the limitless plains of the great West, where the waters of America’s
broadest and deepest lake ceaselessly lave its shores. It is the hour
of a boat landing, and any number of men, women, and children, could
be seen hurrying to the wharf, with the first whole dish they could
reach, be it wash-bowl, ewer, or skillet, teapot, pan, or pail; and one
general cry of “whiskey, whiskey,” was heard throughout the ranks.
In a small building, that served for kitchen, parlor, and bedroom, to
quadruped and biped, two men, apparently near the same age, and both
past the years of youth, sat, or rather reclined, talking busily with
each other.
“Rum is a great curse, Marble.”
“Granted.”
“And, if a great deal ruins a man, a little, be it ever so little,
injures him.”
“Granted also, Long; but now look here. In our crew there are only men;
but I warrant that up yonder, when the boat landed, you might have seen
people of all kinds and colors flocking to the wharf. You well know
what they are after. Now answer me this one question. Would it not be
better for us to set the example by keeping whiskey for our own gang,
and thus prevent their going to the boat, than it is to apparently
countenance beastly drunkenness, by their drinking all they can obtain
at irregular intervals?”
Long hesitated, and Marble went on.
“I know your principles. I know you consider rum-drinking as the one
unpardonable sin; but, if you stop to think about it, you may bring
your orthodoxy to agree with my infidelity.”
“It may be so,” Long added, after a pause. “I have thought a great deal
on this subject, and am not yet decided. You have sold rum, have you
not?”
Marble nodded.
“Well, do you think what you have sold has done most--which?--good, or
bad?”
“Bad,” was the prompt reply.
“I thought as much,” answered Long; “but that is not what I was going
to speak of just now. I want to know how you would like the idea of
keeping a boarding-house.”
“First rate,” answered Marble. “We could drive four stakes into the
ground, stretch a bit of cloth over them, and name it the Marquet
Eating Saloon, where shall be kept all manner of provisions, viz.,
whiskey, to be had at the shortest notice.” And a droll smile rested
in the corners of Marbles mouth, and twinkled in his small eyes, as he
ceased speaking; while Long, as the picture came vividly before his
active imagination, threw back his head and laughed loud and long.
“That is not what I wanted, Hiram,” he said, soon stopping his
mirth and growing sober again. “There are a great plenty of such
establishments going up in all parts of the country. We need a real
framed house; and, if you would plan such a one as you think you could
keep properly, why, all is, we would find means to build it, and have
it done right away. You shall bring your wife on to manage, and your
children to inhabit it. You shall keep on being overseer. I will be
a wealthy land-holder. Jointly and severally we shall be honored for
inventing, or rather, for starting the great Marquet Iron Works, and,
by my faith, we shall live fat.”
Then the two men separated, each to his own place; and here it may not
be inapropos to describe them.
Long, who appeared to be chief director there, was tall, but rather
slightly built, with a long face, intelligent-looking, dark eyes, a
high, but not full brow, and thin lips, that partially disclosed a
regular set of teeth.
Marble, who seemed like Long’s very right hand, was also tall, but
strong and robust, with sharp, bright blue eyes, light waving brown
hair, and a full white brow.
On the night after their conversation, which we have recorded, Marble,
who always, as Long said, if he put his hands to the plough, not only
did not look back, but did not look forward either, and only attended
to holding the plough, started from the settlement to reach a small
hill at a little distance, partly to select trees from the lot for
their house, and partly to think over the practicability of the scheme
they had been discussing. He was walking slowly along, with his eyes
fixed upon the ground, when, suddenly looking up, he found himself back
to the place whence he started.
“Can’t you go as far as you can see?” he muttered to himself, starting
again for the wood: but again he became lost in thought, and again he
found himself at the same place.
“Well if you can’t go as far as you can see you may go home,” he said,
casting a regretful look at the woodland, and turning away. It was a
habit he always had of talking to himself, and it saved him many hours
of trouble.
Soon after this, he started for his home away in old Massachusetts,
which, upon reaching, he found was not entirely exempt from the joint
hands of time and sorrow. He had been at home from the West but a short
time, when his youngest child, a boy of thirteen, was taken sick; and
thus his plans were frustrated. His sickness was short and painful; and
his burning cheeks and glassy bright eyes told but too plainly to the
father’s heart that George’s days were numbered.
About this time he, too, became interested in clairvoyance.
Before going West, he had, at the request of a friend, consulted
a phrenological subject who predicted his departure, and also his
misfortune--for such she termed the death in the family. After
finishing her talk, she informed him that she sometimes told fortunes;
and asked if she might tell his.
He did not care about it; had little faith in such things, etc.; but,
if she would like to, he had no objections.
She run the cards over, and told him essentially what she had said
before; adding that, in the course of a specified time, she thought he
would be in steady business.
He was, at that time, all ready to go West with a party of men to
establish the Marquet Iron Works.
He went and returned. George died; but, as yet, no steady employment
presented itself.
While staying in Marquet, a young man, an entire stranger in
Massachusetts, had described Dungeon Rock to him as his place to work,
but told no names, even of the town or state where it lay. He was, at
that time, careless, or even skeptical about the matter; but, after
George’s death, he aroused himself, and concluded to investigate, and,
if he could, to understand the subject.
He came to Lynn, and, subsequently, to a distant relative in a
neighboring town. Here he staid some time; and upon one occasion,
feeling unwell, he determined to consult a clairvoyant in the place,
who was entirely unacquainted with him or his business. Accordingly,
he expressed a desire to have him consulted, and Mr. Wheeler, who was
going to a neighboring town, offered to stop and see him, and, perhaps,
invite him to his house, as Mr. Marble was there staying.
He went, and, as he entered the room and made known his errand, the
clairvoyant, whose name was Emerson, commenced talking, and finally
seated himself at the table and began to write with great rapidity,
speaking now and then to ask or answer questions, and taking very
little notice of his work.
He was young, apparently less than twenty years of age; but his
dark complexion and keen black eyes gave a look of maturity, which
his slight, almost petite figure, and long curling hair, instantly
contradicted. When he stopped writing, he folded and directed the
letter, and gave it to Mr. W. without a word of comment, having first
signed his own name to it as a medium.
“But the gentleman thought he might want to see you on some other
business,” Wheeler said, doubtfully, holding the document between his
thumb and finger.
“I presume it is there, sir,” was the reply; and the medium turned away.
Mr. Wheeler left the house, and, instead of keeping on his way,
concluded to return with the letter. He did so; and, entering the room
where Mr. Marble was, gave him the letter, and told him to read it
aloud.
Marble did so; and, before he reached the end, Wheeler threw his hat
on the floor, and asked what he would take for half the rock, as he,
Wheeler, would like to go into company with him.
Marble did not answer until he had devoured the whole contents of
the letter, which really contained a great many mysterious and some
unaccountable statements concerning the business in which he then was
engaged. Among others, it stated that he would call there the next day
and go with them to the rock; which he did, accompanied by a friend
who generally mesmerised or put him to sleep. He threw himself upon
the ground beside the rock, when he reached it, and, after becoming
entranced, told how and where they must work, etc.
And, now that we have got them fairly started, we will go back a single
year, and try if we can tell a reasonable story. Soon after George’s
death, as we have said before, Mr. M. aroused himself, and determined
to investigate the subject of mesmerism. Opportunities soon presented
themselves. When staying at a public house, one night, the porter came
to him and said, “Madame Y. is here, and wishes to see you.”
“Who is Madame Y.?” he asked, thoughtfully.
“I don’t know,” was the reply; “but she sent her name, and bade me say
she had told your fortune.”
An indistinct recollection seemed to cross his mind, but he only said,
“I will go,” and was accordingly conducted into her presence.
She recalled their former meeting, inquired as to the veracity of what
she had then said, and ended by telling him there was a very good
clairvoyant, Madame Maine, with her at that time, and, if he liked, she
would put her to sleep and have him examined.
He was at the time suffering from a recent attack of the Asiatic
cholera, which was accurately described by Madame M., even to the time
and place of his sickness, for which she wrote a prescription, which he
took in all faith.
She then went on to tell what he was to do for the future. “You will
dig for a pirate’s money,” she said, “and you will find”--here she
hesitated.
“A bugbear,” he said, laughing.
“The pirate, himself, sir,” she added, “or, rather what there is left
of what was once a pirate, and a treasure with him.”
“That is encouraging,” he said, concealing his unbelief “Can you tell
me where this money lies that I am to dig for?”
“It is somewhere by the sea-side, I think,” she answered; “less than
twenty miles from Boston.”
Well, he left with his confidence in mesmerism so much lessened that
he never used his prescription. A short time after that he met two or
three young men conversing upon that subject. They had heard something
of Mr. M.’s experience, and wanted to hear more.
“What is the most likely thing they ever told you?” one asked.
“That I should go digging for money,” he replied.
A burst of laughter followed this grave assertion, and they asked to
have it explained.
“Well the truth is this. Madame Maine told me that I was soon to be
engaged in searching, or rather digging, for a pirate and his money.”
“Do you know where it is?” asked one, whose name was Olds.
Marble laughed at the thoughtful look which had settled on their faces,
and answered, “No; she gave out when she had got about so far, and
could not tell the rest.”
“I’ll warrant it was down in Lynn!” exclaimed Olds.
“What do you know about Lynn?” Marble asked.
“I have been there, myself,” he answered, earnestly; “and I have no
doubt that there is money there. At any rate I advise you to try it.”
Soon after this Marble consulted a physician, who told him that he
needed a change; the salt air would be good for him; he had better pay
the sea-shore a visit. This decided him, for, as he afterward expressed
it, everybody and everything he met seemed to be pointing him away,
away.
“I will go and work a fortnight,” he said; and nobly well has his word
been kept.
Upon this he went and took a survey of the rock. It contained a huge
chasm, which he thought would lead to a cave, _if there was one_, with
a very little trouble. He commenced work in company with two other men,
and made slow work of it, too, as the rock was very hard, and they had
nothing to direct their motions, and nothing but hope to live upon as
far as the work in the rock was concerned.
It was about a year that they worked thus; then first one man, and soon
the other, became weary and discouraged, and left. The cave was still
as far distant as ever; faith had grown weak, and hope, which formed so
tempting a breakfast, seemed about to prepare a very poor supper.
It is about this time that we find how great is the power of
perseverance. Mr. Marble, after the other men had left, continued the
work for some time with his only son, a young man about twenty years
of age. And thus, it was after working a year by the guidance of
mesmerism, that we find him consulting the first _clairvoyant medium_,
and this led him into the mystic labyrinths of spiritualism, or
spiritual philosophy.
The grounds which the medium took were substantially these: that when,
by the action of his friend’s mind, he was rendered unconscious, some
disembodied spirit took possession of him, and told what living people
did or did not know. He told Mr. Marble how to work in the hole he
had excavated, and, at one time, foretold a circumstance which was
of considerable importance. It was that within a certain number of
hours he would find a something to encourage him. It did not tell
what, and the number of hours included a week’s time. Four days after
that, an ancient-looking, rusty sword, with a leather-wound haft and a
brass-bound scabbard, was found in a large seam inside the rock. Soon
after being exposed to the air, the leather upon the handle crumbled
away, and the thick, blue mould on the brass began to wear off. The
chasm in the rock is still shown to visitors, and the prints where the
sword lay in the clayey soil were once to be seen, but have since been
removed, in the hopes of finding more relics.
This was a great event to build a hope upon, and it had its full effect
on the spirits of those interested. Dungeon Rock soon became a place
of particular interest to mediums. The well-known Mrs. Pike paid it a
visit; also Mrs. Freeman, who had, on a former occasion, directed Mr.
Marble to go to a certain street and number, in the city of Boston,
where he would find an aged, bed-ridden woman, who would be of use to
him.
He went, and discovered Madame Lamphier, to whom he made known his
errand as one who had come to have his fortune told.
“Fortin’! who says I tell fortins’?” was the spiteful ejaculation that
greeted him.
“Well, what do you tell?” he asked, convinced that she was the one he
sought.
“Why, I have a stone that I look in, and if any one has any business,
it generally comes up here,” she replied, doggedly.
“Well, I should like to have you look into it for me,” he said, in a
conciliatory manner.
Accordingly she drew out her stone, adjusted her glasses, and commenced
by seeing him in a deep dark hole, with something hung up between
himself and a pile of gold which he was trying to reach. She then kept
on, and described a young girl, as she saw her, about twelve years
of age, who was to be of future service to him or his work. “And you
will not get through with the partner you have now, either!” she said,
decidedly.
“Well I was told that same thing about my last partner,” he muttered,
half to himself and half aloud.
“What was his name?” she asked.
“What do you think?” he answered, Yankee fashion.
“I see a large W.,” she said musingly.
“Well that is right; his name was Wheeler,” he replied. “What do you
think of him?”
“I don’t know nothing about him,” said the old woman, cautiously; “but
I see one very mean thing that he did.”
“You mean to say he is a dishonest man, then?” Mr. Marble said, for the
sake of getting along faster.
“No I don’t,” she said fearfully; “he is not dishonest, but he took the
advantage.”
“Well, never mind that, tell me about my present partner; do you know
_his_ name?” Marble said again, to turn the theme.
“I see the same large W.,” she said, “but it looks finer and handsomer.”
“Really, quite a compliment; anything more?”
“Yes; I see a great deal of wood.”
“Well, that it is the land that I work on,--is it not?”
“No; it is something in connection with your partner. I see him now. He
is young--light-complected for a black-eyed person. There is something
strange about his eyes; they glare at me like coals of fire. He is
not very handsome, but there is a taking way with him that makes the
gentlefolks like him at first sight. Splendid young fellow, ah!”
“Yes,” said Marble, “fine man; is he not?”
An Indian-like grunt escaped her, and she said, “You have not told me
what that wood means.”
“Wood--why, it is his name--is it not?”
“Yes,--I think so. It is gone now,” she said, and prepared to lay aside
her stone.
“You spoke about his being young; is he not old enough for that work?”
Marble asked.
“In years he is,” she answered, moodily.
“Not old enough in business, then, you meant,” he continued.
“In iniquity, did you say?” she asked.
Mr. M. saw he could get nothing more from her that day, and soon took
his leave.
Time passed. Mr. Marble’s confidence was betrayed, and his plans
frustrated. Mr. Wood took the whole responsibility upon himself, and
tried to buy the rock. Finding he was foiled in this, he hired a man
to go to work against Mr. Marble. In this he failed also, and, instead
of getting the other half of the business, he lost the half he already
had. After this, Mr. Marble had no more partners. The man Mr. Wood had
hired kept on working there in his own employ. Marble had built a small
house for his own accommodation some time before, and one or another
of his or Mr. Wheeler’s family had done the work there, and kept them
comfortable. Now the hired man offered to bring his wife there to
reside, which he did a short time before Mr. Wood left. Mr. Marble’s
family had been staying in the vicinity a while, but long before the
cold weather they returned to their home in the interior, and nothing
now remained to cheer the unbroken monotony of his way. The long, and
chilling winter of the year eighteen hundred and fifty-five will be
remembered a great while by the man whose work was to find a way to
Dungeon Rock.
With the summer came plenty and warmth again; the little garden was
planted, the carriage road laid out and built, where before there was
scarcely a path; a friend gave him two hundred dollars, to be refunded
when he found himself able. With this he laid the foundation for a
large stone building, to be erected in the octagon form, somewhat
after the fashion of the gray and sombre Oriad. Then another person
seemingly still more of a friend, was directed (also by the spirits)
to forward two or three thousand dollars to have the work go on. This
was a brilliant proposal; but owing to some mismanagement or mistake it
was never carried into effect. A short time before this a spring was
discovered upon the low land near the rock, which proved to be a great
curiosity. Then a small wooden house was erected, in addition to the
one already there, into which the remainder of Mr. Marble’s family,
consisting of a wife and daughter, removed.
Soon after this, a party of people from Charlestown and Boston, who
had lately become interested in the place, were there on a visit, when
a medium being entranced, purported to speak from the spirit of Sir
Walter Scott, and requested a lady who was present to make Mr. Marble
a present, such as he (the spirit) would dictate. It afterwards came
in the shape of a flag-staff, eighty feet in length, which was firmly
planted in the place formerly excavated by the Hutchinsons. Then a flag
with the appropriate inscription, “Thy faith is founded on a rock,” was
raised upon it by the lady’s own hands. There was no fear of starvation
that winter, but the snow was wondrously deep, and the hollows were
piled softly up, almost even with the hill-tops.
When the spring opened, company came thronging again to the rock, to
see and hear all that was wonderful and strange; for the popularity
of the place had been steadily increasing, and the world is ever on
the lookout for something new. All that spring and summer company
and visitors, picnic parties and relatives, were coming in rapid
succession, and no material change was made, either in the work or
their way of life.
Fresh, dreamy September, like a maiden just passing from childhood to
her teens, came softly on. There is but one more incident of interest
to note; _that_ is, when the great philanthropist, and remarkable
medium, John M. Spear, paid it a passing visit, in company with two or
three other mediums.
And now our history is finished.
There is a small room, away in the very top of a block of buildings,
where the sun beats scorchingly down, and the dust whirls in clouds
through the narrow street. And there, where affluence is unknown, and
elegance unconsulted,--where no rich tapestry shields the artist’s
easel from the light,--is a work of magic art and mystic mystery,
which has been seen by hundreds, and will be by thousands. It is a
rare bright picture--a childish, dimpled face, with deep, wondrous
blue eyes, and thick clustering curls; one round arm is flung over
the shaggy neck of a large black dog, as if to show how perfectly the
spiritual part of nature can overcome the animal; and the whole picture
represents some half-embodied ideal, which is in future years to become
a reality. There are, undoubtedly, the touches of the old artists, Ben
West, Raphael, and Angelo, about the work, and their power may not be
yet extinct; but the world is not ready for such ideas as yet; it must
receive the truth gradually.
But, the picture of “Natty, a spirit,” has nothing to do with our
present work. It is its executor of whom we would speak. He is an
artist of some celebrity, and his painting of the spirit child has
made him famous. He professes to have distinct visions of spirits in
human form; snatches of landscapes, birds, flowers, and, indeed, almost
every thing that can be seen in the natural world. He is a reflective,
and rather a peculiar man; there are silvery threads in his hair, and
furrows on his brow, as though he thought a great deal. And he it
is that has been chosen to do the work of planning and directing the
laying out of Dungeon Pasture, which is to be called “Iowah;” a name
which the red man gave it long ago, and which signifies “I have found
it.”
The legend of that name is as follows: “Several hundred years ago the
united forces of pestilence, famine, and war, had so reduced a large
tribe of Indians, that only a very few remained, and, after calling a
council of their wisest men, these few determined to leave the home of
their fathers and found a new settlement; accordingly, they started
through the trackless wild on their vague expedition; they passed
“Through tangled Juniper, beds of reeds,
Through many a fen where the serpent feeds,
And man never trod before;”
and at last came to the foot of a large hill, with an enormous ledge
upon the top. Upon climbing this, they saw spread out before them a
panoramic view of what they knew would prove a good hunting-ground,
for it had forests for game and water for fish. Then a loud cry of
“Iowah! Iowah!” made the welkin ring, and the whole party encamped
that night in the large, open cave, before commencing their work. They
called the river Saugus, which means broad or extended, and when the
tribe grew large and strong, and reached away down to the great “Father
of Waters,” they called the two beaches Nahaunte, which means, the
brothers, or the twins.
All this is to be revived again; the woodland to be laid out in
groves, and parks and forests; the spring in the cave to be cleared
again, and its brink bordered by marble slabs; the ancient, scattered
treasures will be gathered up, bright flashing diamonds, clear
white seed pearls, with heavy gold settings, and antique jewelry
and ornaments, that have been a long time lying useless. The heavy
iron-bound box, that was left there, has been disturbed and broken by
the action of the earth, and its contents are now duly mixed up with
equal quantities of dirt, loose stones, and rubbish, which the water
from the spring, all choked up as it is, has for the space of two
hundred consecutive years been laying. There was once a case of silks
left there, but, as the cave is not perfectly air and water tight, the
probability is that, although they look the same as ever, there is not
much durability to them. The grave of Arabel, Veale levelled down, but
the spot is still pointed out by mediums, and, although the tree under
which Harris laid her has long since decayed, another has grown up very
near where that was supposed to stand, which is now in the centre of a
thriving garden.