There was no trouble with Casey--he had been mighty glad to take them.
And, at about noon of the following day, they drew in to the ancient
capital, having made a quick and easy run from Hampton.
It was clear, bright October weather, when late summer seems to linger
for very joy of staying, and all nature is in accord. The State House,
where Washington resigned his commission--with its chaste lines and
dignified white dome, when viewed from the Bay (where the monstrosity
of recent years that has been hung on behind, is not visible) stood out
clearly in the sunlight, standing high above the town, which slumbers,
in dignified ease, within its shadow. A few old mansions, up the Spa,
seen before they landed, with the promise of others concealed among the
trees, higher up, told their story of a Past departed--a finished
city.
"Where is Greenberry Point?" demanded Macloud, suddenly.
"Yonder, sir, on the far side of the Severn--the strip of land which
juts out into the Bay."
"First hypothesis, dead as a musket!" looking at Croyden. "There isn't
a house in sight--except the light-house, and it's a bug-light."
"No houses--but where are the trees?" Croyden returned. "It seems
pretty low," he said, to the skipper; "is it ever covered with water?"
"I think not, sir--the water's just eating it slowly away."
Croyden nodded, and faced townward.
"What is the enormous white stone building, yonder?" he asked.
"The Naval Academy--that's only one of the buildings, sir, Bancroft
Hall. The whole Academy occupies a great stretch of land along the
Severn."
They landed at the dock, at the foot of Market Place and inquired the
way to Carvel Hall--that being the hotel advised by Dick. They were
directed up Wayman's alley--one of the numerous three foot
thoroughfares between streets, in which the town abounds--to Prince
George Street, and turning northward on it for a block, past the once
splendid Brice house, now going slowly to decay, they arrived at the
hotel:--the central house of English brick with the wings on either
side, and a modern hotel building tacked on the rear.
"Rather attractive!" was Macloud's comment, as they ascended the steps
to the brick terrace and, thence, into the hotel. "Isn't this an old
residence?" he inquired of the clerk, behind the desk.
"Yes, sir! It's the William Paca (the Signer) mansion, but it served as
the home of Dorothy Manners in _Richard Carvel_, and hence the name,
sir: Carvel Hall. We've many fine houses here: the Chase House--he
also was a Signer; the Harwood House, said to be one of the most
perfect specimens of Colonial architecture in America; the Scott House,
on the Spa; the Brice House, next door; McDowell Hall, older than any
of them, was gutted by fire last year, but has been restored; the Ogle
mansion--he was Governor in the 1740's, I think. Oh! this was the Paris
of America before and during the Revolution. Why, sir, the tonnage of
the Port of Annapolis, in 1770, was greater than the tonnage of the
Port of Baltimore, to-day."
"Very interesting!" said Macloud. "Very interesting, indeed. What's
happened to it since 1770?"
"Nothing, sir--that's the trouble, it's progressed backward--and
Baltimore has taken its place."
"I see!" said Macloud, laughing. "What time is luncheon?"
"It's being served now, sir--twelve-thirty to two."
"Order a pair of saddle horses, and have them around at one-thirty,
please."
"There is no livery connected with the hotel, sir, but I'll do what I
can. There isn't any saddlers for hire, but we will get you a pair of
'Cheney's Best,' sir--they're sometimes ridden. However, you had
better drive, if you will permit me to suggest, sir."
Croyden glanced at Macloud.
"No!--we will try the horses," he said.
It had been determined that they should ride for the reasons, as urged
by Macloud, that they could go on horseback where they could not in a
conveyance, and they would be less likely to occasion comment. The
former of which appealed to Croyden, though the latter did not.
Macloud had borrowed an extra pair of riding breeches and puttees, from
his friend, and, at the time appointed, the two men passed through the
office.
"The horses are waiting, sir!" the clerk informed them.
Two negro lads were holding a pair of rawboned nags, that resembled
saddlers about as much as a cigar-store Indian does a sonata. Croyden
looked them over in undisguised disgust.
"If these are Cheney's Best," he commented, "what in Heaven's name are
his worst?"
"Come on!" said Macloud, adjusting the stirrups. "Get aboard and leave
the kicking to the horses, they may be better than they look. Where
does one cross the Severn?" he asked a man who was passing.
"Straight up to the College green," he replied, pointing; "then one
square to the right to King George Street, and on out it, across
College Creek, to the Marine Barracks. The road forks there; you turn
to the right; and the bridge is at the foot of the hill."
They thanked him, and rode away.
"He ought to write a guide book," said Croyden.
"How do you know he hasn't?" Macloud retorted. "Well paved
streets,--but a trifle hard for riding."
"And more than a trifle dirty," Croyden added. "My horse isn't so
bad--how's yours?"
"He'll do!--This must be the Naval Academy," as they passed along a
high brick wall--"Yonder, are the Barracks--the Marines are drilling in
front."
They clattered over the creek, rounded the quarters of the
"Hermaphrodites," and saw below them the wide bridge, almost a half a
mile long, which spans the Severn. The draw was open, to let a motor
boat pass through, but it closed before they reached it.
"This is exceptionally pretty!" Macloud exclaimed, drawing rein,
midway. "Look at the high bluff, on the farther shore, with the view up
the river, on one side, and down the Bay, and clear across on the
other.... Now," as they wound up on the hill, "for the first road to
the right."
"This doesn't look promising!" laughed Croyden, as the road swung
abruptly westward and directly away from Greenberry Point.
"Let us go a little farther," said Macloud. "There must be a way--a
bridle path, if nothing better--and, if we must, we can push straight
through the timber; there doesn't seem to be any fences. You see, it
was rational to ride."
"You're a wise old owl!" Croyden retorted.
"Ah!--there's our road!" as one unexpectedly took off to the right,
among the trees, and bore almost immediately eastward. "Come along, my
friend!"
Presently they were startled by a series of explosions, a short
distance ahead.
"What are we getting into?" Macloud exclaimed, drawing up sharply.
"Parmenter's defending his treasure!" said Croyden, with mock
seriousness. "He is warning us off."
"A long way off, then! We must be a mile and more from the Point. It's
some one blasting, I think."
"It wasn't sufficiently muffled," Croyden answered.
They waited a few moments: hearing no further noises, they proceeded--a
trifle cautiously, however. A little further on, they came upon a wood
cutter.
"He doesn't appear at all alarmed," Croyden observed. "What were the
explosions, a minute ago?" he called.
"They weren't nothing," said the man, leaning on his axe. "The Navy's
got a 'speriment house over here. They're trying things. Yer don't
need be skeered. If yer goin' to the station, it's just a little ways,
now," he added, with the country-man's curiosity--which they did not
satisfy.
They passed the buildings of the Experiment Station and continued on,
amid pine and dogwood, elms and beeches. They were travelling parallel
with the Severn, and not very distant, as occasional glimpses of blue
water, through the trees, revealed. Gradually, the timber thinned. The
river became plainly visible with the Bay itself shimmering to the
fore. Then the trees ended abruptly, and they came out on Greenberry
Point: a long, flat, triangular-shaped piece of ground, possibly two
hundred yards across the base, and three hundred from base to point.
The two men halted, and looked around.
"Somewhere near here, possibly just where your horse is standing, is
the treasure," said Macloud. "Can't you feel its presence?"
"No, I can't!" laughed Croyden, "and that appears to be my only chance,
for I can't see a trace of the trees which formed the square."
"Be not cast down!" Macloud admonished. "Remember, you didn't expect to
find things marked off for you."
"No, _I_ didn't! but I thought _you_ did."
"That was only to stir you up. I anticipated even more adverse
conditions. It's amazingly easier than I dared to hope."
"Thunder! man! we can't dig six feet deep over all of forty acres. We
shall have the whole of Annapolis over to help us before we've done a
square of forty feet."
"You're too liberal!" laughed Macloud. "Twenty feet would be ample."
Then he sobered. "The instructions say: seven hundred and fifty feet
back, from the extreme tip of Greenberry Point, is the quadrangle of
trees. That was in 1720, one hundred and ninety years ago. They must
have been of good size then--hence, they would be of the greater size,
now, or else have disappeared entirely. There isn't a single tree which
could correspond with Parmenter's, closer than four hundred yards, and,
as the point would have been receding rather than gaining, we can
assume, with tolerable certainty, that the beeches have
vanished--either from decay or from wind storms, which must be very
severe over in this exposed land. Hence, must not our first quest be
for some trace of the trees?"
"That sounds reasonable," said Croyden, "and, if the Point has receded,
which is altogether likely, then we are pretty near the place."
"Yes!--if the Point has simply receded, but if it has shifted
laterally, as well, the problem is not so simple."
"Let us go out to the Point, and look at the ruins of the light-house.
If we can get near enough to ascertain when it was built, it may help
us. Evidently there was none erected here, in Parmenter's time, else
he would not have chosen this place to hide his treasure."
But the light-house was a barren yield. It was a crumbling mass of
ruins, lying out in water, possibly fifty feet--the real house was a
bug-light farther out in the Bay.
"Well, there's no one to see us, so why shouldn't we make a search for
the trees?" said Croyden.
"Hold my horse!" said Macloud, dismounting.
He went out on the extreme edge, faced about, and taking a line at
right angles to it, stepped two hundred and fifty paces. He ended in
sand--and, for another fifty paces, sand--sand unrelieved by aught save
some low bushes sparsely scattered here and there.
"Somewhere hereabout, according to present conditions, the trees should
be," he said.
"Not very promising," was Croyden's comment.
"Let us assume that the diagonal lines drawn between the trees
intersect at this point," Macloud continued, producing a compass.
"Then, one hundred and ten paces North-by-North-East is the place we
seek."
He stepped the distance carefully--Croyden following with the
horses--and sunk his heel into the sand beside a clump of wire grass.
"Here is the old buccaneer's hoard!" he exclaimed, dramatically.
"Shall we dig, immediately?" Croyden laughed.
[Illustration: HE WENT OUT ON THE EXTREME EDGE, FACED ABOUT, AND STEPPED
TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY PACES]
"You dig--I'll hold the horses; your hands are tougher than mine."
"I wonder who owns this land?" said Croyden, suddenly.
"We can ascertain very readily. You mean, you would try to purchase
it?"
"Yes, as a site for a house, ostensibly. I might buy a lot beginning,
say one hundred and fifty yards back from the Point, and running, at an
even width of two hundred yards, from the Severn to the Bay. That would
surely include the treasure."
"A fine idea!" Macloud agreed.
"If the present owner will sell," appended Croyden--"and if his price
isn't out of all reason. I can't go much expense, you know."
"Never mind the expense--that can be arranged. If he will sell, the
rest is easy. I'll advance it gladly to you."
"And we will share equally, then," said Croyden.
"Bosh!" Macloud answered. "I've got more money than I want, let me have
some fun with the excess, Croyden. And this promises more fun than I've
had for a year--hunting a buried treasure, within sight of Maryland's
capital. Moreover, it won't likely be out of reach of your own
pocketbook, this can't be very valuable land." He remounted his horse.
"Let us ride around over the intended site, and prospect--we may
discover something."
But, though, they searched for an hour, they were utterly unsuccessful.
The four beech trees had disappeared as completely as though they never
were.
"I'm perfectly confident, however," Macloud remarked as they turned
away toward town, "that somewhere, within the lines of your proposed
lot, lie the Parmenter jewels. Now, for the lot. Once you have title to
it, you may plow up the whole thing to any depth you please, and no one
may gainsay you."
"I'm not so sure," replied Croyden. "My knowing that the treasure was
on it when purchased, may make me liable to my grantor for an
accounting."
"But you don't _know_!" objected Macloud.
"Yet, I have every reason to believe--the letter is most specific."
"Suppose, after you've paid a big price for the land, you don't find
the treasure, could you make him take it back and refund the purchase
money?"
"No, most assuredly, no," smiled Croyden.
"Mighty queer doctrine! You must account for what you find--if you
don't find it, you must keep the land, anyway. The other fellow wins
whatever happens."
"It's predicated on the proposition that I have knowingly deceived him
into selling something for nothing. However, I'm not at all clear about
it; and we will buy if we can--and take the chances. But we won't go to
work with a brass band, old man."
At the top of the hill, beyond the Severn, there was a road which took
off to the left.
"This parallels the road by the Marine Barracks, suppose we turn in
here," Macloud said. "It probably goes through the Academy grounds."
A little way on, they passed what was evidently a fine hospital, with
the United States flag flying over it. Just beyond, occupying the point
of land where College Creek empties into the Severn, was the Naval
Cemetery.
"Very fitting!" Croyden laughed. "They have the place of interment
exceedingly handy to the hospital. What in thunder's that?" he asked,
indicating a huge dome, hideously ornate with gold and white, that
projected above the trees, some distance ahead.
"Give it up!" said Macloud. "Unless it's a custard-and-cream pudding
for the Midshipmen's supper. Awful looking thing, isn't it! Oh! I
recollect now: the Government has spent millions in erecting new
Academy buildings; and someone in the Navy remarked, 'If a certain chap
_had_ to kill somebody, he couldn't see why he hadn't selected the
fellow who was responsible for them--his work at Annapolis would have
been ample justification.' Judging from the atrocity to our fore, the
officer didn't overdraw it."
They took the road along the officers' quarters on Upshur Row, and came
out the upper gate into King George Street, thereby missing the Chapel
(of the custard-and-cream dome) and all the other Smith buildings.
"We can see them again!" said Croyden. "The real estate agent is more
important now."
It was the quiet hour when they got back to the hotel, and the clerk
was standing in the doorway, sunning himself.
"Enjoy your ride, sirs?" he asked.
"It wasn't bad," returned Croyden. Then he stopped. "Can you tell me
who owns Greenberry Point?"
"Yes, sir! The Government owns it--they bought it for the Rifle
Range."
"The whole of it?"
"Yes, sir!--from the Point clear up to the Experiment Station."
Croyden thanked him and passed on.
"That's the end of the purchase idea!" he said. "I thought it was 'most
too good to last."
"It got punctured very early," Macloud agreed.
"And the question is, what to do, now? Might the clerk be wrong?"
Macloud shook his head. "There isn't a chance of it. Titles in a small
town are known, particularly, when they're in the United States.
However, it's easy to verify--we'll hunt up a real estate
office--they'll know."
But when they had dressed, and sought a real estate office, the last
doubt vanished: it confirmed the clerk.
"If you haven't anything particularly pressing," said Macloud, "I
suggest that we remain here for a few days and consider what is best to
do."
"My most pressing business is to find the treasure!" Croyden laughed.
"Good! then we're on the job until it's found--if it takes a year or
longer." And when Croyden looked his surprise: "I've nothing to do, old
chap, and one doesn't have the opportunity to go treasure hunting more
than once in a lifetime. Picture our satisfaction when we hear the pick
strike the iron box, and see the lid turned back, and the jewels
coruscating before us."
"But what if there isn't any coruscating--that's a good word, old
man--nor any iron box?"
"Don't be so pessimistic--_think_ we're going to find it, it will help
a lot."
"How about if we _don't_ find it?"
"Then, at least, we'll have had a good time in hunting, and have done
our best to succeed."
"It's a new thing to hear old cynical Macloud preaching optimism!"
laughed Croyden--"our last talk, in Northumberland, wasn't particularly
in that line, you'll remember."
"Our talk in Northumberland had to do with other people and
conditions. This is an adventure, and has to do solely with ourselves.
Some difference, my dear Croyden, some difference! What do you say to
an early breakfast to-morrow, and then a walk over to the Point. It's
something like your Eastern Shore to get to, however,--just across the
river by water, but three miles around by the Severn bridge. We can
have the whole day for prospecting."
"I'm under your orders," said Croyden. "You're in charge of this
expedition."
They had been passing numerous naval officers in uniform, some well
set-up, some slouchy.
"The uniform surely does show up the man for what he is," said Macloud.
"Look at these two for instance--from the stripes on the sleeves, a
Lieutenant-Commander and a Senior Lieutenant. Did you ever see a real
Bowery tough?--they are in that class, with just enough veneer to
deceive, for an instant. There, are two others, opposite. They look
like soldiers. Observe the dignity, the snappy walk, the inherent air
of command."
"Isn't it the fault of the system?" asked Croyden. "Every Congressman
holds a competitive examination in his district; and the appointment
goes to the applicant who wins--be he what he may. For that reason, I
dare say, the Brigade of Midshipmen contains muckers as well as
gentlemen--and officers are but midshipmen of a larger growth."
"Just so! and it's wrong--all wrong! To be a commissioned officer, in
either Army or Navy, ought to attest one's gentle birth."
"It raises a presumption in their favor, at least."
"Presumption! do you think the two who passed us could hide behind that
presumption longer than the fraction of an instant?"
"Don't get excited, old man! I was accounting for it, not defending it.
It's a pity, of course, but that's one of the misfortunes of a Republic
where all men are equal."
"Rot! damn rot!" Macloud exclaimed. "Men aren't equal!--they're born to
different social scales, different intellectualities, different
conditions otherwise. For the purpose of suffrage they may, in the
theory of our government, be equal--but we haven't yet demonstrated it.
We exclude the Japanese and Chinese. We have included the negro, only
within the living generation--and it's entirely evident, now, we made a
monstrous mistake by doing it. Equal! Equal! Never in this world!"
"How about the next world?" asked Croyden.
"I don't know!" laughed Macloud, as they ascended the steps of the
hotel. "For my part, I'm for the Moslem's Paradise and the Houris who
attend the Faithful. And, speaking of houris!--see who's here!"
Croyden glanced up--to see Elaine Cavendish and Charlotte Brundage
standing in the doorway.