{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_6614/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_6614","id":"gutenberg_6614","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6614","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Folklore -- United States"],"text":"Produced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\n                           MYTHS AND LEGENDS\n                                   OF\n                              OUR OWN LAND\n\n                                   By\n                           Charles M. Skinner\n\n                                Vol. 9.\n\n\n                          AS TO BURIED TREASURE\n\n                                  AND\n\n                  STORIED WATERS, CLIFFS, AND MOUNTAINS\n\n\n\nCONTENTS:\n\nAS TO BURIED TREASURE\n\nKidd's Treasure\nOther Buried Wealth\n\n\nSTORIED WATERS, CLIFFS, AND MOUNTAINS\n\nMonsters and Sea-Serpents\nStone-Throwing Devils\nStoried Springs\nLovers' Leaps\nGod on the Mountains\n\n\n\n\n\nAS TO BURIED RICHES\n\n\n\nKIDD'S TREASURE\n\nCaptain Kidd is the most ubiquitous gentleman in history. If his earnings\nin the gentle craft of piracy were frugally husbanded, he has possibly\nleft some pots of money in holes in the ground between Key West and\nHalifax. The belief that large deposits of gold were made at Gardiner's\nIsland, Dunderberg, Cro' Nest, New York City, Coney Island, Ipswich, the\nmarshes back of Boston, Cape Cod, Nantucket, Isles of Shoals, Money\nIsland, Ocean Beach, the Bahamas, the Florida Keys, and elsewhere has\ncaused reckless expenditure of actual wealth in recovering doubloons and\nguineas that disappointed backers of these enterprises are beginning to\nlook upon--no, not to look upon, but to think about--as visionary. A hope\nof getting something for nothing has been the impetus to these\nindustries, and interest in the subject is now and then revived by\nreports of the discovery--usually by a farmer ploughing near the\nshore--of an iron kettle with a handful of gold and silver coins in it,\nthe same having doubtless been buried for purposes of concealment during\nthe wars of 1776 and 1812.\n\nGardiner's Island, a famous rendezvous for pirates, is the only place\nknown to have been used as a bank of deposit, for in 1699 the Earl of\nBellomont recovered from it seven hundred and eighty-three ounces of\ngold, six hundred and thirty-three ounces of silver, cloth of gold,\nsilks, satins, and jewels. In the old Gardiner mansion, on this island,\nwas formerly preserved a costly shawl given to Mrs. Gardiner by Captain\nKidd himself. This illustrious Kidd--or Kydd--was born in New York, began\nhis naval career as a chaser of pirates, became a robber himself, was\ncaptured in Boston, where he was ruffling boldly about the streets, and\nwas hanged in London in 1701. In sea superstitions the apparition of his\nship is sometimes confused with that of the Flying Dutchman.\n\nAt Lion's Rock, near Lyme, Connecticut, a part of his treasure is under\nguard of a demon that springs upon intruders unless they recite Scripture\nwhile digging for the money.\n\nCharles Island, near Milford, Connecticut, was dug into, one night, by a\ncompany from that town that had learned of Kidd's visit to it--and what\ncould Kidd be doing ashore unless he was burying money? The lid of an\niron chest had been uncovered when the figure of a headless man came\nbounding out of the air, and the work was discontinued right then. The\nfigure leaped into the pit that had been dug, and blue flames poured out\nof it. When the diggers returned, their spades and picks were gone and\nthe ground was smooth.\n\nMonhegan Island, off the Maine coast, contains a cave, opening to the\nsea, where it was whispered that treasure had been stored in care of\nspirits. Searchers found within it a heavy chest, which they were about\nto lift when one of the party--contrary to orders--spoke. The spell was\nbroken, for the watchful spirits heard and snatched away the treasure.\nSome years ago the cave was enlarged by blasting, in a hope of finding\nthat chest, for an old saying has been handed down among the people of\nthe island--from whom it came they have forgotten--that was to this\neffect: \"Dig six feet and you will find iron; dig six more and you will\nfind money.\"\n\nOn Damariscotta Island, near Kennebec, Maine, is a lake of salt water,\nwhich, like dozens of shallow ones in this country, is locally reputed to\nbe bottomless. Yet Kidd was believed to have sunk some of his valuables\nthere, and to have guarded against the entrance of boats by means of a\nchain hung from rock to rock at the narrow entrance, bolts on either side\nshowing the points of attachment, while ring bolts were thought to have\nbeen driven for the purpose of tying buoys, thus marking the spots where\nthe chests went down. This island, too, has been held in fear as haunted\nground.\n\nAppledore, in the Isles of Shoals, was another such a hiding-place, and\nKidd put one of his crew to death that he might haunt the place and\nfrighten searchers from their quest. For years no fisherman could be\ninduced to land there after nightfall, for did not an islander once\nencounter \"Old Bab\" on his rounds, with a red ring around his neck, a\nfrock hanging about him, phosphorescence gleaming from his body, who\npeered at the intruder with a white and dreadful face, and nearly scared\nhim to death?\n\nA spot near the Piscataqua River was another hiding-place, and early in\nthis century the ground was dug over, two of the seekers plying pick and\nspade, while another stood within the circle they had drawn about the\nspot and loudly read the Bible. Presently their implements clicked on an\niron chest, but it slid sideway into the ground as they tried to uncover\nit, and at last an interruption occurred that caused them to stop work so\nlong that when they went to look for it again it had entirely\ndisappeared. This diversion was the appearance of a monster horse that\nflew toward them from a distance without a sound, but stopped short at\nthe circle where the process of banning fiends was still going on, and,\nafter grazing and walking around them for a time, it dissolved into air.\n\nKidd's plug is a part of the craggy steep known as Cro' Nest, on the\nHudson. It is a projecting knob, like a bung closing an orifice, which is\nbelieved to conceal a cavern where the redoubtable captain placed a few\nbarrels of his wealth. Though it is two hundred feet up the cliff,\ninaccessible either from above or below, and weighs many tons, still, as\npirates and devils have always been friendly, it may be that the corking\nof the cave was accomplished with supernatural help, and that if blasts\nor prayers ever shake the stone from its place a shower of doubloons and\ndiamonds may come rattling after it.\n\nThe shore for several hundred feet around Dighton Rock, Massachusetts,\nhas been examined, for it was once believed that the inscriptions on it\nwere cut by Kidd to mark the place of burial for part of his hoard.\n\nThe Rock Hill estate, Medford, Massachusetts, was plagued by a spectre\nthat some thought to be that of a New Hampshire farmer who was robbed and\nmurdered there, but others say it is the shade of Kidd, for iron treasure\nchests were found in the cellar that behaved like that on the Piscataqua\nRiver, sinking out of sight whenever they were touched by shovels.\n\nMisery Islands, near Salem, Massachusetts, were dug over, and under\nspiritual guidance, too, for other instalments of Mr. Kidd's\nacquisitions, but without avail.\n\nIt takes no less than half a dozen ghosts to guard what is hidden in\nMoney Hill, on Shark River, New Jersey, so there must be a good deal of\nit. Some of these guardians are in sailor togs, some in their mouldy\nbones, some peaceable, some noisy with threats and screams and groans--a\n\"rum lot,\" as an ancient mariner remarked, who lives near their graves\nand daytime hiding-places. Many heirlooms are owned by Jerseymen\nhereabout that were received from Kidd's sailors in exchange for\napple-jack and provisions, and two sailor-looking men are alleged to have\ntaken a strong-box out of Money Hill some years ago, from which they\nabstracted two bags of gold. After that event the hill was dug over with\ngreat earnestness, but without other result to the prospectors than the\ncultivation of their patience.\n\nSandy Hook, New Jersey, near \"Kidd's tree,\" and the clay banks of the\nAtlantic highlands back of that point, are suspected hiding-places; but\nthe cairn or knoll called Old Woman's Hill, at the highlands, is not\nhaunted by Kidd's men, as used to be said, but by the spirit of a\ndiscontented squaw. This spirit the Indians themselves drove away with\nstones.\n\nAt Oyster Point, Maryland, lived Paddy Dabney, who recognized Kidd from\nan old portrait on meeting him one evening in 1836. He was going home\nlate from the tavern when a light in a pine thicket caused him to turn\nfrom the road. In a clearing among the trees, pervaded by a pale shine\nwhich seemed to emanate from its occupants, a strange company was playing\nat bowls. A fierce-looking reprobate who was superintending the game\nglanced up, and, seeing Paddy's pale face, gave such a leap in his\ndirection that the Irishman fled with a howl of terror and never stopped\ntill he reached his door, when, on turning about, he found that the\nphantom of the pirate chief had vanished. The others, he conceived, were\ndevils, for many a sea rover had sold himself to Satan. Captain Teach, or\nBlackbeard, proved as much to his crew by shutting himself in the hold of\nhis ship, where he was burning sulphur to destroy rats, and withstanding\nsuffocation for several hours; while one day a dark man appeared on board\nwho was not one of the crew at the sailing, and who had gone as\nmysteriously as he came on the day before the ship was wrecked. It was\nknown that Kidd had buried his Bible in order to ingratiate the evil one.\n\nA flat rock on the north shore of Liberty Island, in New York harbor, was\nalso thought to mark the place of this pervasive wealth of the pirates.\nAs late as 1830, Sergeant Gibbs, one of the garrison at the island, tried\nto unearth it, with the aid of a fortune-teller and a recruit, but they\nhad no sooner reached a box about four feet in length than a being with\nwings, horns, tail, and a breath, the latter palpable in blue flames,\nburst from the coffer. Gibbs fell unconscious into the water and narrowly\nescaped drowning, while his companions ran away, and the treasure may\nstill be there for aught we know.\n\nBack in the days before the Revolution, a negro called Mud Sam, who lived\nin a cabin at the Battery, New York City, was benighted at about the\nplace where One Hundredth Street now touches East River while waiting\nthere for the tide to take him up the Sound. He beguiled the time by a\nnap, and, on waking, he started to leave his sleeping place under the\ntrees to regain his boat, when the gleam of a lantern and the sound of\nvoices coming up the bank caused him to shrink back into the shadow. At\nfirst he thought that he might be dreaming, for Hell Gate was a place of\nsuch repute that one might readily have bad dreams there, and the legends\nof the spot passed quickly through his mind: the skeletons that lived in\nthe wreck on Hen and Chickens and looked out at passing ships with blue\nlights in the eye-sockets of their skulls; the brown fellow, known as\n\"the pirate's spuke,\" that used to cruise up and down the wrathful\ntorrent, and was snuffed out of sight for some hours by old Peter\nStuyvesant with a silver bullet; a black-looking scoundrel with a split\nlip, who used to brattle about the tavern at Corlaer's Hook, and who\ntumbled into East River while trying to lug an iron chest aboard of a\nsuspicious craft that had stolen in to shore in a fog. This latter bogy\nwas often seen riding up Hell Gate a-straddle of that very chest,\nsnapping his fingers at the stars and roaring Bacchanalian odes, just as\nskipper Onderdonk's boatswain, who had been buried at sea without\nprayers, chased the ship for days, sitting on the waves, with his shroud\nfor a sail, and shoving hills of water after the vessel with the plash of\nhis hands.\n\nThese grewsome memories sent a quake through Mud Sam's heart, but when\nthe bushes cracked under the strangers' tread, he knew that they were of\nflesh and bone, and, following them for a quarter-mile into the wood, he\nsaw them dig a hole, plant a strong-box there, and cover it. A\nthreatening remark from one of the company forced an exclamation from the\nnegro that drew a pistol-shot upon him, and he took to his heels. Such a\nfright did he receive that he could not for several years be persuaded to\nreturn, but when that persuasion came in the form of a promise of wealth\nfrom Wolfert Webber, a cabbage-grower of the town, and promises of\nprotection from Dr. Knipperhausen, who was skilled in incantations, he\nwas not proof against it, and guided the seekers to the spot.\n\nAfter the doctor had performed the proper ceremonies they fell to work,\nbut no sooner had their spades touched the lid of an iron-bound chest\nthan a sturdy rogue with a red flannel cap leaped out of the bushes. They\nsaid afterward that he had the face of the brawler who was drowned at\nCorlaer's Hook, but, in truth, they hardly looked at him in their flight;\nnor, when the place was revisited, could any mark of digging be found,\nnor any trace of treasure, so that part of Kidd's wealth may be at this\nmoment snugly stowed in the cellar of a tenement. Webber had engaged in\nso many crazy enterprises of this nature that he had neglected cabbage\nculture, and had grown so poor that the last disappointment nearly broke\nhis heart. He retired to his chamber and made his will, but on learning\nthat a new street had been run across his farm and that it would\npresently be worth ten times as much for building-lots as it ever had\nbeen for cabbages, he leaped out of bed, dressed himself, and prospered\nfor many a day after.\n\n\n\n\nOTHER BURIED WEALTH\n\nThe wealth of the Astors hardly exceeds the treasure that is supposed to\nbe secreted here and there about the country, and thousands of dollars\nhave been expended in dredging rivers and shallow seas, and in blasting\ncaves and cellars. Certain promoters of these schemes have enjoyed\nsalaries as officers in the stock companies organized for their\nfurtherance, and they have seen the only tangible results from such\nenterprises.\n\nOne summer evening, in the middle of the seventeenth century, a bark\ndropped anchor at the mouth of Saugus River, Massachusetts, and four of\nthe crew rowed to the woods that skirt its banks and made a landing. The\nvessel had disappeared on the following morning, but in the forge at the\nsettlement was found a paper stating that if a certain number of shackles\nand handcuffs were made and secretly deposited at a specified place in\nthe forest, a sum of money equal to their value would be found in their\nstead on the next day. The order was filled and the silver was found, as\npromised, but, though a watch was set, nothing further was seen of men or\nship for several months.\n\nThe four men did return, however, and lived by themselves amid the woods\nof Saugus, the gossips reporting that a beautiful woman had been seen in\ntheir company--the mistress of the pirate chief, for, of course, the\nmysterious quartette had followed the trade of robbery on the high seas.\nThree of these men were captured, taken to England, and hanged, but the\nfourth-Thomas Veale--escaped to a cavern in the wood, where, it was\nreputed, great treasures were concealed, and there he lived until the\nearthquake of 1658, when a rock fell from the roof of the cave, closing\nthe entrance and burying the guilty man in a tomb where, it is presumed,\nhe perished of thirst and hunger. Dungeon Rock, of Lynn, is the name that\nthe place has borne ever since.\n\nIn 1852 Hiram Marble announced that he had been visited by spirits, who\nnot only told him that the pirates' spoils were still in their olden\nhiding-place, but pointed out the spot where the work of excavation\nshould begin. Aided by his son he tunnelled the solid granite for a\ndistance of one hundred and thirty-five feet, the passage being seven\nfeet high and seven wide. Whenever he was wearied the \"mediums\" that he\nconsulted would tell him to make cuttings to the right or left, and for\nevery fresh discouragement they found fresh work. For thirty years this\ntask was carried on, both father and son dying without gaining any\npractical result, other than the discovery of an ancient scabbard in a\nrift. The heiress of the house of Marble alone reaped benefit from their\nlabors, for-resuming on a petty scale the levies of the first dwellers in\nthe rock--she boldly placarded the entrance to the workings \"Ye who enter\nhere leave twenty-five cents behind.\"\n\nIn several cases the chasms that have been caused by wear of water or\nconvulsions of nature (their opposite sides being matched) were believed\nto have been hiding-places, but, in the old days in New England, it was\nbelieved that all such fractures were caused by the earthquake at the\ntime of the crucifixion--a testimony of the power of God to shake\nsinners.\n\nThe Heart of Greylock is the name given to the crater-like recess, a\nthousand feet deep, in the tallest of the Berkshire peaks, but it was\nformerly best known as Money Hole, and the stream that courses through it\nas Money Brook, for a gang of counterfeiters worked in that recess, and\nthere some spurious coinage may still be concealed. The stream is also\nknown as Spectre Brook, for late wandering hunters and scouting soldiers,\nseeing the forgers moving to and fro about their furnaces, took them for\nghosts.\n\nProvince Island, in Lake Memphremagog, Vermont, is believed to contain\nsome of the profits of an extensive smuggling enterprise that was carried\non near the lake for several years.\n\nA little company of Spanish adventurers passed along the base of the\nGreen Mountains early in the last century, expecting to return after\nhaving some dealings with the trading stations on the St. Lawrence; so\nthey deposited a part of their gold on Ludlow Mountain, Vermont, and\nanother pot of it on Camel's Hump. They agreed that none should return\nwithout his companions, but they were detained in the north and\nseparated, some of them going home to Spain. Late in life the sole\nsurvivor of the company went to Camel's Hump and tried to recall where\nthe treasure had been hidden, but in vain.\n\nWhile flying from the people whose declaration of independence had\nalready been written in the blood of the king's troops at Concord, the\nroyal governor--Wentworth--was embarrassed by a wife and a\ntreasure-chest. He had left his mansion, at Smith's Pond, New Hampshire,\nand was making toward Portsmouth, where he was to enjoy the protection of\nthe British fleet, but the country was up in arms, time was important,\nand as his wearied horses could not go on without a lightening of the\nburden, he was forced to leave behind either Lady Wentworth or his other\nriches. As the lady properly objected to any risk of her own safety, the\nchest was buried at an unknown spot in the forest, and for a century and\nmore the whereabouts of the Wentworth plate and money-bags have been a\nmatter of search and conjecture.\n\nWhen the Hessian troops marched from Saratoga to Boston, to take ship\nafter Burgoyne's surrender, they were in wretched condition-war-worn,\nragged, and ill fed,--and having much with them in the form of plate and\njewels that had been spared by their conquerors, together with some of\nthe money sent from England for their hire, they were in constant fear of\nattack from the farmers, who, though they had been beaten, continued to\nregard them with an unfavorable eye. On reaching Dalton, Massachusetts,\nthe Hessians agreed among themselves to put their valuables into a\nhowitzer, which they buried in the woods, intending that some of their\nnumber should come back at the close of the war and recover it. An Indian\nhad silently followed them for a long distance, to gather up any\nunconsidered trifles that might be left in their bivouacs, and he marked\nthe route by blazes on the trees; but if he saw the burial of this novel\ntreasury it meant nothing to him, and the knowledge of the hiding-place\nwas lost. For years the populace kept watch of all strangers that came to\ntown, and shadowed them if they went to the woods, but without result. In\nabout the year 1800 the supposed hiding-place was examined closely and\nexcavations were made, but, as before, nothing rewarded the search.\n\nA tree of unknown age--the Old Elm--stood on Boston Common until within a\nfew years. This veteran, torn and broken by many a gale and\nlightning-stroke, was a gallows in the last century, and Goody Glover had\nswung from it in witch-times. On tempestuous nights, when the boughs\ncreaked together, it was said that dark shapes might be seen writhing on\nthe branches and capering about the sward below in hellish glee. On a\ngusty autumn evening in 1776 a muffled form presented itself,\nunannounced, at the chamber of Mike Wild, and, after that notorious miser\nhad enough recovered from the fear created by the presence to understand\nwhat it said to him, he realized that it was telling him of something\nthat in life it had buried at the foot of the Old Elm. After much\nhesitancy Mike set forth with his ghostly guide, for he would have risked\nhis soul for money, but on arriving at his destination he was startled to\nfind himself alone. Nothing daunted, he set down his lantern and began to\ndig. Though he turned up many a rood of soil and sounded with his spade\nfor bags and chests of gold, he found nothing. Strange noises\noverhead--for the wind was high and the twigs seemed to snicker eerily as\nthey crossed each other-sent thrills along his back from time to time,\nand he was about to return, half in anger, half in fear, when his spirit\nvisitor emerged from behind the tree and stood before him. The mien was\nthreatening, the nose had reddened and extended, the hair was rumpled,\nand the brow was scowling. The frown of the gold monster grew more awful,\nthe stare of his eye in the starlight more unbearable, and he was\ncrouching and creeping as if for a spring. Mike could endure no more. He\nfainted, and awakened in the morning in his own chamber, where, to a\nneighbor who made an early call, he told--with embellishments--the story\nof the encounter; but before he had come to the end of the narrative the\nvisitor burst into a roar of laughter and confessed that he had\npersonated the supernatural visitant, having wagered a dozen bottles of\nwine with the landlord of the Boar's Head that he could get the better of\nMike Wild. For all this the old tree bore, for many years, an evil\nreputation.\n\nA Spanish galleon, the Saints Joseph and Helena, making from Havana to\nCadiz in 1753 was carried from her course by adverse winds and tossed\nagainst a reef, near New London, Connecticut, receiving injuries that\ncompelled her to run into that port for repairs. To reach her broken ribs\nmore easily her freight was put on shore in charge of the collector of\nthe port, but when it was desired to ship the cargo again, behold! the\nquarter part of it had disappeared, none could say how. New London got a\nbad name from this robbery, and the governor, though besought by the\nassembly to make good the shortage, failed to do so, and lost his place\nat the next election. It was reputed that some of the treasure was buried\non the shore by the robbers. In 1827 a woman who was understood to have\nthe power of seership published a vision to a couple of young blades, who\nhad paid for it, to the effect that hidden under one of the grass-grown\nwharves was a box of dollars. By the aid of a crystal pebble she received\nthis really valuable information, but the pebble was not clear enough to\nreveal the exact place of the box. She could see, however, that the\ndollars were packed edgewise. When New London was sound asleep the young\nmen stole out and by lantern-light began their work. They had dug to\nwater-level when they reached an iron chest, and they stooped to lift\nit-but, to their amazement, the iron was too hot to handle! Now they\nheard deep growls, and a giant dog peered at them from the pit-mouth; red\neyes flashed at them from the darkness; a wild-goose, with eyes of\nblazing green, hovered and screamed above them. Though the witch had\npromised them safety, nothing appeared to ward off the fantastic shapes\nthat began to crowd about them. Too terrified to work longer they sprang\nout and made away, and when-taking courage from the sunshine--they\nrenewed the search, next day, the iron chest had vanished.\n\nOn Crown Point, Lake Champlain, is the ruin of a fort erected by Lord\nAmherst above the site of a French work that had been thrown up in 1731\nto guard a now vanished capital of fifteen hundred people. It was\ndeclared that when the French evacuated the region they buried money and\nbullion in a well, in the northwest corner of the bastion, ninety feet\ndeep, in the full expectancy of regaining it, and half a century ago this\nbelief had grown to such proportions that fifty men undertook to clear\nthe well, pushing their investigations into various parts of the\nenclosure and over surrounding fields. They found quantities of lead and\niron and no gold.\n\nFollingsby's Pond, in the Adirondacks, was named for a recluse, who, in\nthe early part of this century, occupied a lonely but strongly guarded\ncabin there. It was believed afterward that he was an English army\nofficer, of noble birth, who had left his own country in disgust at\nhaving discovered an attachment between his wife and one of his\nfellow-officers. He died in a fever, and while raving in a delirium spoke\nof a concealed chest. A trapper, who was his only attendant in his last\nmoments, dug over the ground floor of the hut and found a box containing\na jewelled sword, costly trinkets, and letters that bore out the\npresumption of Follingsby's aristocratic origin. What became of these\nvaluables after their exhumation is not known, and the existence of more\nhas been suspected.\n\nConey Island is declared to have been used by a band of pirates as the\nfirst national sand bank, and, as these rascals were caught and swung off\nwith short shrift, they do say that the plunder is still to be had--by\nthe man who finds it. But the hotel-keepers and three-card-monte men are\nnot waiting for that discovery to grow rich.\n\nIn Shandaken Valley, in the Catskills, it was affirmed that a party of\nBritish officers buried money somewhere, when they were beset by the\nfarmers and hunters of that region, and never got it out of the earth\nagain.\n\nOn Tea Island, Lake George, the buried treasures of Lord Abercrombie have\nremained successfully hidden until this day.\n\nThe oldest house at Fort Neck, Long Island, was known for years as the\nhaunted house, and the grave of its owner--Captain Jones--was called the\npirate's grave, for, in the last century, Jones was accused of piracy and\nsmuggling, and there have been those who suspected worse. A hope of\nfinding gold and silver about the premises has been yearly growing\nfainter. Just before the death of Jones, which occurred here in an\norderly manner, a crow, so big that everybody believed it to be a demon,\nflew in at the window and hovered over the bed of the dying man until he\nhad drawn his last breath, when, with a triumphant cry, it flew through\nthe west end of the house. The hole that it broke through the masonry\ncould never be stopped, for, no matter how often it was repaired, the\nstone and cement fell out again, and the wind came through with such a\nchill and such shriekings that the house had to be abandoned.\n\nThe owner of an estate on Lloyd's Neck, Long Island, had more wealth than\nhe thought it was safe or easy to transport when he found the colonies\nrising against Britain in 1775, and flight was imperative, for he was\nknown by his neighbors to be a Tory. Massing his plate, coin, and other\nmovables into three barrels, he caused his three slaves to bury them in\npits that they had dug beneath his house. Then, as they were shovelling\nback the earth, he shot them dead, all three, and buried them, one on\neach barrel. His motive for the crime may have been a fear that the\nslaves would aid the Americans in the approaching struggle, or that they\nmight return and dig up the wealth or reveal the hiding-place to the\nenemies of the king. Then he made his escape to Nova Scotia, though he\nmight as well have stayed at home, for the British possessed themselves\nof Long Island, and his house became a place of resort for red-coats and\nloyalists. It was after the turn of the century when a boat put in, one\nevening, at Cold Spring Bay, and next morning the inhabitants found\nfootprints leading to and from a spot where some children had discovered\na knotted rope projecting from the soil. Something had been removed, for\nthe mould of a large box was visible at the bottom of a pit. Acres of the\nneighborhood were then dug over by treasure hunters, who found a box of\ncob dollars and a number of casks. The contents of the latter, though\nrich and old, were not solid, and when diffused through the systems of\nseveral Long Islanders imparted to them a spirituous and patriotic\nglow--for in thus destroying the secreted stores of a royalist were they\nnot asserting the triumph of democratic principles?\n\nThe clay bluffs at Pottery Beach, Brooklyn, were pierced with artificial\ncaves where lawless men found shelter in the unsettled first years of the\nrepublic. A wreck lay rotting here for many years, and it was said to be\nthe skeleton of a ship that these fellows had beached by false beacons.\nShe had costly freight aboard, and on the morning after she went ashore\ncrew and freight had vanished. It was believed that much of the plunder\nwas buried in the clay near the water's edge. In the early colonial days,\nGrand Island, in Niagara River, was the home of a Frenchman, Clairieux,\nan exile or refugee who was attended by a negro servant. During one\nsummer a sloop visited the island frequently, laden on each trip with\nchests that never were taken away in the sight of men, and that are now\nsupposed to be buried near the site of the Frenchman's cabin. Report had\nit that these boxes were filled with money, but if well or ill procured\nnone could say, unless it were the Frenchman, and he had no remarks to\noffer on the subject. In the fall, after these visits of the sloop,\nClairieux disappeared, and when some hunters landed on the island they\nfound that his cabin had been burned and that a large skeleton, evidently\nthat of the negro, was chained to the earth in the centre of the place\nwhere the house had stood. The slave had been killed, it was surmised,\nthat his spirit might watch the hoard and drive away intruders; but the\nFrenchman met his fate elsewhere, and his secret, like that of many\nanother miser, perished with him. In 1888, when a northeast gale had\nblown back the water of the river, a farmer living on the island\ndiscovered, just under the surface, a stone foundation built in circular\nform, as if it had once supported a tower. In the mud within this circle\nhe found a number of French gold and silver coins, one of them minted in\n1537. Close by, other coins of later date were found, and a systematic\nexamination of the whole channel has been proposed, as it was also said\nthat two French frigates, scuttled to keep them out of the hands of the\nEnglish, lie bedded in sand below the island, one of them with a naval\npaymaster's chest on board.\n\nOn the shore of Oneida Lake is an Indian's grave, where a ball of light\nis wont to swing and dance. A farmer named Belknap dreamed several times\nof a buried treasure at this point, and he was told, in his vision, that\nif he would dig there at midnight he could make it his own. He made the\nattempt, and his pick struck a crock that gave a chink, as of gold. He\nshould, at that moment, have turned around three times, as his dream\ndirected, but he was so excited that he forgot to. A flash of lightning\nrent the air and stretched him senseless on the grass. When he recovered\nthe crock was gone, the hole filled in, and ever since then the light has\nhovered about the place. Some say that this is but the will-o'-the-wisp:\nthe soul of a bad fellow who is doomed to wander in desolate regions\nbecause, after dying, Peter would not allow him to enter heaven, and the\ndevil would not let him go into the other place, lest he should make the\nlittle devils unmanageable; but he is allowed to carry a light in his\nwanderings.\n\nIn Indian Gap, near Wernersville, Pennsylvania, the Doane band of Tories\nand terrorists hid a chest of gold, the proceeds of many robberies. It is\nguarded by witches, and, although it has been seen, no one has been able\nto lay hands on it. The seekers are always blinded by blue flame, and\nfrightened away by roaring noises. The Dutch farmers of the vicinity are\ngoing to dig for it, all the same, for it is said that the watch of evil\nspirits will be given over at midnight, but they do not know of what\ndate. They will be on hand at the spot revealed to them through the\nvision of a \"hex layer\" (a vision that cost them fifty cents), until the\nnight arrives when there are no blue flames.\n\nIn the southern part of Chester County, Pennsylvania, is money, too, but\njust where nobody knows. A lonely, crabbed man, who died there in a poor\nhut after the Revolution, owned that he had served the British as a spy,\nbut said that he had spent none of the gold that he had taken from them.\nHe was either too sorry for his deeds, or too mean to do so. He had put\nit in a crock and buried it, and, on his death-bed, where he made his\nstatement, he asked that it might be exhumed and spent for some good\npurpose. He was about to tell where it was when the death-rattle choked\nhis words.\n\nThe Isle of the Yellow Sands, in Lake Superior, was supposed by Indians\nto be made of the dust of gold, but it was protected by vultures that\nbeat back those who approached, or tore them to pieces if they insisted\non landing. An Indian girl who stole away from her camp to procure a\nquantity of this treasure was pursued by her lover, who, frightened at\nthe risk she was about to run from the vultures, stopped her flight by\nstaving in the side of her canoe, so that she was compelled to take\nrefuge in his, and he rowed home with her before the birds had come to\nthe attack.\n\nOld Francois Fontenoy, an Indian trader, buried a brass kettle full of\ngold at Presque Isle, near Detroit, that is still in the earth.\n\nOn the banks of the Cumberland, in Tennessee, is a height where a\nsearcher for gold was seized by invisible defenders and hurled to the\nbottom of the cliff, receiving a mortal hurt.\n\nThe Spaniards were said to have entombed three hundred thousand dollars\nin gold near Natchez. A man to whom the secret had descended offered to\nreveal it, but, as he was a prisoner, his offer was laughed at. Afterward\nan empty vault was found where he said it would be. Somebody had\naccidentally opened it and had removed the treasure.\n\nCaverns have frequently been used as hiding-places for things of more or\nless value--generally less. Saltpetre Cave, in Georgia, for instance, was\na factory and magazine for saltpetre, gunpowder, and other military\nstores during the Civil War. The Northern soldiers wrecked the potash\nworks and broke away tons of rock, so as to make it dangerous to return.\nHuman bones have been found here, too, but they are thought to be those\nof soldiers that entered the cave in pursuit of an Indian chief who had\ndefied the State in the '40's. He escaped through a hole in the roof,\ndoubled on his pursuers, fired a pile of dead leaves and wood at the\nmouth, and suffocated the white men with the smoke.\n\nSpaniards worked the mines in the Ozark Hills of Missouri two hundred\nyears ago. One of the mines containing lead and silver, eighteen miles\nsouthwest of Galena, was worked by seven men, who could not agree as to a\ndivision of the yield. One by one they were killed in quarrels until but\na single man was left, and he, in turn, was set upon by the resurrected\nvictims and choked to death by their cold fingers. In 1873 a Vermonter\nnamed Johnson went there and said he would find what it was the Spaniards\nhad been hiding, in spite of the devil and his imps. He did work there\nfor one day, and was then found dead at the mouth of the old shaft with\nmarks of bony fingers on his throat.\n\nThe seven cities of Cibola, that Coronado and other Spanish adventurers\nsought in the vast deserts of the Southwest, were pueblos. A treacherous\nguide who had hoped to take Coronado into the waterless plain and lose\nhim, but who first lost his own head, had told him a tale of the Quivira,\na tribe that had much gold. So far from having gold these Indians did not\nknow the stuff, but the myth that they had hoarded quantities of it has\nsurvived to this day and has caused waste of lives and money. Towns in\nNew Mexico that have lain in ruins since 1670, when the Apaches butchered\ntheir people--towns that were well built and were lorded by solid old\nchurches and monasteries erected by the Spanish missionaries--these towns\nhave often been dug over, and the ruinous state of Abo, Curari, and\nTabira is due, in part, to their foolish tunnelling and blasting.\n\nA Spanish bark, one day in 1841, put in for water off the spot where\nColumbia City, Oregon, now stands. She had a rough crew on board, and it\nhad been necessary for her officers to watch the men closely from the\ntime the latter discovered that she was carrying a costly cargo. Hardly\nhad the anchorchains run out before the sailors fell upon the captain,\nkilled him, seized all of value that they could gather, and took it to\nthe shore. What happened after is not clear, but it is probable that in a\nquarrel, arising over the demands of each man to have most of the\nplunder, several of the claimants were slain. Indians were troublesome,\nlikewise, so that it was thought best to put most of the goods into the\nground, and this was done on the tract known as Hez Copier's farm. Hardly\nwas the task completed before the Indians appeared in large numbers and\nset up their tepees, showing that they meant to remain. The mutineers\nrowed back to the ship, and, after vainly waiting for several days for a\nchance to go on shore again, they sailed away. Two years of wandering,\nfighting, and carousal ensued before the remnant of the crew returned to\nOregon. The Indians were gone, and an earnest search was made for the\nmoney--but in vain. It was as if the ground had never been disturbed. The\nman who had supervised its burial was present until the mutineers went\nback to their boats, when it was discovered that he was mysteriously\nmissing.\n\nMore than forty years after these events a meeting of Spiritualists was\nheld in Columbia City, and a \"medium\" announced that she had received a\nrevelation of the exact spot where the goods had been concealed. A\ncompany went to the place, and, after a search of several days, found,\nunder a foot of soil, a quantity of broken stone. While throwing out\nthese fragments one of the party fell dead. The spirit of the defrauded\nand murdered captain had claimed him, the medium explained. So great was\nthe fright caused by this accident that the search was again abandoned\nuntil March, 1890, when another party resumed the digging, and after\ntaking out the remainder of the stone they came on a number of human\nskeletons. During the examination of these relics--possibly the bones of\nmutineers who had been killed in the fight on shore--a man fell into a\nfit of raving madness, and again the search was abandoned, for it is now\nsaid that an immutable curse rests on the treasure.\n\n\n\n\n\nSTORIED WATERS, CLIFFS AND MOUNTAINS\n\n\n\n\nMONSTERS AND SEA-SERPENTS\n\nIt is hardly to be wondered at that two prominent scientists should have\ndeclared on behalf of the sea-serpent, for that remarkable creature has\nbeen reported at so many points, and by so many witnesses not addicted to\nfish tales nor liquor, that there ought to be some reason for him. He has\nbeen especially numerous off the New England coast. He was sighted off\nCape Ann in 1817, and several times off Nahant. Though alarming in\nappearance--for he has a hundred feet of body, a shaggy head, and goggle\neyes--he is of lamb-like disposition, and has never justified the\nattempts that have been made to kill or capture him. Rewards were at one\ntime offered to the seafaring men who might catch him, and revenue\ncutters cruising about Massachusetts Bay were ordered to keep a lookout\nfor him and have a gun double shotted for action. One fisherman emptied\nthe contents of a ducking gun into the serpent's head, as he supposed,\nbut the creature playfully wriggled a few fathoms of its tail and made\noff. John Josselyn, gentleman, reports that when he stirred about this\nneighborhood in 1638 an enormous reptile was seen \"quoiled up on a rock\nat Cape Ann.\" He would have fired at him but for the earnest dissuasion\nof his Indian guide, who declared that ill luck would come of the\nattempt. The sea-serpent sometimes shows amphibious tendencies and\noccasionally leaves the sea for fresh water. Two of him were seen in\nDevil's Lake, Wisconsin, in 1892, by four men. They confess, however,\nthat they were fishing at the time. The snakes had fins and were a matter\nof fifty feet long.\n\nWhen one of these reptiles found the other in his vicinage he raised his\nhead six feet above water and fell upon him tooth and nail--if he had\nnails. In their struggles these unpleasant neighbors made such waves that\nthe fishermen's boat was nearly upset.\n\nEven the humble Wabash has its terror, for at Huntington, Indiana, three\ntruthful damsels of the town saw its waters churned by a tail that\nsplashed from side to side, while far ahead was the prow of the animal--a\nleonine skull, with whiskers, and as large as the head of a boy of a\ndozen years. As if realizing what kind of a report was going to be made\nabout him, the monster was overcome with bashfulness at the sight of the\nmaidens and sank from view.\n\nIn April, 1890, a water-snake was reported in one of the Twin Lakes, in\nthe Berkshire Hills, but the eye-witnesses of his sports let him off with\na length of twenty-five feet.\n\nSysladobosis Lake, in Maine, has a snake with a head like a dog's, but it\nis hardly worth mentioning because it is only eight feet long-hardly\nlonger than the name of the lake. More enterprise is shown across the\nborder, for Skiff Lake, New Brunswick, has a similar snake thirty feet\nlong.\n\nIn Cotton Mather's time a double-headed snake was found at Newbury,\nMassachusetts,--it had a head at each end,--and before it was killed it\nshowed its evil disposition by chasing and striking at the lad who first\nmet it.\n\nA snake haunts Wolf Pond, Pennsylvania, that is an alleged relic of the\nSilurian age. It was last seen in September, 1887, when it unrolled\nthirty feet of itself before the eyes of an alarmed spectator--again a\nfisherman. The beholder struck him with a pole, and in revenge the\nserpent capsized his boat; but he forbore to eat his enemy, and, diving\nto the bottom, disappeared. The creature had a black body, about six\ninches thick, ringed with dingy-yellow bands, and a mottled-green head,\nlong and pointed, like a pike's.\n\nSilver Lake, near Gainesville, New York, was in 1855 reported to be the\nlair of a great serpent, and old settlers declare that he still comes to\nthe surface now and then.\n\nA tradition among the poor whites of the South Jruns to the effect that\nthe sea-monster that swallowed Jonah--not a whale, because the throat of\nthat animal is hardly large enough to admit a herring--crossed the\nAtlantic and brought up at the Carolinas. His passenger was supplied with\ntobacco and beguiled the tedium of the voyage by smoking a pipe. The\nmonster, being unused to that sort of thing, suffered as all beginners in\nnicotine poisoning do, and expelled the unhappy man with emphasis. On\nbeing safely landed, Jonah attached himself to one of the tribes that\npeopled the barrens, and left a white progeny which antedated Columbus's\narrival by several centuries. God pitied the helplessness of these\nignorant and uncourageous whites and led them to Looking-Glass Mountain,\nNorth Carolina, where He caused corn and game to be created, and while\nthis race endured it lived in plenty.\n\nSanta Barbara Island, off the California coast, was, for a long time, the\nsupposed head-quarters of swimming and flying monsters and sirens, and no\nMexican would pass in hearing of the yells and screams and strange songs\nwithout crossing himself and begging the captain to give the rock a wide\nberth. But the noise is all the noise of cats. A shipwrecked tabby\npeopled the place many years ago, and her numerous progeny live there on\ndead fish and on the eggs and chicks of sea-fowl.\n\nSpirit Canon, a rocky gorge that extends for three miles along Big Sioux\nRiver, Iowa, was hewn through the stone by a spirit that took the form of\na dragon. Such were its size and ferocity that the Indians avoided the\nplace, lest they should fall victims to its ire.\n\nThe Hurons believed in a monster serpent--Okniont--who wore a horn on his\nhead that could pierce trees, rocks, and hills. A piece of this horn was\nan amulet of great value, for it insured good luck.\n\nThe Zunis tell of a plumed serpent that lives in the water of sacred\nsprings, and they dare not destroy the venomous creatures that infest the\nplains of Arizona because, to them, the killing of a snake means a\nreduction in their slender water-supply. The gods were not so kind to the\nsnakes as men were, for the agatized trees of Chalcedony Park, in\nArizona, are held to be arrows shot by the angry deities at the monsters\nwho vexed this region.\n\nIndians living on the shore of Canandaigua Lake, New York, tamed a pretty\nspotted snake, and fed and petted it until it took a deer at a meal. It\ngrew so large that it eventually encircled the camp and began to prey on\nits keepers. Vainly they tried to kill the creature, until a small boy\ntook an arrow of red willow, anointed it with the blood of a young woman,\nand shot it from a basswood bow at the creature's heart. It did not enter\nat once; it merely stuck to the scales. But presently it began to bore\nand twist its way into the serpent's body. The serpent rolled into the\nlake and made it foam in its agony. It swallowed water and vomited it up\nagain, with men dead and alive, before it died.\n\nThe monster Amhuluk, whose home is a lake near Forked Mountain, Oregon,\nhad but one passion-to catch and drown all things; and when you look into\nthe lake you see that he has even drowned the sky in it, and has made the\ntrees stand upside down in the water. Wherever he set his feet the ground\nwould soften. As three children were digging roots at the edge of the\nwater he fell on them and impaled two of them on his horns, the eldest\nonly contriving to escape. When this boy reached home his body was full\nof blotches, and the father suspected how it was, yet he went to the lake\nat once. The bodies of the children came out of the mud at his feet to\nmeet him, but went down again and emerged later across the water. They\nled him on in this way until he came to the place where they were\ndrowned. A fog now began to steam up from the water, but through it he\ncould see the little ones lifted on the monster's horns, and hear them\ncry, \"We have changed our bodies.\" Five times they came up and spoke to\nhim, and five times he raised a dismal cry and begged them to return, but\nthey could not. Next morning he saw them rise through the fog again, and,\nbuilding a camp, he stayed there and mourned for several days. For five\ndays they showed themselves, but after that they went down and he saw and\nheard no more of them. Ambuluk had taken the children and they would live\nwith him for ever after.\n\nCrater Lake, Oregon, was a haunt of water-devils who dragged into it and\ndrowned all who ventured near. Only within a few years could Indians be\npersuaded to go to it as guides. Its discoverers saw in it the work of\nthe Great Spirit, but could not guess its meaning. All but one of these\nKlamaths stole away after they had looked into its circular basin and\nsheer walls. He fancied that if it was a home of gods they might have\nsome message for men, so camping on the brink of the lofty cliffs he\nwaited. In his sleep a vision came to him, and he heard voices, but could\nneither make out appearances nor distinguish a word. Every night this\ndream was repeated. He finally went down to the lake and bathed, and\ninstantly found his strength increased and saw that the people of his\ndreams were the genii of the waters--whether good or bad he could not\nguess. One day he caught a fish for food. A thousand water-devils came to\nthe surface, on the instant, and seized him. They carried him to a rock\non the north side of the lake, that stands two thousand feet above the\nwater, and from that they dashed him down, gathering the remains of his\nshattered body below and devouring them. Since that taste they have been\neager for men's blood. The rock on the south side of the lake, called the\nPhantom Ship, is believed by the Indians to be a destructive monster,\ninnocent as it looks in the daytime.\n\nSo with Rock Lake, in Washington. A hideous reptile sports about its\nwaters and gulps down everything that it finds in or on them. Only in\n1853 a band of Indians, who had fled hither for security against the\nsoldiers, were overtaken by this creature, lashed to death, and eaten.\n\nThe Indians of Louisiana, Mississippi, and Texas believed that the King\nSnake, or God Snake, lived in the Gulf of Mexico. It slept in a cavern of\npure crystal at the bottom, and its head, being shaped from a solid\nemerald, lighted the ocean for leagues when it arose near the surface.\n\nSimilar to this is the belief of the Cherokees in the kings of\nrattlesnakes, \"bright old inhabitants\" of the mountains that grew to a\nmighty size, and drew to themselves every creature that they looked upon.\nEach wore a crown of carbuncle of dazzling brightness.\n\nThe Indians avoided Klamath Lake because it was haunted by a monster that\nwas half dragon, half hippopotamus.\n\nHutton Lake, Wyoming, is the home of a serpent queen, whose breathing may\nbe seen in the bubbles that well up in the centre. She is constantly\nwatching for her lover, but takes all men who come in her way to her\ngrotto beneath the water, when she finds that they are not the one she\nhas expected, and there they become her slaves. To lure victims into the\nlake she sets there a decoy of a beautiful red swan, and should the\nhunter kill this bird he will become possessed of divine power. Should he\nsee \"the woman,\" as the serpent queen is called, he will never live to\ntell of it, unless he has seen her from a hiding-place near the\nshore--for so surely as he is noticed by this Diana of the depths, so\nsurely will her spies, the land snakes, sting him to death. In appearance\nshe is a lovely girl in all but her face, and that is shaped like the\nhead of a monster snake. Her name is never spoken by the Indians, for\nfear that it will cost them their lives.\n\nMichael Pauw, brave fisherman of Paterson, New Jersey, hero of the fight\nwith the biggest snapping-turtle in Dover Slank, wearer of a scar on his\nseat of honor as memento of the conflict, member of the Kersey Reds--he\nwhose presence of mind was shown in holding out a chip of St. Nicholas's\nstaff when he met the nine witches of the rocks capering in the mists of\nPassaic Falls--gave battle from a boat to a monster that had ascended to\nthe cataract. One of the Kersey Reds, leaning out too far, fell astride\nof the horny beast, and was carried at express speed, roaring with\nfright, until unhorsed by a projecting rock, up which he scrambled to\nsafety. Falling to work with bayonets and staves, the company despatched\nthe creature and dragged it to shore. One Dutchman--who was quite a\ntraveller, having been as far from home as Albany--said that the thing\nwas what the Van Rensselaers cut up for beef, and that he believed they\ncalled it a sturgeon.\n\n\n\n\nSTONE-THROWING DEVILS\n\nThere is an odd recurrence among American legends of tales relating to\nassaults of people or their houses by imps of darkness. The shadowy\nleaguers of Gloucester, Massachusetts, kept the garrison of that place in\na state of fright until they were expelled from the neighborhood by a\nsilver bullet and a chaplain's prayers. Witchcraft was sometimes\nmanifested in Salem by the hurling of missiles from unseen hands. The\n\"stone-throwing devil\" of Portsmouth is the subject of a tradition more\nthan two centuries of age, but, as the stone-thrower appears rather as an\navenger than as a gratuitously malignant spirit, he is ill treated in\nhaving the name of devil applied to him. In this New Hampshire port lived\na widow who had a cabin and a bit of land of her own. George Walton, a\nneighbor, wanted her land, for its situation pleased him, and as the old\nwoman had neither money nor influential friends he charged her with\nwitchcraft, and, whether by legal chicanery or mere force is not\nrecorded, he got his hands upon her property.\n\nThe charge of witchcraft was not pressed, because the man had obtained\nwhat he wanted, but the poor, houseless creature laid a ban on the place\nand told the thief that he would never have pleasure nor profit out of\nit. Walton laughed at her, bade her go her way, and moved his family into\nthe widow's house. It was Sunday night, and the family had gone to bed,\nwhen at ten o'clock there came a fierce shock of stones against the roof\nand doors. All were awake in a moment. A first thought was that Indians\nwere making an assault, but when the occupants peered cautiously into the\nmoonlight the fields were seen to be deserted. Yet, even as they looked,\na gate was lifted from its hinges and thrown through the air.\n\nWalton ventured out, but a volley of stones, seemingly from a hundred\nhands, was delivered at his head, and he ran back to shelter. Doors and\nwindows were barred and shuttered, but it made no difference. Stones, too\nhot to hold a hand upon, were hurled through glass and down the chimney,\nobjects in the rooms themselves were picked up and flung at Walton,\ncandles were blown out, a hand without a body tapped at the window, locks\nand bars and keys were bent as if by hammer-blows, a cheese-press was\nsmashed against the wall and the cheese spoiled, hay-stacks in the field\nwere broken up and the hay tossed into branches of trees. For a long time\nWalton could not go out at night without being assailed with stones.\nBell, book, candle, and witch-broth availed nothing, and it was many a\nday before peace came to the Walton household.\n\nIn 1802 an epidemic of assault went through the Berkshire Hills. The\nperformance began in a tailor's shop in Salisbury, Connecticut, at eleven\nof the clock on the night of November 2, when a stick and lumps of stone,\ncharcoal, and mortar were flung through a window. The moon was up, but\nnothing could be seen, and the bombardment was continued until after\ndaylight. After doing some damage here the assailants went to the house\nof Ezekiel Landon and rapped away there for a week. Persons were struck\nby the missiles, and quantities of glass were destroyed. Nothing could be\nseen coming toward the windows until the glass broke, and it was seldom\nthat anything passed far into a room. No matter how hard it was thrown,\nit dropped softly and surely on the sill, inside, as if a hand had put it\nthere. Windows were broken on both sides of buildings at the same time,\nand many sticks and stones came through the same holes in the panes, as\nif aimed carefully by a gunner.\n\nA hamlet that stood in Sage's ravine, on the east side of the Dome of the\nTaconics, was assailed in the same way after nightfall. One house was\nconsiderably injured. No causes for the performance were ever discovered,\nand nobody in the place was known to have an enemy--at least, a malicious\none.\n\nAt Whitmire Hill, Georgia, the spot where two murders were committed\nbefore the war, is a headless phantom that comes thundering down on the\nwayfarer on the back of a giant horse and vanishes at the moment when the\nheart of his prospective victim is bumping against his palate. At times,\nhowever, this spook prefers to remain invisible, and then it is a little\nworse, for it showers stones and sods on the pedestrian until his legs\nhave carried him well beyond the phantom's jurisdiction.\n\nThe legends of buried treasure, instanced in another place, frequently\ninclude assaults by the ghosts of pirates and misers on the daring ones\nwho try to resurrect their wealth.\n\nForty-seven years ago, in the township of St. Mary's, Illinois, two lads\nnamed Groves and a companion named Kirk were pelted with snowballs while\non their way home from a barn where they had been to care for the stock\nfor the night. The evening had shut in dark, and the accuracy of the\nthrower's aim was the more remarkable because it was hardly possible to\nsee more than a rod away. The snowballs were packed so tightly that they\ndid not break on striking, though they were thrown with force, and Kirk\nwas considerably bruised by them. Mr. Groves went out with a lantern, but\nits rays lit up a field of untrodden snow, and there was no sound except\nthat made by the wind as it whistled past the barn and fences. Toward\ndawn another inspection was made, and in the dim light the snowballs were\nseen rising from the middle of a field that had not a footprint on it,\nand flying toward the spectators like bullets. They ran into the field\nand laid about them with pitchforks, but nothing came of that, and not\nuntil the sun arose was the pelting stopped. Young Kirk, who was badly\nhurt, died within a year.\n\nThe men of Sharon, Connecticut, having wheedled their town-site from the\nIndians in 1754, were plagued thereafter by whoops and whistlings and the\nthrowing of stones. Men were seen in the starlight and were fired upon,\nbut without effect, and the disturbances were not ended until the Indians\nhad received a sum of money.\n\nWithout presuming to doubt the veracity of tradition in these matters, an\nincident from the writer's boyhood in New England may be instanced. The\nhouse of an unpopular gentleman was assailed--not in the ostentatious\nmanner just described, yet in a way that gave him a good deal of trouble.\nDead cats appeared mysteriously in his neighborhood; weird noises arose\nunder his windows; he tried to pick up letters from his doorstep that\nbecame mere chalk-marks at his touch, so that he took up only splinters\nunder his nails. One night, as a seance was about beginning in his yard,\nhe emerged from a clump of bushes, flew in the direction of the\ndisturbance, laid violent hands on the writer's collar, and bumped his\nnose on a paving-stone. Then the manifestations were discontinued, for\nseveral nights, for repairs.\n\n\n\n\nSTORIED SPRINGS\n\nLike the Greeks, the red men endowed the woods and waters with tutelary\nsprites, and many of the springs that are now resorted to as fountains of\nhealing were known long before the settlement of Europeans here, the\ngains from drinking of them being ascribed to the beneficence of spirit\nguardians. The earliest comers to these shores--or, rather, the earliest\nof those who entertained such beliefs--fancied that the fabled fountain\nof eternal youth would be found among the other blessings of the land. To\nthe Spaniards Florida was a land of promise and mystery. Somewhere in its\ninterior was fabled to stand a golden city ruled by a king whose robes\nsparkled with precious dust, and this city was named for the\nadventurer--El Dorado, or the Place of the Gilded One. Here, they said,\nwould be found the elixir of life. The beautiful Silver Spring, near the\nhead of the Ocklawaha, with its sandy bottom plainly visible at the depth\nof eighty feet, was thought to be the source of the life-giving waters,\nbut, though Ponce de Leon heard of this, he never succeeded in fighting\nhis way to it through the jungle.\n\nIn Georgia, in the reputed land of Chicora, were a sacred stream that\nmade all young again who bathed there, and a spring so delectable that a\nband of red men, chancing on it in a journey, could not leave it, and are\nthere forever.\n\nIn the island of \"Bimini,\" one of the Lucayos (Bahamas), was another such\na fountain.\n\nBetween the Flint and Ocmulgee Rivers the Creeks declared was a spring of\nlife, on an island in a marsh, defended from approach by almost\nimpenetrable labyrinths,--a heaven where the women were fairer than any\nother on earth.\n\nThe romantic and superstitious Spaniards believed these legends, and\nspent years and treasure in searching for these springs. And, surely, if\nthe new and striking scenes of this Western world caused Columbus to\n\"boast that he had found the seat of paradise, it will not appear strange\nthat Ponce de Leon should dream of discovering the fountain of youth.\"\n\nThe Yuma Apaches had been warned by one of their oracles never to enter a\ncertain canon in Castle Dome range, Arizona, but a company of them forgot\nthis caution while in chase of deer, and found themselves between walls\nof pink and white fluorite with a spring bubbling at the head of the\nravine. Tired and heated, they fell on their faces to drink, when they\nfound that the crumbling quartz that formed the basin of the spring was\nfilled with golden nuggets. Eagerly gathering up this precious substance,\nfor they knew what treasure of beads, knives, arrows, and blankets the\nMexicans would exchange for it, they attempted to make their way out of\nthe canon; but a cloudburst came, and on the swiftly rising tide all were\nswept away but one, who survived to tell the story. White men have\nfrequently but vainly tried to find that spring.\n\nIn Southwestern Kansas, on a hill a quarter-mile from Solomon River, is\nthe Sacred Water, pooled in a basin thirty feet across. When many stand\nabout the brink it slowly rises. Here two Panis stopped on their return\nfrom a buffalo hunt, and one of them unwittingly stepped on a turtle a\nyard long. Instantly he felt his feet glued to the monster's back, for,\ntry as he might, he could not disengage himself, and the creature\nlumbered away to the pool, where it sank with him. There the turtle god\nremains, and beads, arrows, ear-rings, and pipes that are dropped in, it\nswallows greedily. The Indians use the water to mix their paint with, but\nnever for drinking.\n\nThe mail rider, crossing the hot desert of Arizona, through the cacti and\nover holes where scorpions hide, makes for Devil's Well, under El\nDiablo--a dark pool surrounded with gaunt rocks. Here, coming when the\nnight is on, he lies down, and the wind swishing in the sage--brush puts\nhim to sleep. At dawn he wakens with the frightened whinny of his horse\nin his ears and, all awake, looks about him. A stranger, wrapped in a\ntattered blanket, is huddled in a recess of the stones, arrived there,\nlike himself, at night, perhaps. Poising his rifle on his knee, the rider\nchallenges him, but never a sign the other makes. Then, striding over to\nhim, he pulls away the blanket and sees a shrivelled corpse with a face\nthat he knows--his brother. Hardly is this meeting made when a hail of\narrows falls around. His horse is gone. The Apaches, who know no\ngentleness and have no mercy, have manned every gap and sheltering rock.\nWith his rifle he picks them off, as they rise in sight with arrows at\nthe string, and sends them tumbling into the dust; but, when his last\nbullet has sped into a red man's heart, they rise in a body and with\nknives and hatchets hew him to death. And that is why the Devil's Well\nstill tastes of blood.\n\nAmong the Balsam Mountains of Western North Carolina is a large spring\nthat promises refreshment, but, directly that the wayfarer bends over the\nwater, a grinning face appears at the bottom and as he stoops it rises to\nmeet his. So hideous is this demon that few of the mountaineers have\ncourage to drink here, and they refuse to believe that the apparition is\ncaused by the shape of the basin, or aberrated reflection of their own\nfaces. They say it is the visage of a \"haunt,\" for a Cherokee girl, who\nhad uncommon beauty, once lived hard by, and took delight in luring\nlovers from less favored maidens. The braves were jealous of each other,\nand the women were jealous of her, while she--the flirt!--rejoiced in the\ntrouble that she made. A day fell for a wedding--that of a hunter with a\ndamsel of his tribe, but at the hour appointed the man was missing.\nMortified and hurt, the bride stole away from the village and began a\nsearch of the wood, and she carried bow and arrows in her hand. Presently\nshe came on the hunter, lying at the feet of the coquette, who was\nlistening to his words with encouraging smiles. Without warning the\ndeserted girl drew an arrow to the head and shot her lover through the\nheart--then, beside his lifeless body, she begged Manitou to make her\nrival's face so hideous that all would be frightened who looked at it. At\nthe words the beautiful creature felt her face convulse and shrivel, and,\nrushing to the mirror of the spring, she looked in, only to start back in\nloathing. When she realized that the frightful visage that glared up at\nher was her own, she uttered a cry of despair and flung herself into the\nwater, where she drowned.\n\nIt is her face--so altered as to disclose the evil once hid behind\nit--that peers up at the hardy one who passes there and knows it as the\nHaunted Spring.\n\nThe medicinal properties of the mineral springs at Ballston and Saratoga\nwere familiar to the Indians, and High Rock Spring, to which Sir William\nJohnson was carried by the Mohawks in 1767 to be cured of a wound, was\ncalled \"the medicine spring of the Great Spirit,\" for it was believed\nthat the leaping and bubbling of the water came from its agitation by\nhands not human, and red men regarded it with reverence.\n\nThe springs at Manitou, Colorado (see \"Division of Two Tribes\"), were\nalways approached with gifts for the manitou that lived in them.\n\nThe lithia springs of Londonderry, New Hampshire, used to be visited by\nIndians from the Merrimack region, who performed incantations and dances\nto ingratiate themselves with the healing spirit that lived in the water.\nTheir stone implements and arrow-heads are often found in adjacent\nfields.\n\nThe curative properties of Milford Springs, New Hampshire, were revealed\nin the dream of a dying boy.\n\nA miracle spring flowed in the old days near the statue of the Virgin at\nWhite Marsh, Maryland.\n\nBiddeford Pool, Maine, was a miracle pond once a year, for whoso bathed\nthere on the 26th of June would be restored to health if he were ill,\nbecause that day was the joint festival of Saints Anthelm and Maxentius.\n\nThere was a wise and peaceable chief of the Ute tribe who always\ncounselled his people to refrain from war, but when he grew old the fiery\nspirits deposed him and went down to the plains to give battle to the\nArapahoe. News came that they had been defeated in consequence of their\nrashness. Then the old man's sorrow was so keen that his heart broke. But\neven in death he was beneficent, for his spirit entered the earth and\nforthwith came a gush of water that has never ceased to flow--the Hot\nSulphur Springs of Colorado. The Utes often used to go to those springs\nto bathe--and be cured of rheumatism--before they were driven away.\n\nSpring River, Arkansas, is nearly as large at its source as at its mouth,\nfor Mammoth Spring, in the Ozark Mountains, where it has its rise, has a\nyield of ninety thousand gallons a minute, so that it is, perhaps, the\nlargest in the world. Here, three hundred years ago, the Indians\nhad gathered for a month's feast, for chief Wampahseesah's\ndaughter--Nitilita--was to wed a brave of many ponies, a hundred of which\nhe had given in earnest of his love. For weeks no rain had fallen, and,\nwhile the revel was at its height, news came that all the rivers had gone\ndry. Several young men set off with jars, to fill them at the\nMississippi, and, confident that relief would come, the song and dance\nwent on until the men and women faltered from exhaustion. At last,\nNitilita died, and, in the wildness of his grief, the husband smote his\nhead upon a rock and perished too. Next day the hunters came with water,\nbut, incensed by their delay, the chief ordered them to be slain in\nsacrifice to the manes of the dead. A large grave was dug and the last\nsolemnities were begun when there was a roaring and a shaking in the\nearth--it parted, and the corpses disappeared in the abyss. Then from the\npit arose a flood of water that went foaming down the valley. Crazed with\ngrief, remorse, and fear, Wampahseesah flung himself into the torrent and\nwas borne to his death. The red men built a dam there later, and often\nused to sit before it in the twilight, watching, as they declared, the\nfaces of the dead peering at them through the foam.\n\nDuring the rush for the California gold-fields in the '50's a party took\nthe route by Gila River, and set across the desert. The noon temperature\nwas 120, the way was strewn with skeletons of wagons, horses, and men,\nand on the second night after crossing the Colorado the water had given\nout. The party had gathered on the sands below Yuma, the men discussing\nthe advisability of returning, the women full of apprehension, the young\nones crying, the horses panting; but presently the talk fell low, for in\none of the wagons a child's voice was heard in prayer: \"Oh, good heavenly\nFather, I know I have been a naughty girl, but I am so thirsty, and mamma\nand papa and baby all want a drink so much! Do, good God, give us water,\nand I never will be naughty again.\" One of the men said, earnestly, \"May\nGod grant it!\" In a few moments the child cried, \"Mother, get me water.\nGet some for baby and me. I can hear it running.\" The horses and mules\nnearly broke from the traces, for almost at their feet a spring had burst\nfrom the sand-warm, but pure. Their sufferings were over. The water\ncontinued to flow, running north for twenty miles, and at one point\nspreading into a lake two miles wide and twenty feet deep. When\nemigration was diverted, two years later, to the northern route and to\nthe isthmus, New River Spring dried up. Its mission was over.\n\n\n\n\nLOVERS' LEAPS\n\nSo few States in this country--and so few countries, if it comes to\nthat--are without a lover's leap that the very name has come to be a\nby-word. In most of these places the disappointed ones seem to have gone\nto elaborate and unusual pains to commit suicide, neglecting many easy\nand equally appropriate methods. But while in some cases the legend has\nbeen made to fit the place, there is no doubt that in many instances the\nstory antedated the arrival of the white men. The best known lovers'\nleaps are those on the upper Mississippi, on the French Broad, Jump\nMountain, in Virginia, Jenny Jump Mountain, New Jersey, Mackinac,\nMichigan, Monument Mountain, Massachusetts, on the Wissahickon, near\nPhiladelphia, Muscatine, Iowa, and Lefferts Height. There are many other\ndeclivities,--also, that are scenes of leaps and adventures, such as the\nFawn's Leap, in Kaaterskill Clove; Rogers's Rock, on Lake George; the\nrocks in Long Narrows, on the Juniata, where the ghost of Captain Jack,\n\"the wild hunter\" of colonial days, still ranges; Campbell's Ledge,\nPittston, Pennsylvania, where its name-giver jumped off to escape\nIndians; and Peabody's leap, of thirty feet, on Lake Champlain, where Tim\nPeabody, a scout, escaped after killing a number of savages.\n\nAt Jump Mountain, near Lexington, Virginia, an Indian couple sprang off\nbecause there were insuperable bars to their marriage.\n\nAt the rock on the Wissahickon a girl sought death because her lover was\nuntrue to her.\n\nAt Muscatine the cause of a maid's demise and that of her lover was the\nseverity of her father, who forbade the match because there was no war in\nwhich the young man could prove his courage.\n\nAt Lefferts Height a girl stopped her recreant lover as he was on his way\nto see her rival, and urging his horse to the edge of the bluff she\nleaped with him into the air.\n\nMonument Mountain, a picturesque height in the Berkshires, is faced on\nits western side by a tall precipice, from which a girl flung herself\nbecause the laws of her tribe forbade her marriage with a cousin to whom\nshe had plighted troth. She was buried where her body was found, and each\nIndian as he passed the spot laid a stone on her grave--thus, in time,\nforming a monument.\n\n\"Purgatory,\" the chasm at Newport, Rhode Island, through which the sea\nbooms loudly after a storm, was a scene of self-sacrifice to a hopeless\nlove on the part of an Indian pair in a later century, though there is an\nolder tradition of the seizure of a guilty squaw, by no less a person\nthan the devil himself, who flung her from the cliff and dragged her soul\naway as it left her body. His hoof-marks were formerly visible on the\nrocks.\n\nAt Hot Springs, North Carolina, two conspicuous cliffs are pointed out on\nthe right bank of the French Broad River: Paint Rock--where the\naborigines used to get ochre to smear their faces, and which they\ndecorated with hieroglyphics--and Lover's Leap. It is claimed that the\nlatter is the first in this country known to bear this sentimental and\ntragically suggestive title. There are two traditions concerning it, one\nbeing that an Indian girl was discovered at its top by hostiles who drove\nher into the gulf below, the other relating to the wish of an Indian to\nmarry a girl of a tribe with which his own had been immemorially at war.\nThe match was opposed on both sides, so, instead of doing as most Indians\nand some white men would do nowadays--marry the girl and let\nreconciliation come in time,--he scaled the rock in her company and\nleaped with her into the stream. They awoke as man and wife in the happy\nhunting-ground.\n\nIn 1700 there lived in the village of Keoxa, below Frontenac, Minnesota,\non the Mississippi River, a Dakota girl named Winona (the First Born),\nwho was loved by a hunter in her tribe, and loved him in return. Her\nfriends commended to her affections a young chief who had valiantly\ndefended the village against an attack of hostiles, but Juliet would none\nof this dusky Count de Paris, adhering faithfully to her Romeo. Unable to\nmove her by argument, her family at length drove her lover away, and used\nother harsh measures to force her into a repugnant union, but she\nreplied, \"You are driving me to despair. I do not love this chief, and\ncannot live with him. You are my father, my brothers, my relatives, yet\nyou drive from me the only man with whom I wish to be united. Alone he\nranges through the forest, with no one to build his lodge, none to spread\nhis blanket, none to wait on him. Soon you will have neither daughter,\nsister, nor relative to torment with false professions.\" Blazing with\nanger at this unsubmissive speech, her father declared that she should\nmarry the chief on that very day, but while the festival was in\npreparation she stole to the top of the crag that has since been known as\nMaiden's Rock, and there, four hundred feet above the heads of the\npeople, upbraided those who had formerly professed regard for her. Then\nshe began her death-song. Some of the men tried to scale the cliff and\navert the tragedy that it was evident would shortly be enacted, and her\nfather, his displeasure forgotten in an agony of apprehension, called to\nher that he would no longer oppose her choice. She gave no heed to their\nappeals, but, when the song was finished, walked to the edge of the rock,\nleaped out, and rolled lifeless at the feet of her people.\n\nWhen we say that the real name of Lover's Leap in Mackinac is\nMechenemockenungoqua, we trust that it will not be repeated. It has its\nlegend, however, as well as its name, for an Ojibway girl stood on this\nspire of rock, watching for her lover after a battle had been fought and\nher people were returning. Eagerly she scanned the faces of the braves as\ntheir war-canoes swept by, but the face she looked for was not among\nthem. Her lover was at that moment tied to a tree, with an arrow in his\nheart. As she looked at the boats a vision of his fate revealed itself,\nand the dead man, floating toward her, beckoned. Her death-song sounded\nin the ears of the men, but before they could reach her she had gone\nswiftly to the verge, her hands extended, her eyes on vacancy, and her\nspirit had met her lover's.\n\nFrom this very rock, in olden time, leaped the red Eve when the red Adam\nhad been driven away by a devil who had fallen in love with her. Adam,\nwho was paddling by the shore, saw she was about to fall, rushed forward,\ncaught her, and saved her life. The law of gravitation in those days did\nnot act with such distressing promptitude as now. Manitou, hearing of\nthese doings, restored them to the island and banished the devil, who\nfell to a world of evil spirits underground, where he became the father\nof the white race, and has ever since persecuted the Indians by proxy.\n\nOn the same island of Mackinac the English had a fort, the garrison of\nwhich was massacred in 1763. A sole survivor--a young officer named\nRobinson--owed his life to a pretty half-breed who gave him hiding in a\nsecluded wigwam. As the spot assured him of safety, and the girl was his\nonly companion, they lived together as man and wife, rather happily, for\nseveral years. When the fort had been built again, Robinson re-entered\nthe service, and appeared at head-quarters with a wife of his own color.\nHis Indian consort showed no jealousy. On the contrary, she consented to\nlive apart in a little house belonging to the station, on the cliff,\ncalled Robinson's Folly. She did ask her lover to go there and sit with\nher for an hour before they separated forever, and he granted this\nrequest. While they stood at the edge of the rock she embraced him; then,\nstepping back, with her arms still around his neck, she fell from the\ncliff, dragging him with her, and both were killed. The edge of the rock\nfell shortly after, carrying the house with it.\n\nMatiwana, daughter of the chief of the Omahas, whose village was near the\nmouth of Omaha Creek, married a faithless trader from St. Louis, who had\none wife already, and who returned to her, after an absence among his own\npeople, with a third, a woman of his own color. He coldly repelled the\nIndian woman, though he promised to send her boy--and his--to the\nsettlements to be educated. She turned away with only a look, and a few\ndays later was found dead at the foot of a bluff near her home.\n\nWhite Rocks, one hundred and fifty feet above Cheat River, in Fayette\nCounty, Pennsylvania, were the favorite tryst of a handsome girl, the\ndaughter of a well-to-do farmer of that region, and a dashing fellow who\nhad gone into that country to hunt. They had many happy days there on the\nhill together, but after making arrangements for the wedding they\nquarrelled, nobody knew for what. One evening they met by accident on the\nrocks, and appeared to be in formal talk when night came on and they\ncould no longer be seen. The girl did not return, and her father set off\nwith a search party to look for her. They found her, dead and mangled, at\nthe foot of the rocks. Her lover, in a fit of impatience, had pushed her\nand she had staggered and fallen over. He fled at once, and, under a\nchanged name and changed appearance, eluded pursuit. When the War of the\nRebellion broke out, he entered the army and fought recklessly, for by\nthat time he had tired of life and hoped to die. But it was of no use. He\nwas only made captain for a bravery that he was not conscious of showing,\nand the old remorse still preyed on him. It was after the war that\nsomething took him back to Fayette County, and on a pleasant day he\nclimbed the rocks to take a last look at the scenes that had been\nbrightened by love and saddened by regret. He had not been long on its\nsummit when an irresistible impulse came upon him to leap down where the\ngirl had fallen, and atone with his own blood for the shedding of hers.\nHe gave way to this prompting, and the fall was fatal.\n\nSome years before the outbreak of the Civil War a man with his wife and\ndaughter took up their residence in a log cabin at the foot of Sunrise\nRock, near Chattanooga, Tennessee. It seemed probable that they had known\nbetter days, for the head of the household was notoriously useless in the\neyes of his neighbors, and was believed to get his living through\n\"writin' or book-larnin',\" but he was so quiet and gentle that they never\nupbraided him, and would sometimes, after making a call, wander into his\ngarden and casually weed it for him for an hour or so. The girl, Stella,\nwas a well-schooled, quick-witted, rosy-cheeked lass, whom all the\nshaggy, big-jointed farmer lads of the neighborhood regarded with\nhopeless admiration. A year or two after the settlement of the family it\nbegan to be noticed that she was losing color and had an anxious look,\nand when a friendly old farmer saw her talking in the lane with a lawyer\nfrom Chattanooga, who wore broadcloth and had a gold watch, he was\npuzzled that the \"city chap\" did not go home with her, but kissed his\nhand to her as he turned away. Afterward the farmer met the pair again,\nand while the girl smiled and said, \"Howdy, Uncle Joe?\" the lawyer turned\naway and looked down the river. It was the last time that a smile was\nseen on Stella's face. A few evenings later she was seen standing on\nSunrise Rock, with her look bent on Chattanooga. The shadow of night\ncrept up the cliff until only her figure stood in sunlight, with her hair\nlike a golden halo about her face. At that moment came on the wind the\nsound of bells-wedding-bells. Pressing her hands to her ears, the girl\nwalked to the edge of the rock, and a few seconds later her lifeless form\nrolled through the bushes at its foot into the road. At her funeral the\npeople came from far and near to offer sympathy to the mother, garbed in\nblack, and the father, with his hair turned white, but the lawyer from\nChattanooga was not there.\n\nThe name of Indian Maiden's Cliff--applied to a precipice that hangs\nabove the wild ravine of Stony Clove, in the Catskills--commemorates the\nsequel to an elopement from her tribe of an Indian girl and her lover.\nThe parents and relatives had opposed the match with that fatal fatuity\nthat appears to be characteristic of story-book Indians, and as soon as\nword of her flight came to the village they set off in chase. While\nhurrying through the tangled wood the young couple were separated and the\ngirl found herself on the edge of the cliff. Farther advance was\nimpossible. Her pursuers were close behind. She must yield or die. She\nchose not to yield, and, with a despairing cry, flung herself into the\nshadows.\n\nSimilar to this is the tale of Lover's Leap in the dells of the Sioux,\namong the Black Hills of South Dakota.\n\nAt New Milford, Connecticut, they show you Falls Mountain, with the cairn\nerected by his tribe in 1735 to chief Waramaug, who wished to be buried\nthere, so that, when he was cold and lonely in the other life, he could\nreturn to his body and muse on the lovely landscape that he so enjoyed.\nThe will-o'-the-wisp flickered on the mountain's edge at night, and\nflecks of dew-vapor that floated from the wood by day were sometimes\nthought to be the spirit of the chief. He had a daughter, Lillinonah,\nwhose story is related to Lover's Leap, on the riverward side of the\nmountain. She had led to the camp a white man, who had been wandering\nbeside the Housatonic, ill and weak, vainly seeking a way out of the\nwilderness, and, in spite of the dark looks that were cast at him and\nher, she succeeded in making him, for that summer, a member of the tribe.\nAs the man grew strong with her care he grew happy and he fell in love.\nIn the autumn he said to her, \"I wish to see my people, and when I have\ndone so I will come back to you and we shall be man and wife.\" They\nparted regretfully and the winter passed for the girl on leaden feet.\nWith spring came hope. The trails were open, and daily she watched for\nher white lover. The summer came and went, and the autumn was there\nagain. She had grown pale and sad, and old Waramaug said to young Eagle\nFeather, who had looked softly on her for many years, \"The girl sickens\nin loneliness. You shall wed her.\" This is repeated to her, and that\nevening she slips away to the river, enters a canoe, casts away the\npaddle, and drifts down the stream. Slowly, at first, but faster and\nfaster, as the rapids begin to draw it, skims the boat, but above the\nhoarse brawling of the waters she hears a song in a voice that she\nknows--the merry troll of a light heart. The branches part at Lover's\nLeap and her lover looks down upon her. The joyous glance of recognition\nchanges to a look of horror, for the boat is caught. The girl rises and\nholds her arms toward him in agonized appeal. Life, at any cost! He, with\na cry, leaps into the flood as the canoe is passing. It lurches against a\nrock and Lillinonah is thrown out. He reaches her. The falls bellow in\ntheir ears. They take a last embrace, and two lives go out in the growing\ndarkness.\n\n\n\n\nGOD ON THE MOUNTAINS\n\nFrom the oldest time men have associated the mountains with visitations\nof God. Their height, their vastness, their majesty made them seem worthy\nto be stairs by which the Deity might descend to earth, and they stand in\nreligious and poetic literature to this day as symbols of the largest\nmental conceptions. Scriptural history is intimately associated with\nthem, and the giving of the law on Sinai, amid thunder and darkness, is\none of the most tremendous pictures that imagination can paint. Ararat,\nHermon, Horeb, Pisgah, Calvary, Adam's Peak, Parnassus, Olympus! How full\nof suggestion are these names! And poetic figures in sacred writings are\nfull of allusion to the beauty, nobility, and endurance of the hills.\n\nIt is little known that many of our own mountains are associated with\naboriginal legends of the Great Spirit. According to the Indians of\nCalifornia, Mount Shasta was the first part of the earth to be made. The\nGreat Spirit broke a hole through the floor of heaven with a rock, and on\nthe spot where this rock had stopped he flung down more rocks, with earth\nand snow and ice, until the mass had gained such a height that he could\nstep from the sky to its summit. Running his hands over its sides he\ncaused forests to spring up. The leaves that he plucked he breathed upon,\ntossed into the air, and, lo! they were birds. Out of his own staff he\nmade beasts and fishes, to live on the hills and in the streams, that\nbegan to appear as the work of worldbuilding went on. The earth became so\njoyous and so fair that he resolved at last to live on it, and he\nhollowed Shasta into a wigwam, where he dwelt for centuries, the smoke of\nhis lodge-fire (Shasta is a volcano) being often seen pouring from the\ncone before the white man came.\n\nAccording to the Oregon Indians the first man was created at the base of\nthe Cascade Range, near Wood River, by Kmukamtchiksh, \"the old man of the\nancients,\" who had already made the world. The Klamaths believe\nKmukamtchiksh a treacherous spirit, \"a typical beast god,\" yet that he\npunishes the wicked by turning them into rocks on the mountain-sides or\nby putting them into volcanic fires.\n\nSinsinawa Mound, Wisconsin, was the home of strange beings who occupied\ncaverns that few dared to enter. Enchanted rivers flowed through these\ncaves to heaven. The Catskills and Adirondacks were abodes of powerful\nbeings, and the Highlands of the Hudson were a wall within which Manitou\nconfined a host of rebellious spirits. When the river burst through this\nbulwark and poured into the sea, fifty miles below, these spirits took\nflight, and many succeeded in escaping. But others still haunt the\nravines and bristling woods, and when Manitou careers through the Hudson\ncanon on his car of cloud, crying with thunder voice, and hurling his\nlightnings to right and left as he passes, the demons scream and howl in\nrage and fear lest they be recaptured and shut up forever beneath the\nearth.\n\nThe White Mountains were held in awe by Indians, to whom they were homes\nof great and blessed spirits. Mount Washington was their Olympus and\nArarat in one, for there dwelt God, and there, when the earth was covered\nwith a flood, lived the chief and his wife, whom God had saved, sending\nforth a hare, after the waters had subsided, to learn if it were safe to\ndescend. From them the whole country was peopled with red men. Yet woe\nbetide the intruder on this high and holy ground, for an angered deity\ncondemned him to wander for ages over the desolate peaks and through the\nshadowy chasms rifted down their sides. The despairing cries of these\ncondemned ones, in winter storms, even frightened the early white\nsettlers in this region, and in 1784 the women of Conway petitioned three\nclergymen \"to lay the spirits.\"\n\nOther ark and deluge legends relate to the Superstition Mountains, in\nArizona, Caddoes village, on Red River, Cerro Naztarny, on the Rio\nGrande, the peak of Old Zuni, in Mexico, Colhuacan, on the Pacific coast,\nMount Apaola, in upper Mixteca, and Mount Neba, in Guaymi. The\nNorthwestern Indians tell of a flood in which all perished save one man,\nwho fled to Mount Tacoma. To prevent him from being swept away a spirit\nturned him into stone. When the flood had fallen the deity took one of\nhis ribs and made a woman of it. Then he touched the stone man back to\nlife.\n\nThere were descendants of Manitou on the mountains, too, of North\nCarolina, but the Cherokees believe that those heights are bare because\nthe devil strode over them on his way to the Devil's Court House\n(Transylvania County, North Carolina), where he sat in judgment and\nclaimed his own. Monsters were found in the White Mountains. Devil's Den,\non the face of Mount Willard, was the lair of one of them--a strange,\nwinged creature that strewed the floor of its cave with brute and human\nskeletons, after preying on their flesh.\n\nThe ideas of supernatural occurrences in these New Hampshire hills\nobtained until a recent date, and Sunday Mountain is a monument to the\ndire effects of Sabbath-breaking that was pointed out to several\ngenerations of New Hampshire youth for their moral betterment. The story\ngoes that a man of the adjacent town of Oxford took a walk one Sunday,\nwhen he should have taken himself to church; and, straying into the woods\nhere, he was delivered into the claws and maws of an assemblage of bears\nthat made an immediate and exemplary conclusion of him.\n\nThe grand portrait in rock in Profile Notch was regarded with reverence\nby the few red men who ventured into that lonely defile. When white men\nsaw it they said it resembled Washington, and a Yankee orator is quoted\nas saying, \"Men put out signs representing their different trades.\nJewellers hang out a monster watch, shoemakers a huge boot, and, up in\nFranconia, God Almighty has hung out a sign that in New England He makes\nmen.\"\n\nTo Echo Lake, close by, the deity was wont to repair that he might\ncontemplate the beauties of nature, and the clear, repeated echoes were\nhis voice, speaking in gentleness or anger. Moosilauke--meaning a bald\nplace, and wrongly called Moose Hillock--was declared by Waternomee,\nchief of the Pemigewassets, to be the home of the Great Spirit, and the\nfirst time that red men tried to gain the summit they returned in fear,\ncrying that Gitche Manitou was riding home in anger on a storm--which\npresently, indeed, burst over the whole country. Few Indians dared to\nclimb the mountain after that, and the first fruits of the harvest and\nfirst victims of the chase were offered in propitiation to the deity. At\nSeven Cascades, on its eastern slope, one of Rogers's Rangers, retreating\nafter the Canadian foray, fell to the ground, too tired for further\nmotion, when a distant music of harps mingled with the cascade's plash,\nand directly the waters were peopled with forms glowing with silver-white,\nlike the moonstone, that rose and circled, hand in hand, singing gayly as\nthey did so. The air then seemed to be flooded with rosy light and\nthousands of sylvan genii ascended altars of rock, by steps of rainbow,\nto offer incense and greet the sun with song. A dark cloud passed,\ndaylight faded, and a vision arose of the massacre at St. Francis, a\nretreat through untried wilderness, a feast on human heads, torture, and\ndeath; then his senses left the worn and starving man. But a trapper who\nhad seen his trail soon reached him and led him to a friendly settlement,\nwhere he was told that only to those who were about to take their leave\nof earth was it given to know those spirits of fountain and forest that\noffered their voices, on behalf of nature, in praise of the Great Spirit.\nTo those of grosser sense, on whom the weight of worldliness still\nrested, this halcyon was never revealed.\n\nIt was to Mount Washington that the Great Spirit summoned Passaconaway,\nwhen his work was done, and there was his apotheosis.\n\nThe Indians account in this manner for the birth of the White Mountains:\nA red hunter who had wandered for days through the forest without finding\ngame dropped exhausted on the snow, one night, and awaited death. But he\nfell asleep and dreamed. In his vision he saw a beautiful mountain\ncountry where birds and beasts and fruits were plenty, and, awaking from\nhis sleep, he found that day had come. Looking about the frozen\nwilderness in despair, he cried, \"Great Master of Life, where is this\ncountry that I have seen?\" And even as he spoke the Master appeared and\ngave to him a spear and a coal. The hunter dropped the coal on the\nground, when a fire spread from it, the rocks burning with dense smoke,\nout of which came the Master's voice, in thunder tones, bidding the\nmountains rise. The earth heaved and through the reek the terrified man\nsaw hills and crags lifting--lifting--until their tops reached above the\nclouds, and from the far summits sounded the promise, \"Here shall the\nGreat Spirit live and watch over his children.\" Water now burst from the\nrocks and came laughing down the hollows in a thousand brooks and rills,\nthe valleys unfolded in leaf and bloom, birds sang in the branches,\nbutterflies-like winged flowers flitted to and fro, the faint and\ncheerful noise of insect life came from the herbage, the smoke rolled\naway, a genial sun blazed out, and, as the hunter looked in rapture on\nthe mighty peaks of the Agiochooks, God stood upon their crest.","title":"Myths and Legends of Our Own Land \u2014 Volume 09 : as to buried treasure","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":16887}