says he, ‘if the cap’n don’t look sharp arter her the devil ’ll have
us all afore mornin.’ I tell ye, Sam, there’s mischief under them
petticuts.’
“‘Why, what do ye think?’ says I.
“‘Think! I don’t think, I knows! That ’are’s no gal, nor widder neither,
if my name’s Tom Tooth-acre! Look at her walk; look at the way she turns
on her heel I I’ve been a watchin’ on her. There ain’t no woman livin’
with a step like that!’ says he.
“‘Wal, who should the critter be, then?’ says I.
“‘Wal,’ says Tom, ‘’ef that ’are ain’t a British naval officer, I lose
my bet. I’ve been used to the ways on ’em, and I knows their build and
their step.’
“‘And what do you suppose she’s got in that long box?’ says I.
“‘What has she got?’ says Tom. ‘Wal, folks might say none o’ my bisness;
but I s’pects it’ll turn out some o’ my bisness, and yourn too, if
he don’t look sharp arter it,’ says Tom. ‘It’s no good, that ’are box
ain’t.’
“‘Why don’t you speak to Mr. More?’ says I.
“‘Wal, you see she’s a chipperin’ round and a mak-in’ herself agreeable
to both on ’em, you see; she don’t mean to give nobody any chance for
a talk with ’em; but I’ve got my eye on her, for all that. You see I
hain’t no sort o’ disposition to sarve out a time on one o’ them British
prison-ships,’ says Tom Toothacre. ‘It might be almighty handy for them
British to have “The Brilliant” for a coast-vessel,’ says he; ‘but, ye
see, it can’t be spared jest yet. So, madam,’ says he, ’I’ve got my eye
on you.’
“Wal, Tom was as good as his word; for when Mr. More came towards him
at the wheel, Tom he up and says to him, ‘Mr. More,’ says he, ‘that ’are
big box in the state-room yonder wants lookin’ into.’
“Tom was a sort o’ privileged character, and had a way o’ speakin’ up
that the officers took in good part, ’cause they knew he was a fust-rate
hand.
“Wal, Mr. More he looks mysterious; and says he, Tom, do the boys know
what’s in that ’are box?’
“‘I bet they don’t,’ says Tom. ‘If they had, you wouldn’t a got ’em to
help it aboard.’
“‘Wal, you see, poor woman,’ says Mr. More to Tom, ‘she was so
distressed. She wanted to get her husband’s body to Boston; and there
wa’n’t no other way, and so the cap’n let it come aboard. He didn’t want
the boys to suspect what it really Was.’
“‘Husband’s body be hanged!’ said Tom. ‘Guess that ’are corpse ain’t
so dead but what there’ll be a resurrection afore mornin’, if it ain’t
looked arter,’ says he.
“‘Why, what do you mean, Tom?’ said Mr. More, all in a blue maze.
“‘I mean, that ’are gal that’s ben a switchin’ her petticuts up and down
our deck ain’t no gal at all. That ’are’s a British officer, Mr. More.
You give my duty to the cap’n, and tell him to look into his widder’s
bandbox, and see what he’ll find there.’
“Wal, the mate he went and had a talk with the cap’n; and they ’greed
between ’em that Mr. More was to hold her in talk while the cap’n went
and took observations in the state-room.
“So, down the cap’n goes into the state-room to give a look at the box.
Wal, he finds the stateroom door all locked to be sure, and my lady had
the key in her pocket; but then the cap’n he had a master key to it; and
so he puts it in, and opens the door quite softly, and begins to take
observations.
“Sure enough, he finds that the screws had been drawed from the top o’
the box, showin’ that the widder had been a tinkerin’ on’t when they
thought she was a cryin’ over it; and then, lookin’ close, he sees a
bit o’ twine goin’ from a crack in the box out o’ the winder, and up on
deck.
“Wal, the cap’n he kind o’ got in the sperit o’ the thing; and he
thought he’d jest let the widder play her play out, and see what it
would come to. So he jest calls Tom Toothacre down to him and whispered
to him. ‘Tom,’ says he, ‘you jest crawl under the berth in that ’are
state-room, and watch that ’are box.’ And Tom said he would.
“So Tom creeps under the berth, and lies there still as a mouse; and
the cap’n he slips out and turns the key in the door, so that when madam
comes down she shouldn’t s’pect nothin’.
“Putty soon, sure enough, Tom heard the lock rattle, and the young
widder come in; and then he heard a bit o’ conversation between her and
the corpse.
“‘What time is it?’ come in a kind o’ hoarse whisper out o’ the box.
“‘Well, ’bout nine o’clock,’ says she.
“‘How long afore you’ll let me out?’ says he.
“‘Oh I you must have patience,’ says she, ‘till they’re all gone off to
sleep; when there ain’t but one man up. I can knock him down,’ says she,
‘and then I’ll pull the string for you.’
“‘The devil you will, ma’am!’ says Tom to himself, under the berth.
“‘Well, it’s darned close here,’ says the fellow in the box. He didn’t
say darned, boys; but he said a wickeder word that I can’t repeat,
noways,” said Sam, in a parenthesis: “these ’ere British officers was
drefful swearin’ critters.”
“‘You must have patience a while longer,’ says the lady, ‘till I pull
the string.’ Tom Toothacre lay there on his back a laughin’.
“‘Is every thing goin’ on right?’ says the man in the box.
“‘All straight,’ says she: ‘there don’t none of ’em suspect.’
“‘You bet,’ says Tom Toothacre, under the berth; and he said he had the
greatest mind to catch the critter by the feet as she was a standin’
there, but somehow thought it would be better fun to see the thing
through ’cording as they’d planned it.
“Wal, then she went off switchin’ and mincin’ up to the deck agin, and a
flirtin’ with the cap’n; for you see ’twas ’greed to let ’em play their
play out.
“Wal, Tom he lay there a waitin’; and he waited and waited and waited,
till he ’most got asleep; but finally he heard a stirrin’ in the box,
as if the fellah was a gettin’ up. Tom he jest crawled out still and
kerful, and stood-up tight agin the wall. Putty soon he hears a grunt,
and he sees the top o’ the box a risin’ up, and a man jest gettin’ out
on’t mighty still.
“Wal, Tom he waited till he got fairly out on to the floor, and had his
hand on the lock o’ the door, when he jumps on him, and puts both arms
round him, and gin him a regular bear’s hug.
“‘Why, what’s this?’ says the man.
“‘Guess ye’ll find out, darn ye,’ says Tom Tooth-acre. ‘So, ye wanted
our ship, did ye? Wal, ye jest can’t have our ship,’ says Tom, says he;
and I tell you he jest run that ’are fellow up stairs lickety-split, for
Tom was strong as a giant.
“The fust thing they saw was Mr. More hed got the widder by both arms,
and was tying on ’em behind her. ‘Ye see, madam, your game’s up,’ says
Mr. More, ‘but we’ll give ye a free passage to Boston, tho’,’ says
he: ‘we wanted a couple o’ prisoners about these days, and you’ll do
nicely.’
“The fellers they was putty chopfallen, to be sure, and the one in
women’s clothes ’specially: ’cause when he was found out, he felt
foolish enough in his petticuts; but they was both took to Boston, and
given over as prisoners.
“Ye see, come to look into matters, they found these two young fellows,
British officers, had formed a regular plot to take Cap’n Tucker’s
vessel, and run it into Halifax; and ye see, Cap’n Tucker he was so
sort o’ spry, and knew all the Maine coast so well, and was so ’cute at
dodgin’ in and out all them little bays and creeks and places all ’long
shore, that he made the British considerable trouble, ’cause wherever
they didn’t want him, that’s where he was sure to be.
“So they’d hatched up this ’ere plan. There was one or two British
sailors had been and shipped aboard ’The Brilliant’ a week or two
aforehand, and ’twas suspected they was to have helped in the plot if
thngs had gone as they laid out; but I tell you, when the fellows see
which way the cat jumped, they took pretty good care to say that they
hadn’t nothin’ to do with it. Oh, no, by no manner o’ means! Wal, o’
course, ye know, it couldn’t be proved on ’em, and so we let it go.
“But I tell you, Cap’n Tucker he felt pretty cheap about his widder. The
worst on’t was, they do say Ma’am Tucker got hold of it; and you might
know if a woman got hold of a thing like that she’d use it as handy as a
cat would her claws. The women they can’t no more help hittin’ a fellow
a clip and a rap when they’ve fairly got him, than a cat when she’s
ketched a mouse; and so I shouldn’t wonder if the Commodore heard
something about his widder every time he went home from his v’y-ages the
longest day he had to live. I don’t know nothin’ ’bout it, ye know: I
only kind o’ jedge by what looks, as human natur’ goes.
“But, Lordy massy! boys, ’t wa’n’t nothin’ to be ’shamed of in the
cap’n. Folks ’ll have to answer for wus things at the last day than
tryin’ to do a kindness to a poor widder, now, I tell _you_. It’s better
to be took in doin’ a good thing, than never try to do good; and it’s my
settled opinion,” said Sam, taking up his mug of cider and caressing it
tenderly, “it’s my humble opinion, that the best sort o’ folks is the
easiest took in, ’specially by the women. I reely don’t think I should a
done a bit better myself.”
[Illustration: Tailpiece, Page 102]
[Illustration: Captain Kidd’s Money, Page 108]
CAPTAIN KIDD’S MONEY.
One of our most favorite legendary resorts was the old barn. Sam Lawson
preferred it on many accounts. It was quiet and retired, that is to say,
at such distance from his own house, that he could not hear if Hepsy
called ever so loudly, and farther off than it would be convenient for
that industrious and painstaking woman to follow him. Then there was
the soft fragrant cushion of hay, on which his length of limb could be
easily bestowed. Our barn had an upper loft with a swinging outer door
that commanded a view of the old mill, the waterfall, and the distant
windings of the river, with its grassy green banks, its graceful elm
draperies, and its white flocks of water-lilies; and then on this
Saturday afternoon we had Sam all to ourselves. It was a drowsy, dreamy
October day, when the hens were lazily “craw, crawing,” in a soft,
conversational undertone with each other, as they scratched and picked
the hay-seed under the barn windows. Below in the barn black Cæsar sat
quietly hatchelling flax, sometimes gurgling and giggling to himself
with an overflow of that interior jollity with which he seemed to
be always full. The African in New England was a curious contrast to
everybody around him in the joy and satisfaction that he seemed to feel
in the mere fact of being alive. Every white person was glad or sorry
for some appreciable cause in the past, present, or future, which was
capable of being definitely stated; but black Cæsar was in an eternal
giggle and frizzle and simmer of enjoyment for which he could give no
earthly reason: he was an “embodied joy,” like Shelley’s skylark.
“Jest hear him,” said Sam Lawson, looking pensively over the hay-mow,
and strewing hayseed down on his wool. “How that ’are critter seems to
tickle and laugh all the while ’bout nothin’. Lordy massy! he don’t seem
never to consider that ’this life’s a dream, an empty show.’”
“Look here, Sam,” we broke in, anxious to cut short a threatened stream
of morality, “you promised to tell us about Capt. Kidd, and how you dug
for his money.”
“Did I, now? Wal, boys, that ’are history o’ Kidd’s is a warnin’ to
fellers. Why, Kidd had pious parents and Bible and sanctuary privileges
when he was a boy, and yet come to be hanged. It’s all in this ’ere
song I’m a goin’ to sing ye. Lordy massy! I wish I had my bass-viol
now.--Cæsar,” he said, calling down from his perch, “can’t you strike
the pitch o’ ‘Cap’n Kidd,’ on your fiddle?”
Cæsar’s fiddle was never far from him. It was, in fact, tucked away in
a nice little nook just over the manger; and he often caught an interval
from his work to scrape a dancing-tune on it, keeping time with his
heels, to our great delight.
A most wailing minor-keyed tune was doled forth, which seemed quite
refreshing to Sam’s pathetic vein, as he sang in his most lugubrious
tones,--
“‘My name was Robert Kidd
As I sailed, as I sailed,
My name was Robert Kidd;
God’s laws I did forbid,
And so wickedly I did,
As I sailed, as I sailed.’
“Now ye see, boys, he’s a goin’ to tell how he abused his religious
privileges; just hear now:--
“‘My father taught me well,
As I sailed, as I sailed;
My father taught me well
To shun the gates of hell,
But yet I did rebel,
As I sailed, as I sailed.
“‘He put a Bible in my hand,
As I sailed, as I sailed;
He put a Bible in my hand,
And I sunk it in the sand
Before I left the strand,
As I sailed, as I sailed.’
“Did ye ever hear o’ such a hardened, contrary critter, boys? It’s awful
to think on. Wal, ye see that ’are’s the way fellers allers begin the
ways o’ sin, by turnin’ their backs on the Bible and the advice o’ pious
parents. Now hear what he come to:--
“‘Then I murdered William More,
As I sailed, as I sailed;
I murdered William More,
And left him in his gore,
Not many leagues from shore,
As I sailed, as I sailed.
“‘To execution dock
I must go, I must go.
To execution dock,
While thousands round me flock,
To see me on the block,
I must go, I must go.’
“There was a good deal more on’t,” said Sam, pausing, “but I don’t seem
to remember it; but it’s real solemn and affectin’.”
“Who was Capt. Kidd, Sam?” said I.
“Wal, he was an officer in the British navy, and he got to bein’ a
pirate: used to take ships and sink ’em, and murder the folks; and so
they say he got no end o’ money,--gold and silver and precious stones,
as many as the wise men in the East. But ye see, what good did it all do
him? He couldn’t use it, and dar’sn’t keep it; so he used to bury it in
spots round here and there in the awfullest heathen way ye ever heard
of. Why, they say he allers used to kill one or two men or women or
children of his prisoners, and bury with it, so that their sperits might
keep watch on it ef anybody was to dig arter it. That ’are thing has
been tried and tried and tried, but no man nor mother’s son on ’em ever
got a cent that dug. ’Twas tried here’n Oldtown; and they come pretty
nigh gettin’ on’t, but it gin ’em the slip. Ye see, boys, _it’s the
Devil’s money, and he holds a pretty tight grip on’t_.”
“Well, how was it about digging for it? Tell us, did _you_ do it? Were
_you_ there? Did you see it? And why couldn’t they get it?” we both
asked eagerly and in one breath.
“Why, Lordy massy! boys, your questions tumbles over each other thick
as martins out o’ a martin-box. Now, you jest be moderate and let alone,
and I’ll tell you all about it from the beginnin’ to the end. I didn’t
railly have no hand in’t, though I was know-in’ to ’t, as I be to most
things that goes on round here; but my conscience wouldn’t railly a let
me start on no sich undertakin’.
“Wal, the one that fust sot the thing a goin’ was old Mother Hokum, that
used to live up in that little tumble-down shed by the cranberry-pond up
beyond the spring pastur’. They had a putty bad name, them Hokums. How
they got a livin’ nobody knew; for they didn’t seem to pay no attention
to raisin’ nothin’ but childun, but the duce knows, there was plenty o’
them. Their old hut was like a rabbit-pen: there was a tow-head to every
crack and cranny. ’Member what old Cæsar said once when the word come
to the store that old Hokum had got twins. ‘S’pose de Lord knows best,’
says Cæsar, ‘but I thought dere was Hokums enough afore.’ Wal, even poor
workin’ industrious folks like me finds it’s hard gettin’ along when
there’s so many mouths to feed. Lordy massy! there don’t never seem to
be no end on’t, and so it ain’t wonderful, come to think on’t, ef folks
like them Hokums gets tempted to help along in ways that ain’t quite,
right. Anyhow, folks did use to think that old Hokum was too sort o’
familiar with their wood-piles ’long in the night, though they couldn’t
never prove it on him; and when Mother Hokum come to houses round to
wash, folks use sometimes to miss pieces, here and there, though they
never could find ’em on her; then they was allers a gettin’ in debt here
and a gottin’ in debt there. Why, they got to owin’ two dollars to Joe
Gidger for butcher’s meat. Joe was sort o’ good-natured and let ’em have
meat, ’cause Hokum he promised so fair to pay; but he couldn’t never get
it out o’ him. ’Member once Joe walked clear up to the cranberry-pond
artor that ’are two dollars; but Mother Hokum she see him a comin’ jest
as he come past the juniper-bush on the corner. She says to Hokum, ‘Get
into bed, old man, quick, and let me tell the story,’ says she. So she
covered him up; and when Gidger come in she come up to him, and says
she, ‘Why, Mr. Gidger, I’m jest ashamed to see yo: why, Mr. Hokum was
jest a comin’ down to pay yo that ’are money last week, but ye see
he was took down with the small-pox’--Joe didn’t hear no mow: he
just turned round, and he streaked it out that ’are door with his
coat-tails flyin’ out straight ahind him; and old Mother Hokum she jest
stood at the window holdin’ her sides and laughin’ fit to split, to see
him run. That ’are’s jest a sample o’ the ways them Hokums cut up.
“Wal, you see, boys, there’s a queer kind o’ rock down on the bank ’o
the river, that looks sort o’ like a grave-stone. The biggest part
on’t is sunk down under ground, and it’s pretty well growed over with
blackberry-vines; but, when you scratch the bushes away, they used to
make out some queer marks on that ’are rock. They was sort o’ lines and
crosses; and folks would have it that them was Kidd’s private marks, and
that there was one o’ the places where he hid his money.
“Wal, there’s no sayin’ fairly how it come to be thought so; but fellers
used to say so, and they used sometimes to talk it over to the tahvern,
and kind o’ wonder whether or no, if they should dig, they wouldn’t come
to suthin’.
“Wal, old Mother Hokum she heard on’t, and she was a sort o’
enterprisin’ old crittur: fact was, she had to be, ’cause the young
Hokums was jest like bag-worms, the more they growed the more they eat,
and I expect she found it pretty hard to fill their mouths; and so she
said ef there _was_ any thing under that ’are rock, they’d as good’s
have it as the Devil; and so she didn’t give old Hokum no peace o’ his
life, but he must see what there was there.
“Wal, I was with ’em the night they was a talk-in’ on’t up. Ye see,
Hokum he got thirty-seven cents’ worth o’ lemons and sperit. I see him
goin’ by as I was out a splittin’ kindlin’s; and says he, ‘Sam, you jest
go ’long up to our house to-night,’ says he: ‘Toddy Whitney and Harry
Wiggin’s comin’ up, and we’re goin’ to have a little suthin’ hot,’ says
he; and he kind o’ showed me the lemons and sperit. And I told him I
guessed I would go ’long. Wal, I kind o’ wanted to see what they’d be up
to, ye know.
“Wal, come to find out, they was a talkin’ about Cap’n Kidd’s treasures,
and layin’ out how they should get it, and a settin’ one another on with
gret stories about it.
“‘I’ve heard that there was whole chists full o’ gold guineas,’ says
one.
“‘And I’ve heard o’ gold bracelets and ear-rings and finger-rings all
sparklin’ with diamonds,’ says another.
“‘Maybe it’s old silver plate from some o’ them old West Indian
grandees,’ says another.
“‘Wal, whatever it is,’ says Mother Hokum, ‘I want to be into it,’ says
she.
“‘Wal, Sam, won’t you jine?’ says they.
“‘Wal, boys,’ says I, ‘I kind o’ don’t feel jest like j’inin’. I sort
o’ ain’t clear about the rights on’t: seems to me it’s mighty nigh like
goin’ to the Devil for money.’
“‘Wal,’ says Mother Hokum, ‘what if ’tis? Money’s money, get it how ye
will; and the Devil’s money ’ll buy as much meat as any. I’d go to the
Devil, if he gave good money.’
“‘Wal, I guess I wouldn’t,’ says I. ‘Don’t you ’member the sermon Parson
Lothrop preached about hastin’ to be rich, last sabba’ day?’
“‘Parson Lothrop be hanged!’ says she. ‘Wal, now,’ says she, ‘I like
to see a parson with his silk stockin’s and great gold-headed cane, a
lollopin’ on his carriage behind his fat, prancin’ hosses, comin’ to
meetin’ to preach to us poor folks not to want to be rich! How’d he like
it to have forty-’leven children, and nothin’ to put onto ’em or into
’em, I wonder? Guess if Lady Lothrop had to rub and scrub, and wear
her fingers to the bone as I do, she’d want to be rich; and I guess the
parson, if he couldn’t get a bellyful for a week, would be for diggin’
up Kidd’s money, or doing ’most any thing else to make the pot bile.’
“‘Wal,’ says I, ‘I’ll kind o’ go with ye, boys, and sort o’ see how
things turn out; but I guess I won’t take no shere in’t,’ says I.
“Wal, they got it all planned out. They was to wait till the full moon,
and then they was to get Primus King to go with ’em and help do the
diggin’. Ye see, Hokum and Toddy Whitney and Wiggin are all putty softly
fellers, and hate dreffully to work; and I tell you the Kidd money ain’t
to be got without a pretty tough piece o’ diggin. Why, it’s jest like
diggin’ a well to get at it. Now, Primus King was the master hand for
diggin’ wells, and so they said they’d get him by givin’ on him a shere.
“Harry Wiggin he didn’t want no nigger a sherin’ in it, he said; but
Toddy and Hokum they said that when there was such stiff diggin’ to be
done, they didn’t care if they did go in with a nigger.
“‘Wal, Wiggin he said he hadn’t no objection to havin’ the nigger do the
diggin,’ it was _sherin’ the profits_ he objected to.
“‘Wal,’ says Hokum, ‘you can’t get him without,’ says he. ‘Primus knows
too much,’ says he: ‘you can’t fool him.’ Finally they ’greed that
they was to give Primus twenty dollars, and shere the treasure ’mong
themselves.
“Come to talk with Primus, he wouldn’t stick in a spade, unless they’d
pay him aforehand. Ye see, Primus was up to ’em; he knowed about Gidger,
and there wa’n’t none on ’em that was particular good pay; and so they
all jest hed to rake and scrape, and pay him down the twenty dollars
among ’em; and they ’greed for the fust full moon, at twelve’ o’clock at
night, the 9th of October.
“Wal, ye see I had to tell Hepsy I was goin’ out to watch. Wal, so I
was; but not jest in the way she took it: but, Lordy massy! a feller has
to tell his wife suthin’ to keep her quiet, ye know, ’specially Hepsy.
“Wal, wal, of all the moonlight nights that ever I did see, I never did
see one equal to that. Why, you could see the color o’ every thing. I
’member I could see how the huckleberry-bushes on the rock was red as
blood when the moonlight shone through ’em; ’cause the leaves, you see,
had begun to turn.
“Goin’ on our way we got to talkin’ about the sperits.
“‘I ain’t afraid on ’em,’ says Hokum. ‘What harm can a sperit do me?’
says he. ‘I don’t care ef there’s a dozen on ’em;’ and he took a swig at
his bottle.
“‘Oh! there ain’t no sperits,’ says Harry Wiggin. ‘That ’are talk’s all
nonsense;’ and he took a swig at _his_ bottle.
“‘Wal,’ says Toddy, ‘I don’t know ’bout that ’are. Me and Ike Sanders
has seen the sperits in the Cap’n Brown house. We thought we’d jest have
a peek into the window one night; and there was a whole flock o’ black
colts without no heads on come rushin’ on us and knocked us flat.’
“‘I expect you’d been at the tahvern,’ said Hokum.
“‘Wal, yes, we had; but them was sperits: we wa’n’t drunk, now; we was
jest as sober as ever we was.’
“‘Wal, they won’t get away my money,’ says Primus, ‘for I put it safe
away in Dinah’s teapot afore I come out;’ and then he showed all his
ivories from ear to ear. ‘I think all this ’are’s sort o’ foolishness,’
says Primus.
“‘Wal,’ says I, ‘boys, I ain’t a goin’ to have no part or lot in this
’ere matter, but I’ll jest lay it off to you how it’s to be done. Ef
Kidd’s money is under this rock, there’s ’sperits’ that watch it, and
you mustn’t give ’em no advantage. There mustn’t be a word spoke from
the time ye get sight o’ the treasure till ye get it safe up on to firm
ground,’ says I. ‘’Ef ye do, it’ll vanish right out o’ sight. I’ve talked
with them that has dug down to it and seen it; but they allers lost it,
’cause they’d call out and say suthin’; and the minute they spoke, away
it went.’