HOW THE NIGHT WENT
George sat opposite to him, his hands on his knees, the red nightcap on
his head, and a comical expression of astonishment upon his melancholy
countenance.
“Well,” he said, when Harold had done, “blow me if that ain’t a master
one. And yet there’s folks who say that there ain’t no such thing as
Providence—not that there’s anything prowided yet—p’raps there ain’t
nawthing there after all.”
“I don’t know if there is or not, but I’m going back to see, and I want
you to come with me.”
“Now?” said George rather uneasily. “Why, Colonel, that bain’t a very
nice spot to go digging about in on a night like this. I niver heard no
good of that there place—not as I holds by sich talk myself,” he added
apologetically.
“Well,” said the Colonel, “you can do as you like, but I’m going back
at once, and going down the hole, too; the gas must be out of it by
now. There are reasons,” he added, “why, if this money is to be found
at all, it should be found this morning. To-day is Christmas Day, you
know.”
“Yes, yes, Colonel; I knows what you mean. Bless you, I know all about
it; the old Squire must talk to somebody; if he don’t he’d bust, so he
talks to me. That Cossey’s coming for his answer from Miss Ida this
morning. Poor young lady, I saw her yesterday, and she looks like a
ghost, she du. Ah, he’s a mean one, that Cossey. Laryer Quest warn’t in
it with him after all. Well, I cooked his goose for him, and I’d give
summut to have a hand in cooking that banker chap’s too. You wait a
minute, Colonel, and I’ll come along, gale and ghostesses and all. I
only hope it mayn’t be after a fool’s arrand, that’s all,” and he
retired to put on his boots. Presently he appeared again, his red
nightcap still on his head, for he was afraid that the wind would blow
a hat off, and carrying an unlighted lantern in his hand.
“Now, Colonel, I’m ready, sir, if you be;” and they started.
The gale was, if anything, fiercer than ever. Indeed, there had been no
such wind in those parts for years, or rather centuries, as the
condition of the timber by ten o’clock that morning amply testified.
“This here timpest must be like that as the Squire tells us on in the
time of King Charles, as blew the top of the church tower off on a
Christmas night,” shouted George. But Harold made no answer, and they
fought their way onward without speaking any more, for their voices
were almost inaudible. Once the Colonel stopped and pointed to the
sky-line. Of all the row of tall poplars which he had seen bending like
whips before the wind as he came along but one remained standing now,
and as he pointed that vanished also.
Reaching the summer house in safety, they entered, and the Colonel shut
and locked the door behind them. The frail building was literally
rocking in the fury of the storm.
“I hope the roof will hold,” shouted George, but Harold took no heed.
He was thinking of other things. They lit the lanterns, of which they
now had three, and the Colonel slid down into the great grave he had so
industriously dug, motioning to George to follow. This that worthy did,
not without trepidation. Then they both knelt and stared down through
the hole in the masonry, but the light of the lanterns was not strong
enough to enable them to make out anything with clearness.
“Well,” said George, falling back upon his favourite expression in his
amazement, as he drew his nightcapped head from the hole, “if that
ain’t a master one, I niver saw a masterer, that’s all.
“What be you a-going to du now, Colonel? Hev you a ladder here?”
“No,” answered Harold, “I never thought of that, but I’ve a good rope:
I’ll get it.”
Scrambling out of the hole, he presently returned with a long coil of
stout rope. It belonged to some men who had been recently employed in
cutting boughs off such of the oaks that needed attention.
They undid the rope and let the end down to see how deep the pit was.
When they felt that the end lay upon the floor they pulled it up. The
depth from the hole to the bottom of the pit appeared to be about
sixteen feet or a trifle more.
Harold took the iron crow, and having made the rope fast to it fixed
the bar across the mouth of the aperture. Then he doubled the rope,
tied some knots in it, and let it fall into the pit, preparatory to
climbing down it.
But George was too quick for him. Forgetting his doubts as to the
wisdom of groping about Dead Man’s Mount at night, in the ardour of his
burning curiosity he took the dark lantern, and holding it with his
teeth passed his body through the hole in the masonry, and cautiously
slid down the rope.
“Are you all right?” asked Harold in a voice tremulous with excitement,
for was not his life’s fortune trembling on the turn?
“Yes,” answered George doubtfully. Harold looking down could see that
he was holding the lantern above his head and staring at something very
hard.
Next moment a howl of terror echoed up from the pit, the lantern was
dropped upon the ground and the rope began to be agitated with the
utmost violence.
In another two seconds George’s red nightcap appeared followed by a
face that was literally livid with terror.
“Let me up for Goad’s sake,” he gasped, “or he’ll hev me by the leg!”
“He! who?” asked the Colonel, not without a thrill of superstitious
fear, as he dragged the panting man through the hole.
But George would give no answer until he was out of the grave. Indeed
had it not been for the Colonel’s eager entreaties, backed to some
extent by actual force, he would by this time have been out of the
summer-house also, and half-way down the mount.
“What is it?” roared the Colonel in the pit to George, who shivering
with terror was standing on its edge.
“It’s a blessed ghost, that’s what it is, Colonel,” answered George,
keeping his eyes fixed upon the hole as though he momentarily expected
to see the object of his fears emerge.
“Nonsense,” said Harold doubtfully. “What rubbish you talk. What sort
of a ghost?”
“A white un,” said George, “all bones like.”
“All bones?” answered the Colonel, “why it must be a skeleton.”
“I don’t say that he ain’t,” was the answer, “but if he be, he’s nigh
on seven foot high, and sitting airing of hissel in a stone bath.”
“Oh, rubbish,” said the Colonel. “How can a skeleton sit and air
himself? He would tumble to bits.”
“I don’t know, but there he be, and they don’t call this here place
'Dead Man’s Mount’ for nawthing.”
“Well,” said the Colonel argumentatively, “a skeleton is a perfectly
harmless thing.”
“Yes, if he’s dead maybe, sir, but this one’s alive, I saw him nod his
head at me.”
“Look here, George,” answered Harold, feeling that if this went on much
longer he should lose his nerve altogether. “I’m not going to be
scared. Great heavens, what a gust! I’m going down to see for myself.”
“Very good, Colonel,” answered George, “and I’ll wait here till you
come up again—that is if you iver du.”
Thrice did Harold look at the hole in the masonry and thrice did he
shrink back.
“Come,” he shouted angrily, “don’t be a fool; get down here and hand me
the lantern.”
George obeyed with evident trepidation. Then Harold scrambled through
the opening and with many an inward tremor, for there is scarcely a man
on the earth who is really free from supernatural fears, descended hand
over hand. But in so doing he managed to let the lantern fall and it
went out. Now as any one will admit this was exceedingly trying. It is
not pleasant to be left alone in the dark and underground in the
company of an unknown “spook.” He had some matches, but what between
fear and cold it was some time before he could get a light. Down in
this deep place the rush of the great gale reached his ears like a
faint and melancholy sighing, and he heard other tapping noises, too,
or he thought he did, noises of a creepy and unpleasant nature. Would
the matches never light? The chill and death-like damp of the place
struck to his marrow and the cold sweat poured from his brow. Ah! at
last! He kept his eyes steadily fixed upon the lantern till he had lit
it and the flame was burning brightly. Then with an effort he turned
and looked round him.
And this is what he saw.
There, three or four paces from him, in the centre of the chamber of
Death sat or rather lay a figure of Death. It reclined in a stone chest
or coffin, like a man in a hip bath which is too small for him. The
bony arms hung down on either side, the bony limbs projected towards
him, the great white skull hung forward over the massive breast bone.
It moved, too, of itself, and as it moved, the jaw-bone tapped against
the breast and the teeth clacked gently together.
Terror seized him while he looked, and, as George had done, he turned
to fly. How could that thing move its head? The head ought to fall off.
Seizing the rope, he jerked it violently in the first effort of
mounting.
“Hev he got yew, Colonel?” sung out George above; and the sound of a
human voice brought him back to his sense.
“No,” he answered as boldly as he could, and then setting his teeth,
turned and tottered straight at the Horror in the chest.
He was there now, and holding the lantern against the thing, examined
it. It was a skeleton of enormous size, and the skull was fixed with
rusty wire to one of the vertebrae.
At this evidence of the handiwork of man his fears almost vanished.
Even in that company he could not help remembering that it is scarcely
to be supposed that spiritual skeletons carry about wire with which to
tie on their skulls.
With a sigh of relief he held up the lantern and looked round. He was
standing in a good-sized vault or chamber, built of rubble stone. Some
of this rubble had fallen in to his left; but otherwise, though the
workmanship showed that it must be of extreme antiquity, the stone
lining was still strong and good. He looked upon the floor, and then
for the first time saw that the nodding skeleton before him was not the
only one. All round lay remnants of the dead. There they were,
stretched out in the form of a circle, of which the stone kist was the
centre.[*] One place in the circle was vacant; evidently it had once
been occupied by the giant frame which now sat within the kist. Next he
looked at the kist itself. It had all the appearance of one of those
rude stone chests in which the very ancient inhabitants of this island
buried the ashes of their cremated dead. But, if this was so, whence
came the un-cremated skeletons?
[*] At Bungay, in Suffolk, there stood a mound or tumulus, on which was
a windmill. Some years ago the windmill was pulled down, and the owner
of the ground wishing to build a house upon its site, set to work to
cart away the mound. His astonishment may be conceived when he found in
the earth a great number of skeletons arranged in circles. These
skeletons were of large size, and a gentleman who saw them informed me
that he measured one. It was that of a man who must have been nearly
seven feet high. The bones were, unhappily, carted away and thrown into
a dyke. But no house has been built upon the resting-place of those
unknown warriors. —Author.
Perhaps a subsequent race or tribe had found the chamber ready
prepared, and used it to bury some among them who had fallen in battle.
It was impossible to say more, especially as with one exception there
was nothing buried with the skeletons which would assist to identify
their race or age. That exception was a dog. A dog had been placed by
one of the bodies. Evidently from the position of the bones of its
master’s arms he had been left to his last sleep with his hand resting
on the hound’s head.
Bending down, Harold examined the seated skeleton more closely. It was,
he discovered, accurately jointed together with strong wire. Clearly
this was the work of hands which were born into the world long after
the flesh on those mighty bones had crumbled into dust.
But where was the treasure? He saw none. His heart sank as the idea
struck him that he had made an interesting archaeological discovery,
and that was all. Before undertaking a closer search he went under the
hole and halloaed to George to come down as there was nothing but some
bones to frighten him.
This the worthy George was at length with much difficulty persuaded to
do.
When at last he stood beside him in the vault, Harold explained to him
what the place was and how ridiculous were his fears, without however
succeeding in allaying them to any considerable extent.
And really when one considers the position it is not wonderful that
George was scared. For they were shut up in the bowels of a place which
had for centuries owned the reputation of being haunted, faced by a
nodding skeleton of almost superhuman size, and surrounded by various
other skeletons all “very fine and large,” while the most violent
tempest that had visited the country for years sighed away outside.
“Well,” he said, his teeth chattering, “if this ain’t the masterest one
that iver I did see.” But here he stopped, language was not equal to
the expression of his feelings.
Meanwhile Harold, with a heart full of anxiety, was turning the lantern
this way and that in the hope of discovering some traces of Sir James’s
treasure, but naught could he see. There to the left the masonry had
fallen in. He went to it and pulled aside some of the stones. There was
a cavity behind, apparently a passage, leading no doubt to the secret
entrance to the vault, but he could see nothing in it. Once more he
searched. There was nothing. Unless the treasure was buried somewhere,
or hidden away in the passage, it was non-existent.
And yet what was the meaning of that jointed skeleton sitting in the
stone bath? It must have been put there for some purpose, probably to
frighten would-be plunderers away. Could he be sitting on the money? He
rushed to the chest and looked through the bony legs. No, his pelvis
rested on the stone bottom of the kist.
“Well, George, it seems we’re done,” said Harold, with a ghastly
attempt at a laugh. “There’s no treasure here.”
“Maybe it’s underneath that there stone corn bin,” suggested George,
whose teeth were still chattering. “It should be here or hereabouts,
surely.”
This was an idea. Helping himself to the shoulder-blade of some
deceased hero, Harold, using it as a trowel, began to scoop away the
soft sand upon which the stone chest stood. He scooped and scooped
manfully, but he could not come to the bottom of the kist.
He stepped back and looked at it. It must be one of two things—either
the hollow at the top was but a shallow cutting in a great block of
stone, or the kist had a false bottom.
He sprang at it. Seizing the giant skeleton by the spine, he jerked it
out of the kist and dropped it on one side in a bristling bony heap.
Just as he did so there came so furious a gust of wind that, buried as
they were in the earth, they literally felt the mound rock beneath it.
Instantly it was followed by a frightful crash overhead.
George collapsed in terror, and for a moment Harold could not for the
life of him think what had happened. He ran to the hole and looked up.
Straight above him he could see the sky, in which the first cold lights
of dawn were quivering. Mrs. Massey’s summer-house had been blown
bodily away, and the “ancient British Dwelling Place” was once more
open to the sky, as it had been for centuries.
“The summer-house has gone, George,” he said. “Thank goodness that we
were not in it, or we should have gone too.”
“Oh, Lord, sir,” groaned the unhappy George, “this is an awful
business. It’s like a judgment.”
“It might have been if we had been up above instead of safe down here,”
he answered. “Come, bring that other lantern.”
George roused himself, and together they bent over the now empty kist,
examining it closely.
The stone bottom was not of quite the same colour as the walls of the
chest, and there was a crack across it. Harold felt in his pocket and
drew out his knife, which had at the back of it one of those strong
iron hooks that are used to extract stones from the hoofs of horses.
This hook he worked into the crack and managed before it broke to pull
up a fragment of stone. Then, looking round, he found a long sharp
flint among the rubbish where the wall had fallen in. This he inserted
in the hole and they both levered away at it.
Half of the cracked stone came up a few inches, far enough to allow
them to get their fingers underneath it. So it _was_ a false bottom.
“Catch hold,” gasped the Colonel, “and pull for your life.”
George did as he was bid, and setting their knees against the hollowed
stone, they tugged till their muscles cracked.
“It’s a-moving,” said George. “Now thin, Colonel.”
Next second they both found themselves on the flat of their backs. The
stone had given with a run.
Up sprang Harold like a kitten. The broken stone was standing edgeways
in the kist. There was something soft beneath it.
“The light, George,” he said hoarsely.
Beneath the stone were some layers of rotten linen.
Was it a shroud, or what?
They pulled the linen out by handfuls. One! two! three!
_Oh, great heaven!_
There, under the linen, were row on row of shining gold coins set
edgeways.
For a moment everything swam before Harold’s eyes, and his heart
stopped beating. As for George, he muttered something inaudible about
its being a “master one,” and collapsed.
With trembling fingers Harold managed to pick out two pieces of gold
which had been disturbed by the upheaval of the stone, and held them to
the light. He was a skilled numismatist, and had no difficulty in
recognising them. One was a beautiful three-pound piece of Charles I.,
and the other a Spur Rial of James I.
That proved it. There was no doubt that this was the treasure hidden by
Sir James de la Molle. He it must have been also who had conceived the
idea of putting a false bottom to the kist and setting up the skeleton
to frighten marauders from the treasure, if by any chance they should
enter.
For a minute or two the men stood staring at each other over the great
treasure which they had unearthed in that dread place, shaking with the
reaction of their first excitement, and scarcely able to speak.
“How deep du it go?” said George at length.
Harold took his knife and loosed some of the top coins, which were very
tightly packed, till he could move his hand in them freely. Then he
pulled out handful after handful of every sort of gold coin. There were
Rose Nobles of Edward IV.; Sovereigns and Angels of Henry VII. and
VIII.; Sovereigns, Half-Sovereigns and gold Crowns of Edward VI.;
Sovereigns, Rials, and Angels of Mary; Sovereigns, Double Crowns and
Crowns of Elizabeth; Thirty-shilling pieces, Spur Rials, Angels, Unites
and Laurels of James I.; Three-pound pieces, Broads, and Half Broads of
Charles I.; some in greater quantity and some in less; all were
represented. Handful after handful did he pull out, and yet the bottom
was not reached. At last he came to it. The layer of gold pieces was
about twenty inches broad by three feet six long.
“We must get this into the house, George, before any one is about,”
gasped the Colonel.
“Yes, sir, yes, for sure we must; but how be we a-going to carry it?”
Harold thought for a minute, and then acted thus. Bidding George stay
in the vault with the treasure, which he was with difficulty persuaded
to do, he climbed the improvised rope ladder, and got in safety through
the hole. In his excitement he had forgotten about the summer-house
having been carried away by the gale, which was still blowing, though
not with so much fury as before. The wind-swept desolation that met his
view as he emerged into the dawning light broke upon him with a shock.
The summer-house was clean gone, nothing but a few uprights remained of
it; and fifty yards away he thought he could make out the crumpled
shape of the roof. Nor was that all. Quite a quarter of the great oaks
which were the glory of the place were down, or splintered and ruined.
But what did he care for the summer-house or the oaks now? Forgetting
his exhaustion, he ran down the slope and reached the house, which he
entered as softly as he could by the side door. Nobody was about yet,
or would be for another hour. It was Christmas Day, and not a pleasant
morning to get up on, so the servants would be sure to lie a-bed. On
his way to his bed-room he peeped into the dining-room, where he had
fallen asleep on the previous evening. When he had woke up, it may be
remembered, he lit a candle. This candle was now flaring itself to
death, for he had forgotten to extinguish it, and by its side lay the
paper from which he had made the great discovery. There was nothing in
it, of course, but somehow the sight impressed him very much. It seemed
months since he awoke to find the lamp gone out. How much may happen
between the lighting of a candle and its burning away! Smiling at this
trite reflection, he blew that light out, and, taking another, went to
his room. Here he found a stout hand-bag, with which he made haste to
return to the Mount.
“Are you all right, George?” he shouted down the hole.
“Well, Colonel, yes, but not sorry to see you back. It’s lonesome like
down here with these deaders.”
“Very well. Look out! There’s a bag. Put as much gold in it as you can
lift comfortably, and then make it fast to the rope.”
Some three minutes passed, and then George announced that the bagful of
gold was ready. Harold hauled away, and with a considerable effort
brought it to the surface. Then, lifting the bag on his shoulder he
staggered with it to the house. In his room stood a massive sea-going
chest, the companion of his many wanderings. It was about half full of
uniforms and old clothes, which he bundled unceremoniously on to the
floor. This done, he shot the bagful of shining gold, as bright and
uncorrupted now as when it was packed away two and a half centuries
ago, into the chest, and returned for another load.
About twenty times did he make this journey. At the tenth something
happened.
“Here’s a writing, sir, with this lot,” shouted George. “It was packed
away in the money.”
He took the “writing,” or rather parchment, out of the mouth of the
bag, and put it in his pocket unread.
At length the store, enormous as it was, was exhausted.
“That’s the lot, sir,” shouted George, as he sent up the last bagful.
“If you’ll kindly let down that there rope, I’ll come up too.”
“All right,” said the Colonel, “put the skeleton back first.”
“Well, sir,” answered George, “he looks wonderful comfortable where he
lay, he du, so if you’re agreeable I think I’ll let him be.”
Harold chuckled, and presently George arrived, covered with filth and
perspiration.
“Well, sir,” he said, “I never did think that I should get dead tired
of handling gold coin, but it’s a rum world, and that’s a fact. Well, I
niver, and the summer-house gone, and jist look at thim there oaks.
Well, if that beant a master one.”
“You never saw a masterer, that’s what you were going to say, wasn’t
it? Well, and take one thing with another, nor did I, George, if that’s
any comfort to you. Now look here, just cover over this hole with some
boards and earth, and then come in and get some breakfast. It’s past
eight o’clock and the gale is blowing itself out. A merry Christmas to
you, George!” and he held out his hand, covered with cuts, grime and
blood.
George shook it. “Same to you, Colonel, I’m sure. And a merry Christmas
it is. God bless you, sir, for what you’ve done to-night. You’ve saved
the old place from that banker chap, that’s what you’ve done; and
you’ll hev Miss Ida, and I’m durned glad on it, that I am. Lord! won’t
this make the Squire open his eyes,” and the honest fellow brushed away
a tear and fairly capered with joy, his red nightcap waving on the
wind.
It was a strange and beautiful sight to see the solemn George capering
thus in the midst of that storm-swept desolation.
Harold was too moved to answer, so he shouldered his last load of
treasure and limped off with it to the house. Mrs. Jobson and her
talkative niece were up now, but they did not happen to see him, and he
reached his room unnoticed. He poured the last bagful of gold into the
chest, smoothed it down, shut the lid and locked it. Then as he was,
covered with filth and grime, bruised and bleeding, his hair flying
wildly about his face, he sat down upon it, and from his heart thanked
heaven for the wonderful thing that had happened to him.
So exhausted was he that he nearly fell asleep as he sat, but
remembering himself rose, and taking the parchment from his pocket cut
the faded silk with which it was tied and opened it.
On it was a short inscription in the same crabbed writing which he had
seen in the old Bible that Ida had found.
It ran as follows:
“Seeing that the times be so troublous that no man can be sure of his
own, I, Sir James de la Molle, have brought together all my substance
in money from wheresoever it lay at interest, and have hid the same in
this sepulchre, to which I found the entry by a chance, till such time
as peace come back to this unhappy England. This have I done on the
early morn of Christmas Day, in the year of our Lord 1642, having ended
the hiding of the gold while the great gale was blowing.
“James de la Molle.”
Thus on a long gone Christmas Day, in the hour of a great wind, was the
gold hid, and now on this Christmas Day, when another great wind raged
overhead, it was found again, in time to save a daughter of the house
of de la Molle from a fate sore as death.