The reply made by old Mr. Payne was significant. "That I can't tell; but
one thing I can--whoever he is, he has been in human slaughter."
At one of those villages where the Great South Bay broadens to a width
of four or five miles, this man was set across to the Beach. To some of
the residents thereabout he was known, and so, moreover, was the fact
that, for a long period, he had been away from home--_piloting_, it was
reported. His wife and also his daughter, a young woman of defiant mien,
saucy speech, and, it is said, of unwholesome reputation, dwelt alone
upon the Beach, at what from early colonial days had been called the Old
House, but which, since the tragedy of that awful night, has more
frequently borne the name of the iniquitous family.
For two days the ship had been sailing east and west, standing off and
on shore, awaiting intelligence from him. He saw her the morning he
landed on the Beach, but could not signal, as the man who set him across
did not return at once. Then, too, after he had gone, two vessels loaded
for New York passed within an hour and a half of each other, on their
way to Fire Island. Late in the afternoon--the earliest moment he deemed
safe--he signalled to the ship that he had reached the spot where all
had agreed to land, that circumstances and surroundings were opportune
for their purpose, and to hold in position as best possible till
darkness settled.
All, however, was not favorable. There were indications of an
approaching storm--indications that portended its sudden approach. The
swell on shore, too, was rising and rolling in with stronger volume.
They were in a bad position, and well they knew it. There was not
sea-room enough, with a south-easterly storm, in that angle of the
coast. But what cared that reckless crew now about their ship, other
than she must not go ashore within sight or reach of where they proposed
to land.
Night came, and a fire flamed up on the shore, built low down near the
tide mark, that the hills might hide all view of it from people upon the
main-land. It was the signal when to leave ship and where to come
ashore. According to the understanding on ship-board off Montauk, the
fire was to be set three rods westward of the best spot of beach to
land, within half a mile of the Old House.
There was hurry on ship-board. Time pressed, for the edges of the storm
were upon them. Two of the ship's yawls were lowered, made fast
alongside, and into these were passed canvas bags, containing coin and,
it is supposed, other valuables. Each member of the crew had secured in
some manner upon his person his own share of the results of their
hazardous and wicked doings. When the yawls were ready, the crew made
efforts to scuttle the ship, so that she might sink during the night.
But, doubtless owing to the haste imposed by the coming storm, these
efforts did not promise success; and fearing that the vessel, when
abandoned, would be driven directly ashore, orders were given to take in
part of the sail, leaving in trim just spread of canvas enough to keep
the ship in the wind. Then, heading her seaward and lashing the helm to
windward, the buccaneers embarked in the yawls and pulled towards
shore--seventeen men in all, abandoning a life of robbery and murder,
but bringing with them the booty such a life had secured.
Nearing the shore, they saw by the fire-light the form of their
accomplice. No other man was with him, and yet the forms of two other
persons were seen in the circle of light which the fire radiated out
into the dark. There was shouting to and fro of how to come on, and
oaths and harsh accusations besides--why he had been so long, and why
had he signalled them on when a storm was already in the rigging. The
surf was threatening, but it was too late now to make any other
decision. With strength of oar they held themselves in position,
watching the right moment to take the best wave and ride in. But whether
directions were misunderstood, or whether in the darkness there was
miscalculation, the yawls swamped upon the bar, throwing the seventeen
buccaneers into the rushing surf. It was a despairing, mad struggle for
life, with piercing cries and blasphemy heard above the booming of the
waves. Two buccaneers, Tom Knight and Jack Sloane, gained the shore.
Others sank soon, while yet others, quite exhausted, might have been
rescued. But treachery, calculating its chance, stepped in and did foul
work. Then what horrible exertion went on all that night! What hot
search was kept up for lifeless forms as the sea tossed them up! How,
when discovered, were they pulled out of the edge of the surf, and
clothing rifled! And then, to cover it all, their bodies were dragged to
a hollow among the hills, and there buried. The storm set in before the
night was half gone, and a wild day followed, keeping from the Beach any
boatman that chance might have led that way.
Tom Knight and Jack Sloane, not a fortnight thereafter, made their
appearance upon the main shore, and spent money freely. They came and
went, again and again, always spending with the same lavish hand,
throwing down, it is said, a Spanish dollar for the most trivial
purchase, and invariably refusing any change.
Rumors that some horrid deed had been committed were soon in
circulation, and conjectures of what had happened upon the Beach were
many and various.
A town magistrate, hearing these, began an inquiry. He sent constables
to the Beach with warrants to arrest the family and everyone else in the
house. Only the mother and the daughter were found. These were brought
to the main-land, and half a day was spent in examination; but the
magistrate could find no positive evidence that warranted further action
on his part.
On the day the mother and daughter were arrested, those three
buccaneers--the pilot, Tom Knight, and Jack Sloane--watched from
hiding-places apart in the hills, the coming and going of the
constables. When all possibility of detection had passed, they returned
to the Old House. Each sought out his treasure whence he had temporarily
hid it, in the bushes or in the sand. After hot discussion, each packed
his gold according to his own notion, and the three buccaneers struggled
through the hills in separate directions to bury their treasure.
Tom Knight's gold was found forty years after, just as he had sealed it
up in the black pot which the Captain found, in that last fortunate
patrol of the Beach; the gold of the other buccaneers lies somewhere
among those sand-hills until this day.
[Illustration: (uncaptioned)]
Immediately after the arrest, Tom Knight and Jack Sloane left for other
parts, and very shortly the family broke up its residence on the Beach
and moved to the Western frontier, where, it is said, ill-fate and
disaster followed them.
That portion of the Beach, however, attracted many thither. But little
money was then in circulation. The government, it was well known, had
coined money but a few years, while Spain was imagined to have stamped
untold millions; and the hope of finding Spanish coin quickly sprang up
in many a man's mind. In consequence, bay-men often strolled along that
part of the coast, though most of them took good heed not to be there
after dark. Spanish dollars were frequently found--one person picking up
first and last thirty-eight of these. Search was even made upon the bar
where the yawls upset. But periods when the sea was smooth enough to
work were rare, and what is more, the exact spot was unknown. Fragments
of the canvas bags were found, and a few coins; but nothing commensurate
to expectation and the time spent in search.
The ship remained off the coast, and as if guided by an insane pilot,
alternately sailed and drifted, veering her course through every point
of the compass from northeast to southeast, but working, singularly
enough, all the time eastward.
Her strange behavior attracted one day the attention of a party of
fishermen on the Beach opposite Smith's Point. Some of them proposed
most ardently that the surf-boat be launched and the ship boarded. But
others of them were afraid, and stoutly opposed any such adventure. And
so a prize of more value than the catch of many seasons passed them,
because, let us say it plainly, superstition was stronger than reason.
[Illustration: (uncaptioned)]
Near South Hampton the Money Ship went ashore. There were neither papers
nor cargo on board which would indicate where she came from. A
sea-merchant thought some of the casks that were found in the hold had
contained Italian silks. Seven Spanish doubloons were found on a locker
in the cabin, and several cutlasses and pistols were scattered about.
The whole vessel was searched, but nothing more could be found. Two of
those men, though, who had aided in the search went on board at
nightfall. Suddenly, while peering about, their light went out, and one
man, frightened and deaf to persuasion, fled ashore. The other,
undaunted, made anew his light and continued the search. While hunting
about the cabin, he bethought to pry away a part of the ceiling. Upon
doing so, he found a quantity of money concealed there, and as it
dropped down from its place of lodgment, some of the coins rolled out of
the cabin-window into the sea. This time it was an honest man's
treasure, and he carried ashore that night many a hatful. Just how much
was thus secured could never be learned. Some put the amount at two
hundred dollars, others, and by far the greater number, thought it many
times this sum. One thing is certain--there were marked changes
noticeable in the circumstances of that family from that time, and the
signs of prosperity were not only sudden but lasting.
Whence came the Money-Ship? There was not even a name or commission to
give any clew. Could she have been an English merchantman, which had
chanced to be in the West Indies during the insurrection in Hayti, and
on board of which some of the French inhabitants of the island had
sought refuge, bringing with them their wealth,--that when at sea,
mutiny had arisen, the officers and passengers had been made way with,
and their wealth appropriated by the sailors?
Was she a Spanish pirate from the Gulf, with half her crew English
sailors?
Or was she a galleon sailing from the Spanish main to old Spain?
It has always remained a mystery.
[Illustration: (uncaptioned)]
[Illustration: "WESTWARD OF GREEN'S BROOK"]