Seventy years ago two boys, one seven years old and the other twelve,
made a trip with their father up the Great South Bay. They had been
promised that when it became necessary to land and mend the nets, they
might run across the Beach to the ocean.
So, one afternoon when the nets were spread, away the boys scampered,
dragging their outstretched hands through the tall grass. But coming
upon a damp spot of meadow when a third of the way over, they were
obliged to turn their course. In doing so, they chanced to look behind
them, and seeing how far they were from the boat and how small it
appeared, they were afraid, and had half a mind to turn back. But the
younger lad caught sight of the large, leafy stalks of a great rose
mallow, a few steps ahead, spreading the broad petals of its passionate
flower out to the sun and the breeze.
"See them big flowers," he said, to his brother.
Forgetting their fear, both ran to the spot, plucked a handful, and
continued their way to the ocean.
"They ain't got any smell," said the older, "but they're a pretty
color."
"Let's get a lot when we come back, and take 'em home," suggested the
younger.
But the showy flowers, deprived of the abundant moisture which their
roots continually send up, soon wilted and lost their fresh, tropical
beauty. Surprised and disappointed at this, the lads threw them down and
quickened their steps. So anxious were they to get across, that the
Beach seemed much wider than they had ever imagined. At last they
reached the ridge of hills that lie on the inner side of the surf
strand, shutting out all view of the ocean, and toiled to the top. The
hills seemed very steep and high to them, for in all their lives they
had never been away from the low and level south side of the Island.
Reaching the top, that far and mighty prospect of the great deep burst
upon them. It was a sight they had expected to see, but a sight of whose
accompanying grandeur they had not formed the least conception. They
stood silent, each for the time unconscious of the other, while the
feeling which comes in the presence of the sublime surged up within
their minds.
Young hearts, though, do not give themselves up long to such emotions,
and wear their freshness out with pondering, as older people do. With
these boys, the spell was brief; but during it the great sea had
breathed its infinite benediction upon them, arousing within them
feelings unstirred before. The usual traits of boyhood, however, soon
asserted themselves, and the boys ran down the slope and began to gather
shells and skim them into the surf. They did not, though, whirl away
every shell, but, now and then, thrust a pretty one into their pockets.
And with the shells they often saved smooth white stones that had been
bathed and polished by the sea.
Tiring of this play, they turned to making marks and figures, and
writing their names in the wet sand. Then they threw themselves down and
dug holes in the wet sand with "skimmauge" shells, and banked the sand
up over their feet and hands.
"I wonder where that ship's going and how far away she is?" said the
younger lad.
"Oh, fifty miles--for you can't see anything but her sails, and only a
little of them," answered the other.
Then the younger asked if that wasn't the end of the world where the sky
went down into the ocean. And watching the low clouds that floated along
the distant horizon, he fancied that they were going off to the end of
the world.
"May be," he spoke, "they're going after rain--clouds have some place
where they keep their rain. How slow they're going! When they get the
rain, they'll hurry back. Why, then they almost fly. Ain't you seen 'em
fly on a stormy day when they're low down, and you could almost see
through 'em? I guess they hurry to scatter the rain over more ground."
[Illustration: (uncaptioned)]
The elder brother paid no heed to these fancies, but began to roll his
trousers up above his knees as high as he could pull them. The younger
quickly did the same, for there were no shoes and stockings to be
removed, as bay-men's boys, in those days, went barefooted in summer
time.
Then they played along the strand, running down as the waves withdrew
from the shore, and as one broke again, and reached up rapidly with its
liquid hands, they would run from it. At length, a wave stretched its
foamy arms farther up, and caught them ankle deep. The charm of playing
with the watery being was broken, and now they waded down, standing
knee-deep to feel themselves settle as the undertow scurried past them
with its freight of sand. At last, a larger wave came unawares, and wet
the elder brother's trousers, changing quickly the current of his
thoughts.
"Come," said he, "father told us not to stay over here long. We must
hurry right back."
They ran westward to a low spot between the hills, and turned through
this pass. As they were following the winding around the edge of a hill,
suddenly the older brother grasped the younger's arm, and stopped short
before a spot where no grass grew--a slight hollow swept out by the
winds.
"See them bones!" he exclaimed. "They're men's bones. There's a
hand--and over there's a skull. See it rock! See it! I'm afraid. Let's
run."
[Illustration: (uncaptioned)]
Away they ran in their fright, coming out of breath to their father, and
telling him with much gasping what they had seen.
"Well," he replied, "before we get underway for home this afternoon,
I'll go with you and see what it was. Let me think. This is near the Old
House. It's easy enough to account for the bones over there; but the
skull's rocking--I guess you imagined that."
"No, sir, father, I saw it go just like this--first one side and then
the other," replied the elder son, as he suggested the rocking by the
motion of his hands.
"The skull don't rock now," said the father, when they reached the spot
in the afternoon. He picked up the skull, and looking in, saw that a
meadow mouse had built its nest there.
"Yes, boys, I guess you were right. I've no doubt now it did rock."
And looking again at the skull, he saw that there were double teeth all
around on each jaw. A horror ran through him at the thought. He cast the
skull away, and turned to leave the spot, taking his boys by the hand.
Half-way to the boat he spoke, saying: "That was a pirate's skull and
them was pirates' bones. I heard when we first moved up to this part of
the Island something about pirates being buried over on the Beach. This
must be the place. I never inquired into the partic'lars. I don't like
such things, and don't want to know 'bout 'em. If you do, wait till you
get older, and then inquire into it. It's bad for you to know such
things now."
The incident of coming upon the moving skull made so profound an
impression upon the elder lad that his curiosity got the better of him,
and in less than two days after reaching home, he had found someone who
knew about what actually had taken place where the scattered bones lay,
and who, moreover, directed him for fuller information to old Captain
Terry. It was several years, though, before the lad really set about
further inquiry, there being circumstances which wrought seriously
against it. In the first place, Captain Terry lived several miles
distant, and had the lad walked up to see him, there was the possibility
of his being away from home, or if at home, too busy to answer the
questions of an inquisitive boy. A walk of ten miles to Captain Terry's
and back would deter most boys of their curiosity. Then, too, the walk
demanded no little courage of a boy who must go alone, or at best, with
some companion of his own age; and should they be detained, causing a
return after dark, there were to be passed one or two places along the
road of such repute that a boy underwent an ordeal in his own mind in
passing them, even in broad daylight.
Clam-Hollow, deep, damp, and dismal, the narrow, crooked road, wooded
closely by tall and sombre pines, all interwoven with their thick
underbrush, was the scene of many a marvelous happening, which
neighborhood talk attributed to that locality; while Brewster's brook,
near which the slave murdered his oppressive master, exercised a still
stronger influence of fear and horror over the mind of every boy who had
ever been past it.
But when the youth had grown towards manhood, and had forgotten the
foolish fears and apprehensions of boyhood, when he was doing what he
could to make his way in life--sometimes a laborer on farms, sometimes a
boatman on the Bay--he heard, at casual times and places, so many
allusions and fragmentary accounts of the buccaneers whose bodies lay
buried westward of the Old House, that he was led to make full inquiry,
and to get at the truth as near as might be. Not only was old Captain
Terry's recital heard, but all information that threw any light upon the
tragedy was gleaned and treasured, and when an old man he related the
following:
Very early in the present century, a ship hove to off Montauk, and set
ashore a man.
She had, doubtless, made her landfall near the Inlet, had skirted the
coast eastward, attracting no attention whatever--unlike in this respect
the ship that the two brothers who went on the Beach "horse-footing"
that June Sunday saw anchor close in, send her yawl ashore, and bury
treasure, spilling human blood upon it in the act.
When the landing was made the ship stood out to sea and made long tacks
off and on, gradually working westward along the coast.
The sailor set ashore was a man of tall and powerful frame. He brought
apparently nothing ashore with him, and no sooner had he gained the dry
strand than he set out at a brisk pace, making his way westward over the
narrow and rocky peninsula. When half the distance to Napeague Beach, he
stopped near a large rock and made certain observations. This done, he
signalled to the ship, and was answered by the clewing up of the
foresail. Then he recommenced his walk towards the village of
Amagansette. It was dusk when he reached that village, and his first
move was to find where he could spend the night. His applications for
lodgings were repeatedly refused by the inhabitants, and that evening
and for a week thereafter, the most prominent topic of village talk and
conjecture was the stranger who had sought lodgings at so many doors.
Where he passed the night is not known. But the next day, at East
Hampton and at South Hampton, the question was frequently asked, "Did
you see the stranger that went through the village this morning?"
Perhaps no ordinary event in those days would have attracted more
attention at these villages than the appearance and disappearance of an
unknown man. Who he was, what his errand might be, where he came from,
and whither he went, were matters of speculation for days; and in this
instance there was an additional incentive to curiosity, for the
stranger's dress showed him to be a sailor, his manner was rough, his
face was cruel in expression, and he held no further word of
conversation than was barely necessary to supply his wants.
It is said that after leaving these villages the stranger was seen
making observations on the coast somewhere below Ketchabonack. Of his
journey westward, nothing more is known, until he was passing over that
long, sandy, and solitary tract of road which lies between Forge River
and The Mills. Here he stopped, and made some inquiry of Mr. Payne, an
old soldier of the Revolution.