I reached home for tea a little late, and saw my young friend Jamesby in
the back yard where he had gone to admire my fowls, in which I take a
just pride. Old Henry, my colored servant, was playing the part of host;
for there was no one else at home. When I made my appearance, the
chickens had evidently become a matter of secondary interest.
Jamesby, a rising young banker of the city, was sitting on an empty box
near the fence, and Henry was standing before him, leaning upon his
cane, chuckling and talking in his customary deferential manner, which
has always made him a very acceptable servant about my premises.
I approached without being observed, and did not hail them, for I did
not wish to intrude too suddenly upon what appeared to be a very amusing
subject of conversation. I heard Jamesby say laughingly, "Why, it was in
the paper this morning--five or six columns of it! It was a great big
yarn. I can't imagine why he never told you anything about it."
I knew what they were talking about. I was well aware that I had told my
tale of Money Island for publication; for had I not been sought after by
men, women, and children for every imaginable explanation and sidelight
relating to the story which might have been omitted from the MS
furnished the printer? And had I not been asked to repeat by living
voice facts in the narrative which I had written, as I thought, with
entire clearness in the published story? The boys had all read the
story, and I had been put to my wits' end to answer the questions asked
by them; but I had assured several of them that if they would take a
copy of the paper, go to the Island and there read it on the very spot
where the treasure had been buried, and then and there take a careful
survey of the situation, there would be no difficulty in their
comprehending even the slightest detail. This seemed to me to be a very
sensible suggestion; and I suppose some of them will carry it out.
While I really enjoyed the experience of having entertained so many
people that day, I was fairly well fatigued when I reached home, where I
thought I could at least be quiet and free from the constant inquiries
of interested friends.
But here was Jamesby with designs against me! He had dashed my fond
hopes of rest; although he was somehow always considerate and
endurable. I could never become impatient with him, even if I knew he
was going to make demands upon me for more information concerning Money
Island.
"What is Uncle Henry telling you, Jamesby?" I asked on drawing closer to
them.
"Oh," he answered in a somewhat self-conscious manner, "he was about to
tell me of an experience of his in money digging."
Now, I had heard old Henry tell that story before. It was one which
seemed to justify his very sober ideas as to money getting by any other
means than by one's daily work.
"Well, Henry," I said, taking my seat also on the box, "did you really
ever dig for money?"--as if I had never before heard him say anything
about it. The implied doubt would, I knew, make him all the more ready
to talk.
He replied promptly, with a grin of interest, "Yes, sah, cose I tried
money diggin'."
Then he paused as if to await an invitation to proceed. "Go on, Uncle
Henry," urged Jamesby.
Henry shifted his position, and, leaning upon his cane from another
angle, went on: "'Twas dis away. Once uponer time me an' John Gomus an'
John Flowers, we was round at Mr. Holmes' stables, right back of Mr.
Kidder's whey I uster keep my horse and kyart; dere was woods right dare
den, sah, an' a graveyard; an' I had a horse and kyart of my own. So one
evenin' an ole white 'oman come fum de Sound, an' she tole us that a
sperit had done tole her whey some money was buried; an' she wanted us
to come down dere and dig it up; she couldn't dig for it, but she
knowed whey 'twas--de sperit had tole her. So we got togedder and made a
club to go down--three of us. De place was on Wrightsville Sound, not
fur from Mr. Wright's place.
"De sign was, dat one read de Bible back'ards, and no one speak--all
hadter go by signs, an' dat'd keep de sperits fum pesterin' us. John
Gomus, he had de rod goin' roun', an' fonn' a place to stick it. I dunno
why he stick it whey he did. De rod pinted right down dere; and right
whey de rod pinted we digged. When we commence diggin', it was about
half-past eight o'clock, and we worked hard, sah. We digged a hole big
enough to set a small house in. John, he kep' bearin' on de rod, an' de
rod it kep' goin' down. Den de rod at las' struck sumpn; and we was so
glad, thinkin' we'd struck de pot! Every one was rejoiced! We didn'
talk, but jes fling up de dirt! An' when we dig down dere, sah, what
you spose 'twas. Nothin' but a big ole cow's horn. An' after all dat
diggin'! We done an' digged a hole 'bout fifteen or twenty feet across,
and goodness knows how deep; an' 'twas 'bout four in de mornin' before
we quit. We pack up an' come back home, feelin' jes as cheap as a wet
chicken.
"De ole 'oman come 'roun agin, an' tole us dat de money was dere; fer de
sperit had tole her agin 'twas dere. But we warn't anxious to try for it
agin. We thought we done enough."
Old Henry chuckled, and limped away; and we both laughed heartily at his
droll yarn. Jamesby enjoyed the tale particularly; and, although I felt
that it might somehow be at my expense, I was duly amused.
When Jamesby descended from his hilarious heights, he turned to me
rather gravely, and said, "Now, I want it from your own lips; did you
really dig for money on Money Island?"