found. These were brought\nto the main-land, and half a day was spent in examination; but the\nmagistrate could find no positive evidence that warranted further action\non his part.\n\nOn the day the mother and daughter were arrested, those three\nbuccaneers--the pilot, Tom Knight, and Jack Sloane--watched from\nhiding-places apart in the hills, the coming and going of the\nconstables. When all possibility of detection had passed, they returned\nto the Old House. Each sought out his treasure whence he had temporarily\nhid it, in the bushes or in the sand. After hot discussion, each packed\nhis gold according to his own notion, and the three buccaneers struggled\nthrough the hills in separate directions to bury their treasure.\n\nTom Knight's gold was found forty years after, just as he had sealed it\nup in the black pot which the Captain found, in that last fortunate\npatrol of the Beach; the gold of the other buccaneers lies somewhere\namong those sand-hills until this day.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nImmediately after the arrest, Tom Knight and Jack Sloane left for other\nparts, and very shortly the family broke up its residence on the Beach\nand moved to the Western frontier, where, it is said, ill-fate and\ndisaster followed them.\n\nThat portion of the Beach, however, attracted many thither. But little\nmoney was then in circulation. The government, it was well known, had\ncoined money but a few years, while Spain was imagined to have stamped\nuntold millions; and the hope of finding Spanish coin quickly sprang up\nin many a man's mind. In consequence, bay-men often strolled along that\npart of the coast, though most of them took good heed not to be there\nafter dark. Spanish dollars were frequently found--one person picking up\nfirst and last thirty-eight of these. Search was even made upon the bar\nwhere the yawls upset. But periods when the sea was smooth enough to\nwork were rare, and what is more, the exact spot was unknown. Fragments\nof the canvas bags were found, and a few coins; but nothing commensurate\nto expectation and the time spent in search.\n\nThe ship remained off the coast, and as if guided by an insane pilot,\nalternately sailed and drifted, veering her course through every point\nof the compass from northeast to southeast, but working, singularly\nenough, all the time eastward.\n\nHer strange behavior attracted one day the attention of a party of\nfishermen on the Beach opposite Smith's Point. Some of them proposed\nmost ardently that the surf-boat be launched and the ship boarded. But\nothers of them were afraid, and stoutly opposed any such adventure. And\nso a prize of more value than the catch of many seasons passed them,\nbecause, let us say it plainly, superstition was stronger than reason.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nNear South Hampton the Money Ship went ashore. There were neither papers\nnor cargo on board which would indicate where she came from. A\nsea-merchant thought some of the casks that were found in the hold had\ncontained Italian silks. Seven Spanish doubloons were found on a locker\nin the cabin, and several cutlasses and pistols were scattered about.\nThe whole vessel was searched, but nothing more could be found. Two of\nthose men, though, who had aided in the search went on board at\nnightfall. Suddenly, while peering about, their light went out, and one\nman, frightened and deaf to persuasion, fled ashore. The other,\nundaunted, made anew his light and continued the search. While hunting\nabout the cabin, he bethought to pry away a part of the ceiling. Upon\ndoing so, he found a quantity of money concealed there, and as it\ndropped down from its place of lodgment, some of the coins rolled out of\nthe cabin-window into the sea. This time it was an honest man's\ntreasure, and he carried ashore that night many a hatful. Just how much\nwas thus secured could never be learned. Some put the amount at two\nhundred dollars, others, and by far the greater number, thought it many\ntimes this sum. One thing is certain--there were marked changes\nnoticeable in the circumstances of that family from that time, and the\nsigns of prosperity were not only sudden but lasting.\n\nWhence came the Money-Ship? There was not even a name or commission to\ngive any clew. Could she have been an English merchantman, which had\nchanced to be in the West Indies during the insurrection in Hayti, and\non board of which some of the French inhabitants of the island had\nsought refuge, bringing with them their wealth,--that when at sea,\nmutiny had arisen, the officers and passengers had been made way with,\nand their wealth appropriated by the sailors?\n\nWas she a Spanish pirate from the Gulf, with half her crew English\nsailors?\n\nOr was she a galleon sailing from the Spanish main to old Spain?\n\nIt has always remained a mystery.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\n    [Illustration: \"WESTWARD OF GREEN'S BROOK\"]\n\n\n\n\n                              WIDOW MOLLY\n\n\nWestward of Greene's brook on the road to Oakdale there stands a\nsubstantial country residence. You will recognize it in driving by, for\njust south, across the road is a lot with small spindle cedars growing\nall irregular, everywhere in fact, some perhaps the height of a man's\nwaist, but the most not higher than his knee.\n\n\"Poor land,\" you will say. Well, I believe it is. Else why are those\nlittle wizened cedars there? They have grown there who knows how long?\nThey never get bigger, and have each the appearance, when you come\nclose, of being a hundred years old. But the lot with them on, bends its\nmile of curve gradually down to the Great South Bay, and leaves you a\nbroad view of that body of water, very blue and very beautiful at times.\n\nA century and nine years ago, there stood across the road opposite this\nlot a small inn. At what time it was demolished, I could never learn;\nbut I have no doubt some of its wrecked timbers are doing upright duty\nto this very day, in bracing the partitions of the present residence.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nSometimes the New York stage stopped at this inn, but its usual\nhalting-place was a few miles to the west at Champlin's. Whenever it did\nstop, the passengers had good cheer, for the little inn was kept by\nWidow Molly--a woman of sunny face and hopeful disposition. Her eyes\nwere large, and, you would say, a little too deeply placed; but their\nlook was honest and as unsuspecting as the stars. She had broad hips of\nwhich she was a trifle proud, a round arm and a very pretty hand, a deep\nchest, arching high, and her weight must have been not more than a pound\nor two either side of one hundred and sixty.\n\nThere was no end of trooping in those days, and many a company of\nhorsemen stopped at Widow Molly's. Her slave, Ebo, would give the best\ncare to the horses, while she entertained their riders. And if the\ntroopers had time and it came to a game of seven-up, she could play as\nstrong a hand as any one of them. The hours on such halts went too fast,\nand often afterwards there was hard riding to regain time lost\nlingering. But of all the riders who dismounted at her door, there was\none who came alone and went alone, and whose visits were beginning to\nhint of regularity. He came from the section about Ronkonkoma Pond,\nseven miles, perhaps, to the northward. Whoever knew him, knew him as\nthe young squire. Seven-and-thirty years old, prosperous, of sound\njudgment, he well deserved the note the office gave him.\n\nIn the spring that came a century and nine years ago, the young squire,\nwho had always a passion for cracking away at stray ducks that settled\nin the Pond, resolved to go gunning to the \"South Side.\" And many a\nmorning or afternoon he lay behind the cedars that grew along the shore\nof the Great South Bay, and tolled in ducks, by flapping over his head a\npiece of bright red flannel tied to his ramrod. On these gunning\nexpeditions he always stopped at the inn, and finally, instead of\ncarrying his firelock home, he left it in the keeping of Widow Molly.\nThe hostess stood the gun in the corner of the front room.\n\nWhenever the young squire came, he found the brass upon it bright and\nthe stock and barrel rubbed off with a mite of oil. Widow Molly did this\nwith her own hands, and never made mention of it. But one day, when he\ntook his gun to start for the shore, he gave one deep look into her eyes\nand kissed her as he passed out of the doorway. She watched him go\nacross the lot till the curve put him out of sight, and then turning,\nclosed the door. It was well that during the rest of that day no one\nhalted at the inn desiring refreshment, for the genial hostess would\nhave seemed to such, preoccupied. From the moment she turned from that\nwrapt watching in the doorway, she wandered off with the feelings of her\nheart whither neither guest nor friend could follow and intrude.\n\nThat afternoon, when the day's gunning was over, the squire was met by a\nneighbor and summoned home to write the will of a dying man. He had not\ntime so much as to enter the house, but gave his gun and four brace of\nducks to Ebo, and rode rapidly home with the neighbor who had come for\nhim.\n\nAfter tea, when Judy was washing the dishes, Widow Molly came into the\nkitchen with the gun, laid it down upon the table, and began cleaning\nit. This time she even drew the ramrod, wound a rag around it, and wiped\nout the barrel. When she had put it in perfect order, she carried it\ninto the front room and stood it in its usual corner.\n\n\"Law,\" said Judy to Ebo, as they sat in the kitchen by the scant light\nof one tallow dip, \"what am got into missus? Di' jou see how she clean\ndat ere gun so' ticlar to-night? She am done it sivral time afore, but\nnebber so drefful 'ticlar ez to-night. An' the squar am no stop\nto-night! Wha' for he din't stay to tea an' spen' ebnin' wi' missus?\nMissus am dispinted; drefful so.\n\n\"We'se goin' to lose Missus, dat am sure, cause I'se kin _feel_ it.\nMissus been kinde way off, thinkin' an' thinkin' to herself all long\nback. Yes, we'se goin' to lose Missus, an' whar's poor ol' Judy goin' in\ndese ere war times?--Ebo, you fas' asleep dar? Git off to yer own\nquarters.\"\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nIn that spring, a century and nine years ago, a schooner, manned by\noutlaws principally from the Connecticut shore, but some, be it said,\nfrom the south side of the Island, made her appearance in the Bay. She\nwould come in Fire Island Inlet, course eastward up the Bay, robbing\nevery vessel within reach; and in the spirit of pure devilment, the crew\nwould destroy or cut adrift every boat they robbed, set their owners\nashore on the Beach at whatever point most convenient, and then slip out\nof the inlet near the Manor of St. George, and be gone.\n\nOne or two visits of this sort put bay-men upon their guard, and when\nthe stranger hove in sight, it was crack on all sail, and make for\nshallow water or disappear up some creek or river.\n\nFinding their opportunities of robbing upon the Bay at an end, the\noutlaws determined to take to land. The scattered residents, expecting\nit would come to this, had organized a sort of company who should be\nready at the briefest notice to repel any such attempts.\n\nAgain the schooner appeared in the Bay, sailed eastward, and anchored\noff the mouth of Great River. The news of her approach spread rapidly,\nand a part of the company quickly gathered and took a concealed place\nbehind a bunch of cedars on the shore to watch any movements that might\nbe made from the schooner. After sunset they saw a boat lowered and\nmanned.\n\nAt the foot of the lot on which the cedars now grow there was a\nlanding-place. The men on shore saw the yawl push out from the schooner\nand head towards the landing.\n\nThey watched ten minutes, and the yawl did not change its course.\n\n\"Some man in that yawl knows well enough where this landing-place is,\nan' they're coming to it, you can bet your last guinea,\" remarked Jim\nAvery. \"My advice is to git away from here quick, an' take to the\nlime-kiln.\"\n\n\"Wait a few minutes first, to make sure they're comin',\" suggested\nsomeone.\n\nThey watched five minutes longer, and then, keeping a thick bunch of\ncedars directly in range of the boat, they ran half-bent to the\nlime-kiln and shell-heap at the landing, and there concealing\nthemselves, set one of their number to watch the movements of the boat.\n\nIn the lime-kiln they began to discuss a plan of action.\n\n\"Load the big musket with buckshot and give that to 'em first, if they\nundertake to land,\" was the first proposition.\n\n\"Put in a rippin' good charge. Four fingers of powder, and ram it\nhard--\"added Jim Avery.\n\nThe steel ramrod sent out its cling as the wad was pounded down.\n\n\"Oh, the devil! Put in more buckshot than that if you want 'em to know\nwe mean it. There!\" continued Jim, as he clapped his hand over the bore\nand let a handful of buckshot guzzle down upon the first charge,\n\"that'll plug 'em.\"\n\nAfter the big gun was loaded the men began to load their own guns, their\nexcitement increasing and the discussion growing loud enough to be heard\noutside the kiln. At length, the natural leader of the party checked it,\nand fixed a plan of action.\n\n\"The thing to do,\" he said, \"is this: hail 'em when they get near the\nshore, an' if they don't hold up, rip into 'em a volley from the big\ngun, an' hold our other firelocks in resarve.\"\n\nBut a question at once arose who should fire the big musket. It required\na stout man to hold the huge firearm out, and the smallest man of the\ngroup, in the haste of gathering, had caught it up in a neighbor's\nhouse.\n\n\"I swar I won't fire it with such a load as that in,\" he said; \"and I\ncan't fire it anyway without a rest.\"\n\n\"You take her, then,\" said the leader to one who stood beside him.\n\n\"Not a bit of it. I ain't agoin' to fire nobody else's gun but my own.\"\n\n\"They're not more'n three gun-shots off,\" spoke the sentinel, husking\nthe tones of his voice; \"settle upon suthin' darn quick, ur we'll hev a\nhan'-to-han' fight here on the shore.\"\n\n\"You're the boy, Jim; you fire it,\" said the leader, clapping a negro\nwho stood near him, on the shoulder.\n\nJim took the gun.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nIt was now dusk. The party slipped out from behind the shell-heap, and\nthe leader shouted, \"Back water there an' stop, or I'll fire.\"\n\nNo reply was made, but he caught the words, \"Pull, _pull_;\" and the\nquicker dip of the oars told that the rowers heeded.\n\n\"Another yard and I'll fire.\"\n\nNo word of reply--but, spoken loud and with vengeance, \"Pull, damn you,\n_pull_.\"\n\n\"Fire, Jim;\" and the huge musket thundered out her volley.\n\nA shriek from one poor devil, the noise of others falling over in the\nboat, and the striking of oars followed. With oaths and confusion, the\noutlaws turned their boat and pulled back.\n\nBlack Jim stood stiff in the tracks where he had fired, but the big\nmusket lay upon the ground--the recoil had broken his collar-bone.\n\nIn the morning the schooner was gone. Week after week went by, and the\nscattered inhabitants continually expected some descent of the outlaws\nto take vengeance for their repulse. Jim's collar-bone was well knit\ntogether, and yet there had been no further molestation.\n\n\"I guess we fixed 'em. They don't seem to want to come anymore,\"\nremarked one of the party to a neighbor.\n\nMore than six weeks had passed since that one charge of buckshot\nrepulsed the outlaws, and June was half gone. The Bay's rest spell was\ncome--the time when, day after day, its surface is calm, and the air\nabove it quivers--the time when the Beach goes off to its farthest limit\nand melts into islands with air inlets between them.\n\nOn one of those quiet, dreamy days in June, when all thought of alarm is\nfarthest from one, the identical long-boat which barely two months\nbefore had turned back with its wounded, was crossing the Bay, and\nmaking, too, directly for the landing by the lime-kiln and shell-heap.\nThe schooner this time lay outside the Beach, and the outlaws had made a\nportage over with their long-boat. Again someone in that boat knew there\nwas a landing near the shell-heap.\n\nThey rowed up till the boat touched the sand, but before all landed, two\nsailors jumped ashore and went around the shell-heap and into the kiln\nto discover whether any body of men was lying in wait there. Upon their\nreturn, the boat was secured, and the oars were put in position for\nquick launching. Then, adjusting slashed black bands across their faces,\nthe outlaws took their way up across the lot, making straight for the\ninn on the north side of the old country road. A dozen rods, perhaps,\nfrom the shore, there sprang up what always springs up when any group of\nsailors take to land--what in general may be called rough fooling. It\nwas started by Nate Crosby, the most irrepressible devil of the whole\ncrew, throwing his leg between those of the sailor who walked beside\nhim, and sending him sprawling to the ground, his face tearing into one\nof the stunted cedars. As he rose, he plucked the cedar up, and began\nlashing Nate about the neck and face, and not only did he deal blows at\nNate, but also upon those who laughed at the way Nate had thrown him.\nWhereupon some five or six others uprooted cedars and fell to cracking\nback, and then at each other.\n\n\"What in thunder are you thinking of, you devil's birds?\" said the\nleader, stepping back among them. \"Quit this fooling. We're darn near in\nsight of the inn, and instead of keeping your eyes skinned for just what\nsome of us got the last time we tried this thing, you've taken to\nrollicking. Spread out, spread out; don't bunch up, if you've got any\nwit whatever. Nate, cast away that cedar; cast it away, and come with me\nto the head of the gang.\"\n\nThey reached the inn and filed into the front room. There was no one at\nhome but Widow Molly and Judy, and both were at work in the kitchen. The\nnoise and boisterous talk brought Widow Molly to the room in an instant,\nand Judy, taking one peep, scrambled down cellar and hid herself in a\nbin.\n\n\"Ah! Dame Molly,\" said the leader very affably, as she entered, \"a\nsurprise to you! What of cheer can ye make us?\"\n\n\"Mek it damn quick, too,\" broke in a rough voice.\n\n\"Hold your jaw, you ill-trained cur,\" spoke the leader, smiting the\nupstart flat-handed on the mouth.\n\nSuch words, the black bands with fierce eyes looking through, the knives\nand pistols thrust in their belts, told Widow Molly that the gang of\noutlaws had landed and were in her house. The thought that she was alone\ncame swift, and she stood a moment stricken and dazed. But quite as\nsuddenly she regained her self-possession, stepped past them into an\nadjoining room, reached a decanter and glasses, and setting these before\nthem, bade them drink their pleasure.\n\n\"More, _more_,\" thundered one outlaw, hammering on the table with the\nbutt of his pistol.\n\nShe brought another decanter and glasses. The two decanters were\nemptied, refilled, and emptied again before the outlaws gave heed to\nanything else.\n\n\"And now, Dame Molly, thou hast well slaked our thirst, can'st thou not\nbring something to stay our stomachs,\" said the leader.\n\n\"An' bring thy silver spoons, too,\" said another of the company, who,\nturning towards her, chucked her under the chin.\n\nHer eyes flashed with resentment at the indignity, and swiftly she\nwhirled a stinging slap in the intruder's face.\n\nA roar of laughter filled the room, and derisively they cried, \"Try it\nag'in, now, will ye? Try it ag'in.\"\n\nWidow Molly's heart beat hard. Her breath was catchy, and with her\ncapacious lungs that was a new experience. A way of escape was her first\nthought. Should she slip out of the kitchen door, run a mile to the\nnearest neighbor, and give the alarm?\n\nShe found no chance to do it, for three of the outlaws followed her into\nthe pantry and then into the kitchen. Nothing was left but to put on the\nbravest appearance, and she had already done that. Had they been\nsoldiers with muskets, their presence would not have affected her as it\ndid. She was used to muskets. But the dirks, sheath-knives, and\nhorse-pistols that filled their belts gave her a tremor.\n\nEverything eatable the inn afforded she set before them, and although\nthere was considerable of it, it was not sufficient to fill them all.\nDuring the whole while, Widow Molly waited on the ravenous crowd, and\nwhen the eating came to an end, the leader said, \"And now, Dame Molly,\nproduce thy purse and what of gold thou hast besides.\" She drew forth\nher purse and emptied it upon the table. A sailor started towards the\ntable and made a grab, but he was caught by the leader, and shoved back\nagainst the wall with a thud.\n\n\"Four pound ten,\" said the leader, counting it; \"and that's all ye have\nabout, Dame Molly? Search the house from garret to cellar. Hold--two\nstay in the room with our landlady.\"\n\nForth they burst into all parts of the house, striding up stairs,\nkicking open doors instead of unlatching them. Clatter and din came from\nevery room. Beds were upturned, drawers ransacked and the contents\nturned upon the floor, looked over, and then kicked into corners to make\nroom for other examinations. Closets were rummaged, feather-beds and\npillows thrown upon the floor, felt over carefully, and then as\ncarefully trodden over, to make sure nothing was concealed therein.\n\n\"Look for loose bricks in the fireplaces. See if the hearth-stones are\ntight down,\" shouted the leader, from the head of the stairs.\n\nAnd with these words, Widow Molly heard Judy's cries from the cellar\nimploring mercy from the outlaw who was hustling her about and demanding\nwhere the silver was.\n\n\"Oh, please, sah, lem me go. Don't. Oh! oh! don't.\"\n\n\"No, sah; no, sah; true es I lib, missus ain't got no silber.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear, hab marcy, please, sah; do hab marcy. Oh, _oh_!-- -- --you\nbreak my poor ol' arm.\"\n\n\"Fall on yer knees. Stop your beggin' for mercy.\"\n\n\"Yes, sah; _yes, sah_. Hab a little marcy. Oh!-- -- --.\"\n\n\"Clasp yer hands above yer head. Keep 'em up there.\"\n\n\"Oh, sah, _oh_!-- -- --\"\n\n\"Stop yer beggin'. Another whimper and I'll pull. Now, you tell quick,\nwhere the silver is, or I'll blow your old black head into mince-meat.\"\n\nJudy, shaking with fear, told him.\n\nThe outlaw came up out of the cellar, and rummaged where Judy had said.\nSecuring several small pieces of silverware, he came back into the front\nroom. Then for the first time he noticed the gun, with its bright\nmountings, which stood in the corner, and walking towards it, he\nremarked, \"That gun's mine.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Widow Molly, her affection rising as she thought of him to\nwhom the gun belonged. \"You can have anything else. That's a friend's\ngun.\"\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nHe took it, and Widow Molly, who had already stepped across the room,\nseized the gun, and with one strong, quick twist, wrested it from him.\nSetting it back in the corner, she replied, \"That you can't have as long\nas I can defend it.\"\n\nOne of the outlaws who had been keeping her prisoner now tried the same\ngame. All the woman's soul again stirred within her. She wrested the gun\nfrom him, but the struggle was hard and long.\n\n\"I tell you,\" she said, as she fell back with the gun in her\npossession--\"I tell you,\" she repeated between breaths, \"that's a\nfriend's gun, and I'll defend it. You can't have it.\"\n\nThen with the gun in her hand she walked directly across the room into\nan adjoining one, and set the gun behind the door.\n\nIn the meantime the leader passed from room to room to see what\nvaluables had been found. The outlaws put into their pockets a few\nnondescript articles that struck their fancy, but nothing of any great\nvalue, and they had searched through everything. For some time there had\nbeen cursing at their want of luck, but now that it had become\ndisappointment, their blasphemy was frightful. The whole gang came\ntramping down the stairs, swearing and threatening in ugly mood, and\nfiled into the front room. Widow Molly, who stood at the farthest side,\ngrew deathly white.\n\nThey will now, thought she, resort to some desperate scheme. She took a\nlong, deep breath, and then caught it to stop the flutter of her bosom.\n\"And no one comes!\" she almost said aloud in her emotion.\n\nAll through the time of their ransacking, she had felt that they would\nbe surprised in their robbery by a company of the townsmen, or that,\nperchance, some body of horsemen would ride up. Now that hope was wholly\ngone.\n\nBut shouts came from two outlaws in the garret who had been reaching\ndown behind the rafters.\n\n\"Gold--gold!\" they shouted. \"We've found it. We ain't _clean_ dished.\"\n\nThe outlaws in the front room surged into the hall, and yelled as the\nfinders came jumping down-stairs. The group at the foot of the stairs\nstood back to give passage, and the finders rushed through into the\nfront room, followed eagerly by the crowd.\n\nNate Crosby threw upon the table a stout, heavily-filled stocking, drew\nhis sheath-knife, severed the stocking just below where it was tied, and\npoured the contents out upon the table.\n\n\"Stand back,\" said the leader, \"whilst I count and divide.\"\n\nThe group very willingly stood back, formed a circle about the table,\nand grinned and chuckled as the coins were counted.\n\n\"One hundred and eighty pounds, all told.\"\n\nThe leader counted out a pile to each man, setting up the coins as he\ndid so. And when this was done, he handed each man his pile. \"The other\nbooty,\" he said, \"goes into the common lot.\"\n\n\"And now, my rovers,\" continued the leader, \"no more marauding for this\nday. Back to our boat, forthwith.\"\n\n\"Good-day, Dame Molly. Your hospitality has been right well enjoyed;\"\nand hurrying out of the house, the outlaws struck into a run for the\nlanding.\n\nWidow Molly sank into a chair, and let her arms fall beside her in an\nexhausted way. After a brief space she summoned energy sufficient to go\nto the window and assure herself that they were not returning. She was\njust in time to see them disappear below the curve of the cedar lot. One\noutlaw at the rear, she noticed, carried a gun. She turned swiftly and\nwent into the adjoining room to see whether the gun had been taken from\nbehind the door. It was gone. Then Widow Molly buried her face in her\nhands and cried bitterly.\n\n\n\"Devil Dan'l showed that gang the way, you may be sartin'. Who else 'ud\nknow the place and Widow Molly's name?\" was the common remark from Swan\nRiver to Penataquit.\n\nThe feeling against the outlaws was intense, and a company of men from\nfive leagues along the South Road was organized to be ready at courier's\nsummons.\n\nFor a few days the schooner's masts were seen outside the Beach,\ncoursing one day westward, and the next eastward--lingering for some\npurpose off the coast.\n\nAnother descent was expected, and the inhabitants conjectured it would\nbe made during the night. Squads of five or six men patrolled their\nneighborhoods, with horses ready to summon other squads in any\nemergency.\n\nOn the fourth night, the scattered guard-groups noticed, early in the\nevening, the low beat of the surf upon the Beach. In the course of the\nnight it grew stronger, and the pounding of each huge breaker could be\ndistinctly told.\n\nIn those days every man was a weather-prophet, and every man awake that\nnight said, \"There's a big storm off at sea, and we'll likely get it\nhere.\"\n\nThe next day broke with a dull sky and a raw east wind that betokened\nthe coming of the storm. The wind rose as the day progressed, and\nmid-afternoon a few drops of rain--the harbingers of the storm--showed\nthemselves upon the window-panes. At that very hour, the schooner,\nlow-reefed, was seen close in under the Beach, scudding westward. It was\nevident to those who saw her that she was making for some near harbor.\n\nThe night came wild and wet. The wind blew great rushing sweeps from the\nsouth-east, crowding the water up into the western part of the Bay,\nforcing it up creeks and over meadows. Between midnight and morning, the\nwind suddenly shifted into the west, like the banging of a door, and\nblew with just as great fury. The whole black area of clouds and rain\nbore back from the west. The gulls alone found life in it.\n\nIn three hours the wind wore itself out, but there followed a thick\nmorning, with the Bay and the sky all one wet blend of gray. At noon the\ndampness lifted, and the Beach showed itself.\n\nKeen eyes were not long in discerning, as they scanned it, two masts and\na hull, heeled over. The schooner was ashore--inside the Beach at the\nPoint of Woods.\n\nScudding west the afternoon before, and now ashore at the Point of Woods\nand heeled over! What was the inference from the two things? Plainly to\nevery inhabitant, that the outlaws had run the schooner into Fire Island\nfor a harbor, and when the wind made that sudden shift, the vessel had\nfouled anchor or parted chain and had gone ashore.\n\nThat afternoon there was brisk riding to summon the squads of men.\n\n\"Now's our chance, if ever. They'll hang on there till high tide 'bout\nmidnight, an' try to get 'er off. But they won't find as much water\npiled up there agin at high tide as they went ashore in. An' to-morrow,\nafter workin' an' tuggin' half the night to no purpose, they'll conclude\nto abandon her,\" were the rousing words of a man who gathered a small\nsquad at Islip within half an hour after the word of summons came.\n\nBy understanding, the place of rendezvous was the old tavern still\nstanding at Blue Point, where the road running south makes a sharp angle\nand bends to the west.\n\nTwo squads came from the west--twelve men. They halted at Widow Molly's,\nand rested a short time in that front room. They talked of the\nransacking and robbery of the house, and nothing else; boasted of the\nvengeance they would take out of those \"hell-birds;\" drank two or three\ntimes around, and then set out for Blue Point, assuring the hostess that\nthey would recover her gold.\n\nWidow Molly made no reply to this, but to Captain Ben of the Penataquit\nsquad, with whom she walked to the door, she said quietly, \"Bring back,\nif nothing else, a gun with brass mountings, which they took the last\nthing without my knowing it. It must be on board somewhere.\"\n\nA squad came up from Patchogue, and when those from the west arrived at\nthe tavern, there were twenty-six men ready for the enterprise.\n\nThree hours passed in discussing plans and selecting a leader. It could\nnot have been done in less time. Every man had _his_ ideas, and every\nman had to be heard. And so the company gradually broke up into groups.\nOne knot of men stood outside the tavern door, a group of five or six\nwere out by the barn, a number walked towards the shore to see just the\nposition the schooner lay in, thinking that a sight of her from Blue\nPoint would suggest the best move to make. When those who walked towards\nthe shore came back, they suggested that all go into the tavern and\neither all agree upon some plan or give the affair up and go home. In\nall the discussion two or three self-contained men had kept quiet,\nknowing evidently that there must be just so much futile talk, and that\nwhen this had become tiresome, the company would adopt any good plan.\n\nAmong those who had said very little was Captain Ben of Penataquit. A\nlittle vexed, he suddenly stepped into a chair and spoke: \"This talk can\ngo on till Doomsday, but it won't accomplish anything. Now, I know,\nthere has been three or four plans stated; but I propose this as the\nsurest one, though it'll take longer an' be harder on us. After dark,\nmuffle our oars, an' row across the Bay to Long Cove. Land there, draw\nour boats up an' cover 'em with sea-weed. At midnight start west along\nthe surf-shore, an' when we get opposite to where the schooner is\nashore, cross the Beach, an' surprise the crew at daybreak. That's the\nmain plan. All the rest'll have to be decided accordin' to what turns\nup.\"\n\nThis plan met a hearty reception; and someone forthwith proposed that\nCaptain Ben be made leader, which was just as heartily agreed to.\n\nIt was four miles across to Long Cove, and nearly seven miles down the\nBeach to where the schooner lay. They took with them such provisions as\ncould be secured, and as soon as twilight had wholly faded, pulled\nacross the Bay. It was past nine o'clock when they made the start, for\nthe days were then at their longest.\n\nThey struck the Beach a little east of Long Cove, but followed it up,\nentered the Cove, and drew their boats up.\n\n\"We've got plenty o' time,\" said Captain Ben, \"an' we'd better take a\nbite o' what we've got afore we start. There's no knowin' when we'll get\nthe next chance.\"\n\nStanding around the boats or sitting on the gunwales, the men ate and\ndrank and talked. Shortly after midnight they shouldered their arms,\ncrossed the Beach, and began the march westward along the surf shore.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\nThe inner side of the Beach is covered with marshes and meadows,\nindented most irregularly by the Bay. But along the ocean side there is\na smooth piece of strand, six or eight rods wide, and flanked all along\nby steep sand-hills, which sometimes rise thirty feet high. Along this\npiece of strand lay their line of march. It was hard travelling, for the\nsand, unless wet, is not firm, but yields under the foot, and gives\nforth at every step a creaking note, doubtless caused by the particles\nof salt that are commingled with the sand. The sounds coming from so\nmany footsteps made one continuous creaking, very much like the sound of\na loaded wagon drawn over a snow-packed road.\n\nThe surf boomed and pounded, rushed and seethed and swirled, so that\nthirty rods from the group the noise of their footsteps was swallowed\nup. The men, though, heard the creaking continually, and it apparently\ngrew louder and more distinct. It seemed to them to be giving the alarm\nof their coming to the whole Beach.\n\n\"I'm goin' to take to the wet sand,\" said a man in the middle of the\ngroup. \"I've had enough of this everlastin' creak, creak, creak.\"\n\nThe tide was half-way down, and as he struck for the wet sand, he was\nfollowed by the rest of the company. They found the sand firmer, and the\nwalking easier. Now and then a wave would lap up and wet their feet.\nThey were used to wet feet, all of them; but creaking sand at every\nfootstep on a midnight march they could not endure.\n\nWhen the first streaks of daylight showed themselves in the east,\nCaptain Ben put his followers in file close up under the surf hills. So\nsoon as daylight grew strong enough to define faintly the reaches of the\ncoast, he crept to the top of the row of hills, and reconnoitred the\nBeach. He could just make out dimly, a mile westward, the masts and hull\nof the stranded schooner. He backed down from the sand-hill and reported\nwhat he had seen.\n\n\"About a mile to west'ard, an' nobody stirrin' as I can make out. See\nthat your guns are all well primed an' dry. Keep in close to the hills\ntill we get abreast the spot. And now, forward!\"\n\nThere were two or three places in the hills in that mile, where the\nocean had broken through and poured its waters over low spots of beach\ninto the Bay. Cautiously the men skulked by these openings.\n\n\"I b'lieve in bein' wary,\" said a Blue Point bay-man. \"There's no\ncalc'latin' what we may run upon any minute--mebbe the hull poss on 'em\nin some o' these ere hill hollers.\"\n\nThe daylight was now fast flooding ocean and Beach and Bay. What they\nwere to do must be done quickly.\n\nCaptain Ben gathered his followers close in under the bank, while he\nclimbed to the top of the sand ridge and peered over. He saw distinctly\nthe masts of the schooner, but not the hull, as the second ridge of\nhills cut off his view. He slipped back a few yards, and directed the\nmen to range themselves abreast and crawl over the hill into the next\nvalley or, rather, depression between the surf hills and the middle\nbeach range.\n\nWhen all were over and down, he gave word to crawl on hands and knees up\nthe ridge before them, and to halt within twenty yards of the top, while\nhe again peered over.\n\nThe day was now fully open. The creeping line of men came towards the\ntop of the ridge, and Captain Ben waved his hand backwards for them to\nstop. The line halted, and every man drew himself up on his knees to\nwatch the Captain.\n\nHe had crept not three lengths after waving his hand for the line to\nhalt, when, as suddenly and unexpectedly as if some dead sailor had\nrisen from his grave among those Beach hills, a man stepped over the\ncrest of the hill.\n\nIn an instant and with one impulse, the Captain, and those in the line\nbehind him, levelled their muskets at the outlaw.\n\nHe was startled, but his senses came quick as Captain Ben growled, \"Not\na breath from you, you devil, or out goes your brains. Drop, an' crawl\nto rear.\"\n\nThe outlaw dropped upon all fours and crawled to the rear, the men all\nthe while covering him with their muskets.\n\nThe moment he reached the line, he was seized by seven or eight strong\nhands. Captain Ben was there as quick.\n\n\"Gag him.--Not a whimper from you, either!\"\n\nThe outlaw yielded as he felt a bayonet prick his side and saw a musket\nlifted above his head ready to stave his skull.\n\n\"Bind his hands behind him,\" continued the Captain. \"Tie his feet--tie\nhis legs above his knees, and muffle him.\"\n\nThen they tore the outlaw's hat into shreds, and with rough hands\nstuffed these shreds into his mouth around the gag-stick.\n\nMeanwhile, Captain Ben crept to the top of the hill and peered over. No\none else was stirring on board the schooner.\n\nThe outlaw that was now lying at the bottom of the hollow, bound so that\nhe could not move, gagged and so nearly choked that he could give no\nalarm, was doubtless the last watch, who at daylight, seeing that all\nwas well, had taken it into his head to stroll over to the ocean side,\nand see what was doing there.\n\n\"This devil out of the way and no one else stirring, there is every\nchance of surprising the outlaws before they turn out,\" thought Captain\nBen.\n\nHe, therefore, ordered the men to creep over the hill and down the slope\nas far as possible, separating all they could in doing so. Then, when he\nrose, the rest were to follow his example, rush toward the schooner, and\nboard her if possible.\n\nOver they crept and down through the grass, sticking the coarse\nsedge-stumps into their hands and knees. The time that passed in getting\nover to the ridge and down to the meadow seemed to them tenfold as long\nas it really was. They watched the schooner constantly, yet no one was\nseen stirring on board.\n\nWhen at last off the slope of the hill and down upon the level meadow,\nthe Captain rose to his feet, and, crouching very low, ran toward the\nvessel. The others quickly followed his example, all keeping the\nsharpest eye on the schooner, and ready to fall flat upon the meadow at\nthe least sign of anyone coming on deck.\n\nThey were within ten rods of the schooner, when an outlaw, half dressed,\nstepped out of the cabin gangway. He had just stepped out of his berth,\nand sailor-like, had come on deck the first thing to look at the\nweather.\n\nThe instant his head popped above the cabin entrance, every man upon the\nmeadow fell flat and watched him.\n\nIt was an exciting moment. Though they were lying as close to the ground\nas possible, there was no rank growth of new grass to conceal them, and\nhad the outlaw cast his eyes upon the meadow where they lay, he would\nsurely have detected their presence.\n\nBut although a man is out of his berth, his senses are not at their\nbrightest. He must yawn a little, and stretch himself and clear his\nthroat. All this the outlaw did his face turned from the Beach and\nlooking out over the Bay.\n\nCaptain Ben, seeing this, rose stealthily, and with one vigorous sweep\nof his arm, signalled the men to rush toward the schooner. There was not\na second lost in obeying. The splash of a dozen men in the water, who\nmade for the schooner's bow in order to board her forward, attracted\nsuddenly the outlaw's attention, and whirling around, he took in at a\nglance the whole surprise.\n\nThe schooner was harder aground aft, and lay obliquely, with her stern\nalmost touching the meadow bank. To this point Captain Ben and the\nothers of his company ran, and drew their guns on the outlaw.\n\n\"Surrender or I'll pull,\" shouted Captain Ben.\n\n\"Five minutes to consider,\" asked the outlaw, who afterwards proved to\nbe the leader of the gang.\n\n\"Not a second,\" replied the Captain. \"Speak the word, or you're a dead\nman.\"\n\nThe men who plunged for the bow of the schooner had now gained the deck,\nand were rushing for the outlaw, while those on shore kept their guns\nlevelled on him. Two of the stoutest men seized and pinioned him with\nthe main sheet.\n\nThe outlaws below, aroused by the noise, rushed up the cabin gangway\njust as they had sprung from their berths, bareheaded, barefooted, with\nbreeches and shirt on, but suspenders flapping.\n\nWhen they sprang from their berths, they caught up whatever weapons came\nfirst to hand--pistols, dirks, sheath-knives. In their excitement two\nattempted to come through the gangway at the same time, and one of\nCaptain Ben's men, seeing his advantage, instantly clubbed his musket\nand struck. The blow hurled both the outlaws back upon those rushing up\nbehind, and thus cleared for a second the gangway stairs. Down rushed\nthe man with a bayonet on his gun, followed by others. A pistol-bullet\ngouged a piece out of his left arm, but he kept his man at bay. By this\ntime all the rest of the townsmen were on board, and crowded, as many as\npossible, into the cabin. The fight grew fierce. The cabin became filled\nwith smoke from the shots fired. But there was no chance to reload, and\nthe butt of the musket was used with horrible execution. Blood flowed\nand bones were broken. The struggle, however, lasted but ten minutes. In\nthat short time most of the outlaws lay stunned upon the cabin floor;\nthe others had been pressed into berths and corners, and pinioned. And\nso soon as those upon the floor showed any signs of reviving, they were\nbound strongly. A few irons were found on board, and these were used as\nfar as they would go. The outlaws were put under guard, and given over\nto some colonial officials, but into just what custody is not now known.\n\nThe schooner was searched from stem to stern that very morning, and\nbooty of some value secured. Not a pound, though, of Widow Molly's gold\nwas brought to light. In the cabin, however, in a conspicuous place,\nhung the gun with brass mountings.\n\nAnd that night the part of the company that went westward stopped at\nWidow Molly's, and Captain Ben handed her the gun. The men lingered an\nhour in the front room, and drank the hostess' health again and again.\n\nWhen they had gone and the house had become quiet, Widow Molly took her\ncandle and the gun and went into the kitchen. She cleaned and polished\nit, working till her candle was low in the stick. Sometimes a tear fell,\nbut they were the tears that overflow from a bounding heart.\n\nA few evenings after, the young squire came. They sat and talked into\nthe quiet stretches of the evening. Then Widow Molly brought him the\ngun. As he took it he kissed her, but not one time only as at first. And\nwhen the squire carried the gun home, she who had guarded it to her\nutmost went with it, but no longer Widow Molly.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\n\n\n\n                            THE MINERAL-ROD\n\n\nJohn was a hand in the paper-mill at Islip in the twenties. The old mill\nis still standing in the western part of the village, near the road. One\nmight almost touch it with the whip when driving by. It represents\nsomething of the Islip of the twenties which was far different from the\nIslip of to-day--a quiet, steady-going village, with no incoming of\nsummer residents, and no flutter of gay summer life. A few sportsmen\nmade their way thither in the season, but it was a hard day's stage ride\nfrom South Ferry and too far away to attract even one or two of the many\nwho were accustomed to leave New York during the summer. It was a quiet,\nsteady-going place, and John was a quiet, steady-going hand, working in\nthe mill every day. He had worked there several years with apparently no\nthought of doing anything else. He liked the place. The merry rumble,\nthe cool moist air always prevalent, the stream always rushing\nunderneath turning the wheels, and ever slipping on down the creek and\nspreading out into the broad bay. And the tons and tons of paper that\nwere made and kept going off somewhere John took great pride in.\n\nBut one morning John went to his work in the mill with his mind no\nlittle disturbed. Nothing had happened out of the ordinary. His folks\nwere all well and had gone about their work that morning in the usual\nway, with no apprehension of the idea absorbing his thought. He alone\nwas disturbed. It was plain to see at the mill that his mind was\npreoccupied. He talked little. He did not so much as whistle once in\ngoing up and down stairs about his work that day. In the night he had\nhad a singular dream, and he thought it over and over all day. When he\nleft the mill at sundown, he had determined that if he should dream the\nsame thing again he would prove the dream.\n\nSeveral days passed and the impression on his mind had somehow lost its\nforce.\n\nBut just a week later to the night, he dreamed again very vividly that\nat the Point of Woods there was treasure buried between the west end of\nthe woods and the hills which flank the ocean.\n\nThe next day he narrated all the particulars of his dream to an intimate\nfriend, Peter by name; and telling him further that as this was the\nsecond time he had dreamed the same thing he purposed to get a\nmineral-rod, go on the Beach, and search over that spot of ground.\n\nPete's imagination became inflamed also, and he agreed to go with him.\n\nBut where was a mineral-rod to be got, or who knew how the magical thing\nwas to be made? If one had a mineral-rod, it was an easy matter to hold\nit with both hands and walk over ground in which gold or silver was\nburied. When one came with it near a place where precious metal was\nhidden, tradition had always asserted that the rod would bend and twist\nin one's hands and point toward the place of concealment; and such was\nthe mystic attraction between any mass of gold or silver coin and the\nrod, that no matter how firmly held it would bend down straight when\ndirectly over any spot where money was buried.\n\nJohn knew further from common tradition that this rod was always a\ncrotch cut from a witchhazel bush. But just what additions or\nmodifications were connected with it he had never heard.\n\nHe sought out, therefore, the oldest men and talked with them about\nburied treasure and mineral-rods, and in this way came upon more minute\ninformation. He followed up every clew, and at last heard of an old\ncrone living in the middle of the Island who knew how mineral-rods were\nmade, and who in her younger days had used one--proving its power, by\nholding one in her hands and traversing the garden to find some silver\ncoins which had been concealed there as a test, detecting them at last\nhid in a cabbage-head.\n\nJohn went to see her, reaching her cot at dusk and coming home in the\nevening. To do this he walked sixteen miles.\n\nAt first she was reticent.\n\n\"It ain't no use to talk of mineral-rods with no gold nor silver to look\nat nor to feel of.\"\n\nThere was no other way. So John put all the coins he had into her hand,\nand then she revealed her secret to him. Not only this, but she\nencouraged him when he told her of his plans. She related what she had\ndone in her younger days when she lived in other parts. And more, she\nexacted a promise from him of some share of what he would surely find on\nthe Beach.\n\n\"It had always been said,\" she remarked as he was leaving, \"and I've\nheerd it time an' time agin, thet Kidd buried money on thet Beach as\nwell as on Gard'ner's Islan'. Nobody hed found any as yet, because\nnobody hed s'arched in the right spot. It hed come down from gineration\nto gineration thet he was along the South Beach many times, an' thet he\ncome in the inlets an' got supplies of the Injins; an' where could he\nbury treasure thet would be safer than on thet Beach? an' if I was a\nyounger woman, or even now at my age if I hed less rheumatiz, I'd go on\nto thet Beach an' live there, an' I'd s'arch it fur miles with a min'ral\nrod.\"\n\nIn his lonely walk home he repeated the directions she had given him to\nfix them in his mind, for the old crone had been garrulous and had\nwandered from the particular subject again and again.\n\n\"Find a large witchhazel growing in moist, springy ground--near a stream\nwas best. Cut a branch shaped like the letter Y, with prongs rather\nlarger round than a man's thumb, and leave the bark on. In the prong\nrunning down from the fork and near the end remove the bark and gouge\nout a hole large enough to hold a good-sized goosequill, which must be\ngot from a pure white goose. Fill this quill with quicksilver and cover\nit tightly with kid. Then put this into the hole in the end of the\nwitchhazel crotch, pack a little cotton around it, and replace the bark.\n\n\"He must carry a lucky bone in his pocket the while, and carry it with\nhim for days before using the mineral-rod, as well as while using it.\nAll must be done secretly, and no other person should see any part of\nthe process. The rod must be concealed, and it was best to wrap it in an\nold coat till the spot of search was reached. When going to dig for\ntreasure he must take nothing that had been used--always a new spade or\nshovel.\"\n\nJohn repeated these directions over and over in his walk through the\ngreat woods which are gone now almost completely.\n\nThe bay and the ocean to the south, the heavy forests north of the line\nof hamlets along the shores of the bay--such were the conditions at that\ntime. To-day one can picture and realize those conditions to some\ndegree,\n\n  \"Among the groves at Mastic.\"\n\nThe heavy forest engendered one sense of mystery, the sea engendered\nanother. It is, then, no matter of surprise that in those days\nsuperstition and imagination had their rude votaries, and that there\nwere more of this class than we are willing in these years to admit.\n\nIt was a month before the mineral-rod was completed, and then a\nfortnight more went by before all other arrangements and provisions for\nthe expedition were made ready.\n\nAt last John and his friend Pete, who believed as confidently as he in\nburied treasure and the magical power of the mineral-rod to reveal the\nspot, sailed out of Doxsee's creek and headed their craft for the Point\nof Woods.\n\nIt was a long sail, as they had to beat all the way across. When they\nreached the beach, they drew their boat up close to shore and made\neverything as secure as could be. They had plenty of time, for the\ndaylight still lingered. And as they could not begin their search till\nafter it was fully dark, they concluded to go to the tract of beach,\nlook it thoroughly over, and determine where they would begin the\nsearch, and what should be the plan of walking over it with the\nmineral-rod.\n\nThis plan they discussed at great length.\n\n\"It's my opinion,\" said Pete, \"that the only good way to do is to select\nsome place as a centre, and then walk around this making your circle\nbigger all the time.\"\n\nBut John opposed this strongly saying, \"I don't believe the mineral\nrod'll work as well that way; and what is more, you're likely to miss\ngoing over a good deal of ground, for it's a pretty hard thing to keep\nthe right curve when you're several rods out from the centre.\"\n\n\"But can't you make the circles smaller and close together,\" replied\nPete, \"and then some of the ground'll be searched over twice?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered John; \"there's too much hit-and-miss about that. The best\nway, and the only right way is to begin on the top of the ridge of them\nsurf hills and walk lengthwise of the Beach, just as near a bee-line as\npossible; and when you've gone over one length of the ground, then turn\nand walk back within two feet of the first line, and so on till you've\ngone over the hull ground to the edge of the woods.\"\n\nEach one held firmly to his own opinion, but John had the advantage in\nthat he had proposed this quest and had made the greater part of the\npreparations for it.\n\nDarkness had now fully settled. The wind blew out of the east, clear,\ndry, and cool. The stars shone with the lustre of a cold sky. Large and\nsmall, each glistened distinctly in the great dome. The night was\nbeautiful, yet neither of these men appreciated the beauty or the\nmystery that surrounded them.\n\nUnable to agree, they had returned to their boat. John took out the\nmineral-rod wrapped in an old coat, and Pete took the two new shovels\nand threw them over his shoulder. John led the way, and they walked over\nto the top of the hills.\n\n\"Accordin' to my dream,\" spoke John, \"this is far enough west to begin.\nStick one shovel down here, and the other we'll use at the east end in\nthe same way so as to keep track of what we've been over. We'll have to\nchange the shovel at each end every time till we get over to the edge of\nthe woods.\"\n\nPete pushed the shovel into the sand, and John undid the coat and took\nout the mineral-rod. He was excited as he grasped each branch, pushed\nout his arms, and held the rod in proper position. His hands trembled as\nhe started, and the tighter he grasped the rod--one of the conditions\nnecessary for him to observe--the more his hands shook. He walked\ncarefully over the uneven surface of the ridge till he reached the\neastern limit according to his dream. Pete drove the shovel into the\nsand at this end, and they began the search back. Slowly back and forth\nthey walked these long bouts, working laboriously down the slope of the\nhills. It was tiring work. John's attention was strained again and\nagain. Time after time he would stop, retrace his steps and walk a\nsecond time over some spot, going very slowly indeed and clutching the\nmineral-rod so tightly that the tremor of his hands deceived and balked\nhim. Often he would become so perplexed that he would put the rod into\nPete's hands, send him back to the starting-point, and then walk behind\nhim till the uncertain spot had been passed and Pete had said he could\nfeel no bending down or pointing of the rod. The more, however, Pete was\ncalled upon to use the rod, the more uncertain he himself grew.\nSometimes they both fell to doubting, and then it took them more than an\nhour to traverse one length of beach and back. To add to their\nexcitement, they were approaching the middle part of the Beach, the very\nplace where they believed they would surely find an indication of buried\ngold.\n\nThe night, however, had gone faster than they were aware. The day was\nbreaking faintly in the east, and when searching up to the top of a\nsmall hillock, they suddenly noticed the dawn.\n\nThe search they both knew must be conducted at night.\n\nWhat was it best to do?\n\n\"We've got to stop, make marks of some kind to show us where we left\noff, and come back again at dark to-night and go over the rest of the\nground.\"\n\nSo they wrapped the mineral-rod up in the coat, heaped up a little mound\nof sand where both shovels stood, took these, and made their way to the\nboat.\n\nThey were hungry, but they did not delay to eat. It was best for them,\nthey felt, to get away from that part of the Beach.\n\nAccordingly they got their boat under way, and as they sailed eastward\nalong the Beach, tired and chilly, they ate their breakfast. After they\nhad sailed four or five miles they headed out into the bay. When the sun\nwas well up, they put about and steered directly for the Beach. On the\nflats they anchored, lay down in their boat, and went to sleep.\n\nJust before dusk that night they were back at the Point of Woods. As\nsoon as the day had completely gone they stood up the shovels in the\nmounds they had made at daybreak that morning, undid again the\nmineral-rod and began anew the search. They worked carefully for three\nhours, becoming at times confused, as on the previous night, and\nfrequently retracing their steps and going over many places a second\ntime. They had worked their way, however, nearly over to the outskirts\nof the wood. John had come to a small hillock, perhaps four feet high,\nand was walking up over it when suddenly he felt the end of the rod\ndrawn strongly down. He could not mistake this. Some decided force had\npulled the end of the mineral-rod down, and it pointed obliquely to the\nhillock.\n\n\"There's no doubt this time,\" he said as he stepped back a few paces,\nfeeling as he did so some decrease in the force exerted upon the end of\nthe mineral-rod. \"You get the shovel to the west and bring the old coat\nhere. I'll get the shovel behind us. This, I tell you, is the very\nspot.\"\n\nEach of them was highly excited as he came back to the hillock.\n\n\"Hold on,\" said John as he restrained Pete from striking his shovel into\nthe sand. \"Let's begin together, and remember that come whatever will,\nnot one word must be spoken while we're digging--not a sound till we've\ngot what there is here completely out of the hole.\"\n\n\"Now I'm ready,\" said John after a second, and they began to dig\nvigorously.\n\nIt proved warm work, and shortly each in silence took off his coat and\nlaid it with the mineral-rod. Half an hour passed and there was a\ndecided slackening in the rate of digging. Whether they were beginning\nto doubt or not, nothing could be said. At length Pete's shovel struck\nsomething. He drove it into the same spot for another shovelful. As it\nstruck he heard a hollow thud. Then John struck it with his shovel and\nagain came the same hollow sound.\n\nThere was something here surely, each thought, yet neither of them\nspoke. They were unable to make out exactly what it was, other than wood\nof some sort, for their shovels cut into it as they struck it. But every\ntime there came the hollow sound.\n\nJohn began to widen the hole they were digging, and Pete soon noticed\nthis, and followed John's example.\n\nThe wind now blew a strong breeze, for it had gradually risen as the\nnight had progressed.\n\nThreatening clouds were bunching up and drifting across the sky. All the\nsigns indicated a coming southeasterly storm, and it would likely be\nsevere while it lasted.\n\nBoth men thought of this, for they were weatherwise. Still they might\ndig on two hours longer if necessary.\n\nAfter widening the hole, they dug toward the centre, where they had\nstruck the wood, and then down by the mysterious dark object. The sky\nwas becoming more obscured and they could not see so well, even though\nthe pupils of their eyes were dilated to the utmost. They dug farther\ndown beside it. John reached a place where he got his shovel underside\nand began to pry. Something gave way slightly. He dug again, and got his\nshovel farther under and pried harder. The dark object began to crack.\nPete seized hold of it with both hands and exerted all his strength. It\ngave way and they rolled it out of the hole. Then they examined it with\ntheir hands, feeling it all over. It was the hollow stump of a tree.\nJohn ran his arm to the bottom of the hole several times, but took out\nnothing but sand.\n\nHe stood a moment contemplating and then with his foot he pushed it\nangrily back into the hole. Quickly he turned, gathered up the coats and\nhis shovel, and set off for the boat. Pete followed, and not a word was\nuttered.\n\nThey got their boat under way, each maintaining silence. The wind was\nfree. John let the sheet run, and they swept out into the broad bay. The\nwaves ran high. Their boat, as if a thing of life and spirit, would\npoise on the top of a wave while its crest broke with a rushing sound,\nand then drop gradually behind into its trough. Then the next wave would\ncome up astern and bear them up in the same manner. And so their little\nboat rode each wave and swept onward. The rhythmic movement of the boat\nand waves had a quieting and solacing effect upon these disappointed\nargonauts. Half-way across, Pete spoke and said, \"John, that hillock was\ncovered with brier-bushes, you remember. That must have been a brier\nthat pulled down the end of the rod.\"\n\nJohn made no reply to this, but ten minutes later he broke his silence:\n\n\"Pete,\" he said suddenly, \"hand me that stone forward with the rope tied\nto it. Now give me that old coat. No, hold on! You come here and steer.\"\n\nHe moved forward, then tied the stone tightly to the old coat. Standing\nup, he threw the bundle from him with all his might, saying as he did\nso, \"There goes that cussed thing overboard. I wish to thunder I had the\nmoney I put into that darned old granny's hands six weeks ago.\"\n\n\nHaving proved his dream, John returned to his work in the mill. He\nworked there contentedly several years longer. He liked the place. The\nmerry rumble, the stream always rushing underneath, turning the wheels\nand slipping on down the creek and spreading out into the broad bay. And\nthe tons and tons of paper that were made and kept going off somewhere\nJohn took greater pride in than ever.\n\n    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]\n\n\n\n\n                                 NOTES.\n\n\n                                Page 22.\n\nWatch Hill is a prominent hill on the Beach opposite Patchogue.\n\n\n                                Page 41.\n\nQuanch is a landing-place on the Beach opposite Otis's Point.\n\n\n                                Page 46.\n\nBetween the years 1710 and 1720 as many as twenty whales were taken in a\nsingle season by the crews on the Beach.\n\n\n                                Page 47.\n\nFiddleton is a mile and a half west of Quanch.\n\nPickety Rough is a strip of beach east of Point o' Woods, so called\nbecause of the prickly growth of bushes there.\n\n\n                                Page 59.\n\n\"The Gore in the Hills\" was a name given to a tract of land near\nYaphank, over which a dispute arose in the last century. This dispute\nwas settled by arbitration in 1753.\n\n\n                                Page 60.\n\n\"Squasux\"--the Indian name for the landing on Carman's River, at the end\nof the Brookhaven Neck road.\n\nThe last owner of the house here alluded to was the late Joseph Carman.\n\n\n                                Page 62.\n\n\"The Inlet\" referred to began to close up in the early part of this\ncentury. Small coasting vessels sailed out of this inlet as late as\n1816. The inlet kept filling in, however, and the small channel was at\nlast blocked by a brig which went ashore at the mouth of it. Soon after\nthe channel filled up completely. This brig was loaded with grindstones,\nand on this account was popularly called the \"Grindstone Brig.\" This\nspot of beach has been known ever since as \"Old Inlet.\" It is opposite\nthe extreme eastern end of Bellport.\n\n\n                            Pages 63 and 64.\n\nThis incident actually occurred as here related.\n\n\n                                Page 65.\n\nBetween the years 1780 and 1785 the persecution of Judge William Smith\nby certain townspeople was so great that he was compelled, in order to\nsave his life, to give up a part of his estate to them.\n\nHis barns were burned to the ground, with a loss of thirty horses, and\nall his orchards were girdled. The burning of his dwelling was intended,\nbut for some cause this intention was not carried out.\n\nHe had, moreover, a narrow escape from being shot through his bedroom\nwindow as he was going to bed. It so happened that his wife was all the\ntime between him and the window, and the three men outside could not\ncover him with their muskets without covering her at the same time.\n\nJudge William Smith lived at the Manor of St. George (Smith's Point)\nwhere the late Egbert Tangier Smith resided nearly the whole of his\nlife.\n\n\n                                Page 99.\n\nThe landing, now a thing of the past, was on the shore now embraced in\nWood Acres--the estate of Mr. George T. Lyman at Bellport.\n\n\n                               Page 124.\n\nClam Hollow is situated midway between Bellport and Brookhaven. Within\nthe past forty years the heavy woods have been cut down, the road made\nsomewhat straighter, the hollow raised several feet, and the western\nhill cut down.\n\nBrewster's Brook, previously called Dayton's Brook, but known for the\npast sixty years as Osborn's Brook, is in the eastern part of Bellport\nat the foot of the hill.\n\n\n                               Page 128.\n\nThe Mills was the old name for South Haven because of the grist and saw\nmills situated there at the foot of the pond.\n\n\n                               Page 137.\n\n\"Near Southampton,\" etc., about a mile west of \"St. Andrews by the Sea.\"\n\n\n                               Page 139.\n\nAfter the breaking up of the ship, it was the custom of certain farmers\nin the fall, when the neap tides would permit, to plow along the shore,\nand the waves cutting over the upturned furrows would wash out these\nSpanish coins.\n\n\n                               Page 143.\n\nThe present residence alluded to was known for a long time as the Corse\nPlace.\n\nChamplin's stood where the South Side Club House now stands.\n\n\n                               Page 149.\n\n\"Inlet near the Manor of St. George.\" See note to page 62.\n\n\n                               Page 171.\n\n\"Penataquit\"--an Indian word--the early post-office name of Bay Shore.\n\n\n                               Page 173.\n\nLong Cove is about three-quarters of a mile east of Watch Hill.\n\n\n\n\n                          Transcriber's Notes\n\n\n--Retained copyright information from the printed edition: this eBook is\n  public-domain in the country of publication.\n\n--Provided a cover and spine image based on the Title Page.\n\n--Silently corrected a few palpable typos.\n\n--In the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by\n  _underscores_.","title":"Legends of Fire Island Beach and the South Side","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":31510}