Chapter IV. TOM CHIST AND THE TREASURE BOX
An Old-time Story of the Days of Captain Kidd
I
TO tell about Tom Chist, and how he got his name, and how he came to beliving at the little settlement of Henlopen, just inside the mouth ofthe Delaware Bay, the story must begin as far back as 1686, when a greatstorm swept the Atlantic coast from end to end. During the heaviest partof the hurricane a bark went ashore on the Hen-and-Chicken Shoals, justbelow Cape Henlopen and at the mouth of the Delaware Bay, and Tom Chistwas the only soul of all those on board the ill-fated vessel who escapedalive.
This story must first be told, because it was on account of the strangeand miraculous escape that happened to him at that time that he gainedthe name that was given to him.
Even as late as that time of the American colonies, the little scatteredsettlement at Henlopen, made up of English, with a few Dutch and Swedishpeople, was still only a spot upon the face of the great Americanwilderness that spread away, with swamp and forest, no man knew how farto the westward. That wilderness was not only full of wild beasts, butof Indian savages, who every fall would come in wandering tribesto spend the winter along the shores of the fresh-water lakes belowHenlopen. There for four or five months they would live upon fish andclams and wild ducks and geese, chipping their arrowheads, and makingtheir earthenware pots and pans under the lee of the sand hills and pinewoods below the Capes.
Sometimes on Sundays, when the Rev. Hillary Jones would be preachingin the little log church back in the woods, these half-clad red savageswould come in from the cold, and sit squatting in the back part of thechurch, listening stolidly to the words that had no meaning for them.
But about the wreck of the bark in 1686. Such a wreck as that which thenwent ashore on the Hen-and-Chicken Shoals was a godsend to the poor andneedy settlers in the wilderness where so few good things ever came.For the vessel went to pieces during the night, and the next morningthe beach was strewn with wreckage--boxes and barrels, chests and spars,timbers and planks, a plentiful and bountiful harvest, to be gathered upby the settlers as they chose, with no one to forbid or prevent them.
The name of the bark, as found painted on some of the water barrelsand sea chests, was the Bristol Merchant, and she no doubt hailed fromEngland.
As was said, the only soul who escaped alive off the wreck was TomChist.
A settler, a fisherman named Matt Abrahamson, and his daughter Molly,found Tom. He was washed up on the beach among the wreckage, in a greatwooden box which had been securely tied around with a rope and lashedbetween two spars--apparently for better protection in beating throughthe surf. Matt Abrahamson thought he had found something of more thanusual value when he came upon this chest; but when he cut the cordsand broke open the box with his broadax, he could not have been moreastonished had he beheld a salamander instead of a baby of nine or tenmonths old lying half smothered in the blankets that covered the bottomof the chest.
Matt Abrahamson's daughter Molly had had a baby who had died a month orso before. So when she saw the little one lying there in the bottom ofthe chest, she cried out in a great loud voice that the Good Man hadsent her another baby in place of her own.
The rain was driving before the hurricane storm in dim, slanting sheets,and so she wrapped up the baby in the man's coat she wore and ran offhome without waiting to gather up any more of the wreckage.
It was Parson Jones who gave the foundling his name. When the newscame to his ears of what Matt Abrahamson had found he went over to thefisherman's cabin to see the child. He examined the clothes in which thebaby was dressed. They were of fine linen and handsomely stitched, andthe reverend gentleman opined that the foundling's parents must havebeen of quality. A kerchief had been wrapped around the baby's neck andunder its arms and tied behind, and in the corner, marked with very fineneedlework, were the initials T. C.
"What d'ye call him, Molly?" said Parson Jones. He was standing, as hespoke, with his back to the fire, warming his palms before the blaze.The pocket of the greatcoat he wore bulged out with a big case bottle ofspirits which he had gathered up out of the wreck that afternoon. "Whatd'ye call him, Molly?"
"I'll call him Tom, after my own baby."
"That goes very well with the initial on the kerchief," said ParsonJones. "But what other name d'ye give him? Let it be something to gowith the C."
"I don't know," said Molly.
"Why not call him 'Chist,' since he was born in a chist out of the sea?'Tom Chist'--the name goes off like a flash in the pan." And so "TomChist" he was called and "Tom Chist" he was christened.
So much for the beginning of the history of Tom Chist. The story ofCaptain Kidd's treasure box does not begin until the late spring of1699.
That was the year that the famous pirate captain, coming up from theWest Indies, sailed his sloop into the Delaware Bay, where he lay forover a month waiting for news from his friends in New York.
For he had sent word to that town asking if the coast was clear for himto return home with the rich prize he had brought from the Indian seasand the coast of Africa, and meantime he lay there in the Delaware Baywaiting for a reply. Before he left he turned the whole of Tom Chist'slife topsy-turvy with something that he brought ashore.
By that time Tom Chist had grown into a strong-limbed, thick-jointed boyof fourteen or fifteen years of age. It was a miserable dog's life helived with old Matt Abrahamson, for the old fisherman was in his cupsmore than half the time, and when he was so there was hardly a daypassed that he did not give Tom a curse or a buffet or, as like as not,an actual beating. One would have thought that such treatment wouldhave broken the spirit of the poor little foundling, but it had just theopposite effect upon Tom Chist, who was one of your stubborn, sturdy,stiff-willed fellows who only grow harder and more tough the more theyare ill-treated. It had been a long time now since he had made anyoutcry or complaint at the hard usage he suffered from old Matt. Atsuch times he would shut his teeth and bear whatever came to him, untilsometimes the half-drunken old man would be driven almost mad by hisstubborn silence. Maybe he would stop in the midst of the beating hewas administering, and, grinding his teeth, would cry out: "Won't ye saynaught? Won't ye say naught? Well, then, I'll see if I can't make yesay naught." When things had reached such a pass as this Molly wouldgenerally interfere to protect her foster son, and then she and Tomwould together fight the old man until they had wrenched the stick orthe strap out of his hand. Then old Matt would chase them out of doorsand around and around the house for maybe half an hour, until his angerwas cool, when he would go back again, and for a time the storm would beover.
Besides his foster mother, Tom Chist had a very good friend in ParsonJones, who used to come over every now and then to Abrahamson's hut uponthe chance of getting a half dozen fish for breakfast. He always had akind word or two for Tom, who during the winter evenings would go overto the good man's house to learn his letters, and to read and write andcipher a little, so that by now he was able to spell the words out ofthe Bible and the almanac, and knew enough to change tuppence into fourha'pennies.
This is the sort of boy Tom Chist was, and this is the sort of life heled.
In the late spring or early summer of 1699 Captain Kidd's sloop sailedinto the mouth of the Delaware Bay and changed the whole fortune of hislife.
And this is how you come to the story of Captain Kidd's treasure box.
II
Old Matt Abrahamson kept the flat-bottomed boat in which he went fishingsome distance down the shore, and in the neighborhood of the old wreckthat had been sunk on the Shoals. This was the usual fishing ground ofthe settlers, and here old Matt's boat generally lay drawn up on thesand.
There had been a thunderstorm that afternoon, and Tom had gone down thebeach to bale out the boat in readiness for the morning's fishing.
It was full moonlight now, as he was returning, and the night sky wasfull of floating clouds. Now and then there was a dull flash to thewestward, and once a muttering growl of thu
nder, promising another stormto come.
All that day the pirate sloop had been lying just off the shore back ofthe Capes, and now Tom Chist could see the sails glimmering pallidly inthe moonlight, spread for drying after the storm. He was walking up theshore homeward when he became aware that at some distance ahead of himthere was a ship's boat drawn up on the little narrow beach, and agroup of men clustered about it. He hurried forward with a good deal ofcuriosity to see who had landed, but it was not until he had come closeto them that he could distinguish who and what they were. Then he knewthat it must be a party who had come off the pirate sloop. They hadevidently just landed, and two men were lifting out a chest from theboat. One of them was a negro, naked to the waist, and the other was awhite man in his shirt sleeves, wearing petticoat breeches, a Montereycap upon his head, a red bandanna handkerchief around his neck, andgold earrings in his ears. He had a long, plaited queue hanging downhis back, and a great sheath knife dangling from his side. Another man,evidently the captain of the party, stood at a little distance asthey lifted the chest out of the boat. He had a cane in one hand and alighted lantern in the other, although the moon was shining as brightas day. He wore jack boots and a handsome laced coat, and he had along, drooping mustache that curled down below his chin. He wore a fine,feathered hat, and his long black hair hung down upon his shoulders.
All this Tom Chist could see in the moonlight that glinted and twinkledupon the gilt buttons of his coat.
They were so busy lifting the chest from the boat that at first they didnot observe that Tom Chist had come up and was standing there. It wasthe white man with the long, plaited queue and the gold earrings thatspoke to him. "Boy, what do you want here, boy?" he said, in a rough,hoarse voice. "Where d'ye come from?" And then dropping his end of thechest, and without giving Tom time to answer, he pointed off down thebeach, and said, "You'd better be going about your own business, if youknow what's good for you; and don't you come back, or you'll find whatyou don't want waiting for you."
Tom saw in a glance that the pirates were all looking at him, and then,without saying a word, he turned and walked away. The man who had spokento him followed him threateningly for some little distance, as thoughto see that he had gone away as he was bidden to do. But presently hestopped, and Tom hurried on alone, until the boat and the crew andall were dropped away behind and lost in the moonlight night. Then hehimself stopped also, turned, and looked back whence he had come.
There had been something very strange in the appearance of the menhe had just seen, something very mysterious in their actions, and hewondered what it all meant, and what they were going to do. He stoodfor a little while thus looking and listening. He could see nothing, andcould hear only the sound of distant talking. What were they doing onthe lonely shore thus at night? Then, following a sudden impulse, heturned and cut off across the sand hummocks, skirting around inland, butkeeping pretty close to the shore, his object being to spy upon them,and to watch what they were about from the back of the low sand hillsthat fronted the beach.
He had gone along some distance in his circuitous return when he becameaware of the sound of voices that seemed to be drawing closer to himas he came toward the speakers. He stopped and stood listening, andinstantly, as he stopped, the voices stopped also. He crouched theresilently in the bright, glimmering moonlight, surrounded by the silentstretches of sand, and the stillness seemed to press upon him like aheavy hand. Then suddenly the sound of a man's voice began again, and asTom listened he could hear some one slowly counting. "Ninety-one,"the voice began, "ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five,ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, onehundred and one"--the slow, monotonous count coming nearer and nearer;"one hundred and two, one hundred and three, one hundred and four," andso on in its monotonous reckoning.
Suddenly he saw three heads appear above the sand hill, so close tohim that he crouched down quickly with a keen thrill, close beside thehummock near which he stood. His first fear was that they might haveseen him in the moonlight; but they had not, and his heart rose againas the counting voice went steadily on. "One hundred and twenty," itwas saying--"and twenty-one, and twenty-two, and twenty-three, andtwenty-four," and then he who was counting came out from behindthe little sandy rise into the white and open level of shimmeringbrightness.
It was the man with the cane whom Tom had seen some time before thecaptain of the party who had landed. He carried his cane under his armnow, and was holding his lantern close to something that he held in hishand, and upon which he looked narrowly as he walked with a slow andmeasured tread in a perfectly straight line across the sand, countingeach step as he took it. "And twenty-five, and twenty-six, andtwenty-seven, and twenty-eight, and twenty-nine, and thirty."
Behind him walked two other figures; one was the half-naked negro, theother the man with the plaited queue and the earrings, whom Tom had seenlifting the chest out of the boat. Now they were carrying the heavy boxbetween them, laboring through the sand with shuffling tread as theybore it onward. As he who was counting pronounced the word "thirty,"the two men set the chest down on the sand with a grunt, the whiteman panting and blowing and wiping his sleeve across his forehead. Andimmediately he who counted took out a slip of paper and marked somethingdown upon it. They stood there for a long time, during which Tom laybehind the sand hummock watching them, and for a while the silence wasuninterrupted. In the perfect stillness Tom could hear the washing ofthe little waves beating upon the distant beach, and once the far-awaysound of a laugh from one of those who stood by the ship's boat.
One, two, three minutes passed, and then the men picked up the chestand started on again; and then again the other man began his counting."Thirty and one, and thirty and two, and thirty and three, and thirtyand four"--he walked straight across the level open, still lookingintently at that which he held in his hand--"and thirty and five,and thirty and six, and thirty and seven," and so on, until the threefigures disappeared in the little hollow between the two sand hills onthe opposite side of the open, and still Tom could hear the sound of thecounting voice in the distance.
Just as they disappeared behind the hill there was a sudden faint flashof light; and by and by, as Tom lay still listening to the counting,he heard, after a long interval, a far-away muffled rumble of distantthunder. He waited for a while, and then arose and stepped to the topof the sand hummock behind which he had been lying. He looked all abouthim, but there was no one else to be seen. Then he stepped down from thehummock and followed in the direction which the pirate captain and thetwo men carrying the chest had gone. He crept along cautiously, stoppingnow and then to make sure that he still heard the counting voice, andwhen it ceased he lay down upon the sand and waited until it beganagain.
Presently, so following the pirates, he saw the three figures again inthe distance, and, skirting around back of a hill of sand covered withcoarse sedge grass, he came to where he overlooked a little open levelspace gleaming white in the moonlight.
The three had been crossing the level of sand, and were now not morethan twenty-five paces from him. They had again set down the chest, uponwhich the white man with the long queue and the gold earrings had seatedto rest himself, the negro standing close beside him. The moon shoneas bright as day and full upon his face. It was looking directly at TomChist, every line as keen cut with white lights and black shadows asthough it had been carved in ivory and jet. He sat perfectly motionless,and Tom drew back with a start, almost thinking he had been discovered.He lay silent, his heart beating heavily in his throat; but there wasno alarm, and presently he heard the counting begin again, and when helooked once more he saw they were going away straight across the littleopen. A soft, sliding hillock of sand lay directly in front of them.They did not turn aside, but went straight over it, the leader helpinghimself up the sandy slope with his cane, still counting and stillkeeping his eyes fixed upon that which he held in his hand. Then theydisappeared again behind the white crest on the other side.
So Tom followed them cautiously until they had gone almost half a mileinland. When next he saw them clearly it was from a little sandy risewhich looked down like the crest of a bowl upon the floor of sandbelow. Upon this smooth, white floor the moon beat with almost dazzlingbrightness.
The white man who had helped to carry the chest was now kneeling, busiedat some work, though what it was Tom at first could not see. He waswhittling the point of a stick into a long wooden peg, and when, by andby, he had finished what he was about, he arose and stepped to where hewho seemed to be the captain had stuck his cane upright into the groundas though to mark some particular spot. He drew the cane out of thesand, thrusting the stick down in its stead. Then he drove the longpeg down with a wooden mallet which the negro handed to him. The sharprapping of the mallet upon the top of the peg sounded loud the perfectstillness, and Tom lay watching and wondering what it all meant. Theman, with quick-repeated blows, drove the peg farther and fartherdown into the sand until it showed only two or three inches above thesurface. As he finished his work there was another faint flash of light,and by and by another smothered rumble of thunder, and Tom, as he lookedout toward the westward, saw the silver rim of the round and sharplyoutlined thundercloud rising slowly up into the sky and pushing theother and broken drifting clouds before it.
The two white men were now stooping over the peg, the negro man watchingthem. Then presently the man with the cane started straight away fromthe peg, carrying the end of a measuring line with him, the other endof which the man with the plaited queue held against the top of the peg.When the pirate captain had reached the end of the measuring line hemarked a cross upon the sand, and then again they measured out anotherstretch of space.
So they measured a distance five times over, and then, from where Tomlay, he could see the man with the queue drive another peg just at thefoot of a sloping rise of sand that swept up beyond into a tall whitedune marked sharp and clear against the night sky behind. As soon asthe man with the plaited queue had driven the second peg into the groundthey began measuring again, and so, still measuring, disappeared inanother direction which took them in behind the sand dune where Tom nolonger could see what they were doing.
The negro still sat by the chest where the two had left him, and sobright was the moonlight that from where he lay Tom could see the glintof it twinkling in the whites of his eyeballs.
Presently from behind the hill there came, for the third time, the sharprapping sound of the mallet driving still another peg, and then after awhile the two pirates emerged from behind the sloping whiteness into thespace of moonlight again.
They came direct to where the chest lay, and the white man and the blackman lifting it once more, they walked away across the level of opensand, and so on behind the edge of the hill and out of Tom's sight.
III
Tom Chist could no longer see what the pirates were doing, neither didhe dare to cross over the open space of sand that now lay betweenthem and him. He lay there speculating as to what they were about, andmeantime the storm cloud was rising higher and higher above the horizon,with louder and louder mutterings of thunder following each dull flashfrom out the cloudy, cavernous depths. In the silence he could hearan occasional click as of some iron implement, and he opined that thepirates were burying the chest, though just where they were at work hecould neither see nor tell.
Still he lay there watching and listening, and by and by a puff of warmair blew across the sand, and a thumping tumble of louder thunder leapedfrom out the belly of the storm cloud, which every minute was comingnearer and nearer. Still Tom Chist lay watching.
Suddenly, almost unexpectedly, the three figures reappeared from behindthe sand hill, the pirate captain leading the way, and the negro andwhite man following close behind him. They had gone about halfway acrossthe white, sandy level between the hill and the hummock behind which TomChist lay, when the white man stopped and bent over as though to tie hisshoe.
This brought the negro a few steps in front of his companion.
That which then followed happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, soswiftly, that Tom Chist had hardly time to realize what it all meantbefore it was over. As the negro passed him the white man arose suddenlyand silently erect, and Tom Chist saw the white moonlight glint upon theblade of a great dirk knife which he now held in his hand. He took one,two silent, catlike steps behind the unsuspecting negro. Then there wasa sweeping flash of the blade in the pallid light, and a blow, the thumpof which Tom could distinctly hear even from where he lay stretched outupon the sand. There was an instant echoing yell from the black man, whoran stumbling forward, who stopped, who regained his footing, and thenstood for an instant as though rooted to the spot.
Tom had distinctly seen the knife enter his back, and even thought thathe had seen the glint of the point as it came out from the breast.
Meantime the pirate captain had stopped, and now stood with his handresting upon his cane looking impassively on.
Then the black man started to run. The white man stood for a whileglaring after him; then he, too, started after his victim upon the run.The black man was not very far from Tom when he staggered and fell.He tried to rise, then fell forward again, and lay at length. At thatinstant the first edge of the cloud cut across the moon, and there was asudden darkness; but in the silence Tom heard the sound of another blowand a groan, and then presently a voice calling to the pirate captainthat it was all over.
He saw the dim form of the captain crossing the level sand, and then, asthe moon sailed out from behind the cloud, he saw the white man standingover a black figure that lay motionless upon the sand.
Then Tom Chist scrambled up and ran away, plunging down into the hollowof sand that lay in the shadows below. Over the next rise he ran, anddown again into the next black hollow, and so on over the sliding,shifting ground, panting and gasping. It seemed to him that he couldhear footsteps following, and in the terror that possessed him he almostexpected every instant to feel the cold knife blade slide between hisown ribs in such a thrust from behind as he had seen given to the poorblack man.
So he ran on like one in a nightmare. His feet grew heavy like lead, hepanted and gasped, his breath came hot and dry in his throat. But stillhe ran and ran until at last he found himself in front of old MattAbrahamson's cabin, gasping, panting, and sobbing for breath, his kneesrelaxed and his thighs trembling with weakness.
As he opened the door and dashed into the darkened cabin (for both Mattand Molly were long ago asleep in bed) there was a flash of light, andeven as he slammed to the door behind him there was an instant peal ofthunder, heavy as though a great weight had been dropped upon the roofof the sky, so that the doors and windows of the cabin rattled.
IV
Then Tom Chist crept to bed, trembling, shuddering, bathed in sweat, hisheart beating like a trip hammer, and his brain dizzy from that long,terror-inspired race through the soft sand in which he had striven tooutstrip he knew not what pursuing horror.
For a long, long time he lay awake, trembling and chattering withnervous chills, and when he did fall asleep it was only to drop intomonstrous dreams in which he once again saw ever enacted, with variousgrotesque variations, the tragic drama which his waking eyes had beheldthe night before.
Then came the dawning of the broad, wet daylight, and before the risingof the sun Tom was up and out of doors to find the young day drippingwith the rain of overnight.
His first act was to climb the nearest sand hill and to gaze out towardthe offing where the pirate ship had been the day before.
It was no longer there.
Soon afterward Matt Abrahamson came out of the cabin and he calledto Tom to go get a bite to eat, for it was time for them to be awayfishing.
All that morning the recollection of the night before hung over TomChist like a great cloud of boding trouble. It filled the confined areaof the little boat and spread over the entire wide spaces of sky and seathat surrounded them. Not for a moment was it lifted. Even when he washauling in h
is wet and dripping line with a struggling fish at the endof it a recurrent memory of what he had seen would suddenly come uponhim, and he would groan in spirit at the recollection. He looked at MattAbrahamson's leathery face, at his lantern jaws cavernously and stolidlychewing at a tobacco leaf, and it seemed monstrous to him that the oldman should be so unconscious of the black cloud that wrapped them allabout.
When the boat reached the shore again he leaped scrambling to the beach,and as soon as his dinner was eaten he hurried away to find the DominieJones.
He ran all the way from Abrahamson's hut to the parson's house, hardlystopping once, and when he knocked at the door he was panting andsobbing for breath.
The good man was sitting on the back-kitchen doorstep smoking hislong pipe of tobacco out into the sunlight, while his wife within wasrattling about among the pans and dishes in preparation of their supper,of which a strong, porky smell already filled the air.
Then Tom Chist told his story, panting, hurrying, tumbling one word overanother in his haste, and Parson Jones listened, breaking every now andthen into an ejaculation of wonder. The light in his pipe went out andthe bowl turned cold.
"And I don't see why they should have killed the poor black man," saidTom, as he finished his narrative.
"Why, that is very easy enough to understand," said the good reverendman. "'Twas a treasure box they buried!"
In his agitation Mr. Jones had risen from his seat and was now stumpingup and down, puffing at his empty tobacco pipe as though it were stillalight.
"A treasure box!" cried out Tom.
"Aye, a treasure box! And that was why they killed the poor black man.He was the only one, d'ye see, besides they two who knew the placewhere 'twas hid, and now that they've killed him out of the way, there'snobody but themselves knows. The villains--Tut, tut, look at that now!"In his excitement the dominie had snapped the stem of his tobacco pipein two.
"Why, then," said Tom, "if that is so, 'tis indeed a wicked, bloodytreasure, and fit to bring a curse upon anybody who finds it!"
"'Tis more like to bring a curse upon the soul who buried it," saidParson Jones, "and it may be a blessing to him who finds it. But tellme, Tom, do you think you could find the place again where 'twas hid?"
"I can't tell that," said Tom, "'twas all in among the sand humps, d'yesee, and it was at night into the bargain. Maybe we could find the marksof their feet in the sand," he added.
"'Tis not likely," said the reverend gentleman, "for the storm lastnight would have washed all that away."
"I could find the place," said Tom, "where the boat was drawn up on thebeach."
"Why, then, that's something to start from, Tom," said his friend. "Ifwe can find that, then maybe we can find whither they went from there."
"If I was certain it was a treasure box," cried out Tom Chist, "I wouldrake over every foot of sand betwixt here and Henlopen to find it."
"'Twould be like hunting for a pin in a haystack," said the Rev. HilaryJones.
As Tom walked away home, it seemed as though a ton's weight of gloom hadbeen rolled away from his soul. The next day he and Parson Jones were togo treasure-hunting together; it seemed to Tom as though he could hardlywait for the time to come.
V
The next afternoon Parson Jones and Tom Chist started off together uponthe expedition that made Tom's fortune forever. Tom carried a spade overhis shoulder and the reverend gentleman walked along beside him with hiscane.
As they jogged along up the beach they talked together about the onlything they could talk about--the treasure box. "And how big did you say'twas?" quoth the good gentleman.
"About so long," said Tom Chist, measuring off upon the spade, "andabout so wide, and this deep."
"And what if it should be full of money, Tom?" said the reverendgentleman, swinging his cane around and around in wide circles in theexcitement of the thought, as he strode along briskly. "Suppose itshould be full of money, what then?"
"By Moses!" said Tom Chist, hurrying to keep up with his friend, "I'dbuy a ship for myself, I would, and I'd trade to Injyy and to Chiny tomy own boot, I would. Suppose the chist was all full of money, sir, andsuppose we should find it; would there be enough in it, d'ye suppose, tobuy a ship?"
"To be sure there would be enough, Tom, enough and to spare, and a goodbig lump over."
"And if I find it 'tis mine to keep, is it, and no mistake?"
"Why, to be sure it would be yours!" cried out the parson, in a loudvoice. "To be sure it would be yours!" He knew nothing of the law, butthe doubt of the question began at once to ferment in his brain, and hestrode along in silence for a while. "Whose else would it be but yoursif you find it?" he burst out. "Can you tell me that?"
"If ever I have a ship of my own," said Tom Chist, "and if ever I sailto Injy in her, I'll fetch ye back the best chist of tea, sir, that everwas fetched from Cochin Chiny."
Parson Jones burst out laughing. "Thankee, Tom," he said; "and I'llthankee again when I get my chist of tea. But tell me, Tom, didst thouever hear of the farmer girl who counted her chickens before they werehatched?"
It was thus they talked as they hurried along up the beach together,and so came to a place at last where Tom stopped short and stood lookingabout him. "'Twas just here," he said, "I saw the boat last night. Iknow 'twas here, for I mind me of that bit of wreck yonder, and thatthere was a tall stake drove in the sand just where yon stake stands."
Parson Jones put on his barnacles and went over to the stake towardwhich Tom pointed. As soon as he had looked at it carefully he calledout: "Why, Tom, this hath been just drove down into the sand. 'Tisa brand-new stake of wood, and the pirates must have set it herethemselves as a mark, just as they drove the pegs you spoke about downinto the sand."
Tom came over and looked at the stake. It was a stout piece of oaknearly two inches thick; it had been shaped with some care, and the topof it had been painted red. He shook the stake and tried to move it, butit had been driven or planted so deeply into the sand that he could notstir it. "Aye, sir," he said, "it must have been set here for a mark,for I'm sure 'twas not here yesterday or the day before." He stoodlooking about him to see if there were other signs of the pirates'presence. At some little distance there was the corner of somethingwhite sticking up out of the sand. He could see that it was a scrap ofpaper, and he pointed to it, calling out: "Yonder is a piece of paper,sir. I wonder if they left that behind them?"
It was a miraculous chance that placed that paper there. There was onlyan inch of it showing, and if it had not been for Tom's sharp eyes, itwould certainly have been overlooked and passed by. The next windstormwould have covered it up, and all that afterward happened never wouldhave occurred. "Look, sir," he said, as he struck the sand from it, "ithath writing on it."
"Let me see it," said Parson Jones. He adjusted the spectacles a littlemore firmly astride of his nose as he took the paper in his hand andbegan conning it. "What's all this?" he said; "a whole lot of figuresand nothing else." And then he read aloud, "'Mark--S. S. W. S. by S.'What d'ye suppose that means, Tom?"
"I don't know, sir," said Tom. "But maybe we can understand it better ifyou read on."
"'Tis all a great lot of figures," said Parson Jones, "without agrain of meaning in them so far as I can see, unless they be sailingdirections." And then he began reading again: "'Mark--S. S. W. by S. 40,72, 91, 130, 151, 177, 202, 232, 256, 271'--d'ye see, it must be sailingdirections--'299, 335, 362, 386, 415, 446, 469, 491, 522, 544, 571,598'--what a lot of them there be '626, 652, 676, 695, 724, 851, 876,905, 940, 967. Peg. S. E. by E. 269 foot. Peg. S. S. W. by S. 427 foot.Peg. Dig to the west of this six foot.'"
"What's that about a peg?" exclaimed Tom. "What's that about a peg? Andthen there's something about digging, too!" It was as though a suddenlight began shining into his brain. He felt himself growing quickly veryexcited. "Read that over again, sir," he cried. "Why, sir, you rememberI told you they drove a peg into the sand. And don't they say to digclose to it? Read it over again, sir--rea
d it over again!"
"Peg?" said the good gentleman. "To be sure it was about a peg. Let'slook again. Yes, here it is. 'Peg S. E. by E. 269 foot.'"
"Aye!" cried out Tom Chist again, in great excitement. "Don't youremember what I told you, sir, 269 foot? Sure that must be what I saw'em measuring with the line."
Parson Jones had now caught the flame of excitement that was blazing upso strongly in Tom's breast. He felt as though some wonderful thing wasabout to happen to them. "To be sure, to be sure!" he called out, in agreat big voice. "And then they measured out 427 foot south-southwest bysouth, and they then drove another peg, and then they buried the boxsix foot to the west of it. Why, Tom--why, Tom Chist! if we've read thisaright, thy fortune is made."
Tom Chist stood staring straight at the old gentleman's excited face,and seeing nothing but it in all the bright infinity of sunshine. Werethey, indeed, about to find the treasure chest? He felt the sun very hotupon his shoulders, and he heard the harsh, insistent jarring of a ternthat hovered and circled with forked tail and sharp white wings in thesunlight just above their heads; but all the time he stood staring intothe good old gentleman's face.
It was Parson Jones who first spoke. "But what do all these figuresmean?" And Tom observed how the paper shook and rustled in the tremor ofexcitement that shook his hand. He raised the paper to the focus of hisspectacles and began to read again. "'Mark 40, 72, 91--'"
"Mark?" cried out Tom, almost screaming. "Why, that must mean the stakeyonder; that must be the mark." And he pointed to the oaken stick withits red tip blazing against the white shimmer of sand behind it.
"And the 40 and 72 and 91," cried the old gentleman, in a voice equallyshrill--"why, that must mean the number of steps the pirate was countingwhen you heard him."
"To be sure that's what they mean!" cried Tom Chist. "That is it, andit can be nothing else. Oh, come, sir--come, sir; let us make haste andfind it!"
"Stay! stay!" said the good gentleman, holding up his hand; and againTom Chist noticed how it trembled and shook. His voice was steadyenough, though very hoarse, but his hand shook and trembled asthough with a palsy. "Stay! stay! First of all, we must follow thesemeasurements. And 'tis a marvelous thing," he croaked, after a littlepause, "how this paper ever came to be here."
"Maybe it was blown here by the storm," suggested Tom Chist.
"Like enough; like enough," said Parson Jones. "Like enough, after thewretches had buried the chest and killed the poor black man, they wereso buffeted and bowsed about by the storm that it was shook out of theman's pocket, and thus blew away from him without his knowing aught ofit."
"But let us find the box!" cried out Tom Chist, flaming with hisexcitement.
"Aye, aye," said the good man; "only stay a little, my boy, until wemake sure what we're about. I've got my pocket compass here, but we musthave something to measure off the feet when we have found the peg. Yourun across to Tom Brooke's house and fetch that measuring rod he usedto lay out his new byre. While you're gone I'll pace off the distancemarked on the paper with my pocket compass here."
VI
Tom Chist was gone for almost an hour, though he ran nearly all theway and back, upborne as on the wings of the wind. When he returned,panting, Parson Jones was nowhere to be seen, but Tom saw his footstepsleading away inland, and he followed the scuffling marks in the smoothsurface across the sand humps and down into the hollows, and by and byfound the good gentleman in a spot he at once knew as soon as he laidhis eyes upon it.
It was the open space where the pirates had driven their first peg, andwhere Tom Chist had afterward seen them kill the poor black man. TomChist gazed around as though expecting to see some sign of the tragedy,but the space was as smooth and as undisturbed as a floor, exceptingwhere, midway across it, Parson Jones, who was now stooping oversomething on the ground, had trampled it all around about.
When Tom Chist saw him he was still bending over, scraping away fromsomething he had found.
It was the first peg!
Inside of half an hour they had found the second and third pegs, and TomChist stripped off his coat, and began digging like mad down into thesand, Parson Jones standing over him watching him. The sun was slopingwell toward the west when the blade of Tom Chist's spade struck uponsomething hard.
If it had been his own heart that he had hit in the sand his breastcould hardly have thrilled more sharply.
It was the treasure box!
Parson Jones himself leaped down into the hole, and began scraping awaythe sand with his hands as though he had gone crazy. At last, with somedifficulty, they tugged and hauled the chest up out of the sand to thesurface, where it lay covered all over with the grit that clung to it.It was securely locked and fastened with a padlock, and it took a goodmany blows with the blade of the spade to burst the bolt. Parson Joneshimself lifted the lid. Tom Chist leaned forward and gazed down into theopen box. He would not have been surprised to have seen it filled fullof yellow gold and bright jewels. It was filled half full of books andpapers, and half full of canvas bags tied safely and securely around andaround with cords of string.
Parson Jones lifted out one of the bags, and it jingled as he did so. Itwas full of money.
He cut the string, and with trembling, shaking hands handed the bag toTom, who, in an ecstasy of wonder and dizzy with delight, poured outwith swimming sight upon the coat spread on the ground a cataract ofshining silver money that rang and twinkled and jingled as it fell in ashining heap upon the coarse cloth.
Parson Jones held up both hands into the air, and Tom stared at what hesaw, wondering whether it was all so, and whether he was really awake.It seemed to him as though he was in a dream.
There were two-and-twenty bags in all in the chest: ten of them full ofsilver money, eight of them full of gold money, three of them full ofgold dust, and one small bag with jewels wrapped up in wad cotton andpaper.
"'Tis enough," cried out Parson Jones, "to make us both rich men as longas we live."
The burning summer sun, though sloping in the sky, beat down upon themas hot as fire; but neither of them noticed it. Neither did they noticehunger nor thirst nor fatigue, but sat there as though in a trance, withthe bags of money scattered on the sand around them, a great pile ofmoney heaped upon the coat, and the open chest beside them. It was anhour of sundown before Parson Jones had begun fairly to examine thebooks and papers in the chest.
Of the three books, two were evidently log books of the pirates who hadbeen lying off the mouth of the Delaware Bay all this time. The otherbook was written in Spanish, and was evidently the log book of somecaptured prize.
It was then, sitting there upon the sand, the good old gentleman readingin his high, cracking voice, that they first learned from the bloodyrecords in those two books who it was who had been lying inside the Capeall this time, and that it was the famous Captain Kidd. Every now andthen the reverend gentleman would stop to exclaim, "Oh, the bloodywretch!" or, "Oh, the desperate, cruel villains!" and then would go onreading again a scrap here and a scrap there.
And all the while Tom Chist sat and listened, every now and thenreaching out furtively and touching the heap of money still lying uponthe coat.
One might be inclined to wonder why Captain Kidd had kept those bloodyrecords. He had probably laid them away because they so incriminatedmany of the great people of the colony of New York that, with thebooks in evidence, it would have been impossible to bring the pirate tojustice without dragging a dozen or more fine gentlemen into the dockalong with him. If he could have kept them in his own possession theywould doubtless have been a great weapon of defense to protect him fromthe gallows. Indeed, when Captain Kidd was finally brought to convictionand hung, he was not accused of his piracies, but of striking a mutinousseaman upon the head with a bucket and accidentally killing him. Theauthorities did not dare try him for piracy. He was really hung becausehe was a pirate, and we know that it was the log books that Tom Chistbrought to New York that did the business for him; he was accused and
convicted of manslaughter for killing of his own ship carpenter with abucket.
So Parson Jones, sitting there in the slanting light, read through theseterrible records of piracy, and Tom, with the pile of gold and silvermoney beside him, sat and listened to him.
What a spectacle, if anyone had come upon them! But they were alone,with the vast arch of sky empty above them and the wide white stretch ofsand a desert around them. The sun sank lower and lower, until there wasonly time to glance through the other papers in the chest.
They were nearly all goldsmiths' bills of exchange drawn in favor ofcertain of the most prominent merchants of New York. Parson Jones, as heread over the names, knew of nearly all the gentlemen by hearsay. Aye,here was this gentleman; he thought that name would be among 'em. What?Here is Mr. So-and-so. Well, if all they say is true, the villain hasrobbed one of his own best friends. "I wonder," he said, "why thewretch should have hidden these papers so carefully away with the othertreasures, for they could do him no good?" Then, answering his ownquestion: "Like enough because these will give him a hold over thegentlemen to whom they are drawn so that he can make a good bargain forhis own neck before he gives the bills back to their owners. I tell youwhat it is, Tom," he continued, "it is you yourself shall go to New Yorkand bargain for the return of these papers. 'Twill be as good as anotherfortune to you."
The majority of the bills were drawn in favor of one RichardChillingsworth, Esquire. "And he is," said Parson Jones, "one of therichest men in the province of New York. You shall go to him with thenews of what we have found."
"When shall I go?" said Tom Chist.
"You shall go upon the very first boat we can catch," said the parson.He had turned, still holding the bills in his hand, and was nowfingering over the pile of money that yet lay tumbled out upon the coat."I wonder, Tom," said he, "if you could spare me a score or so of thesedoubloons?"
"You shall have fifty score, if you choose," said Tom, bursting withgratitude and with generosity in his newly found treasure.
"You are as fine a lad as ever I saw, Tom," said the parson, "and I'llthank you to the last day of my life."
Tom scooped up a double handful of silver money. "Take it sir," hesaid, "and you may have as much more as you want of it."
He poured it into the dish that the good man made of his hands, andthe parson made a motion as though to empty it into his pocket. Thenhe stopped, as though a sudden doubt had occurred to him. "I don't knowthat 'tis fit for me to take this pirate money, after all," he said.
"But you are welcome to it," said Tom.
Still the parson hesitated. "Nay," he burst out, "I'll not take it; 'tisblood money." And as he spoke he chucked the whole double handful intothe now empty chest, then arose and dusted the sand from his breeches.Then, with a great deal of bustling energy, he helped to tie the bagsagain and put them all back into the chest.
They reburied the chest in the place whence they had taken it, and thenthe parson folded the precious paper of directions, placed it carefullyin his wallet, and his wallet in his pocket. "Tom," he said, for thetwentieth time, "your fortune has been made this day."
And Tom Chist, as he rattled in his breeches pocket the half dozendoubloons he had kept out of his treasure, felt that what his friend hadsaid was true.
As the two went back homeward across the level space of sand Tom Chistsuddenly stopped stock-still and stood looking about him. "'Twas justhere," he said, digging his heel down into the sand, "that they killedthe poor black man."
"And here he lies buried for all time," said Parson Jones; and as hespoke he dug his cane down into the sand. Tom Chist shuddered. He wouldnot have been surprised if the ferrule of the cane had struck somethingsoft beneath that level surface. But it did not, nor was any sign ofthat tragedy ever seen again. For, whether the pirates had carried awaywhat they had done and buried it elsewhere, or whether the storm inblowing the sand had completely leveled off and hidden all sign of thattragedy where it was enacted, certain it is that it never came to sightagain--at least so far as Tom Chist and the Rev. Hilary Jones ever knew.
VII
This is the story of the treasure box. All that remains now is toconclude the story of Tom Chist, and to tell of what came of him in theend.
He did not go back again to live with old Matt Abrahamson. Parson Joneshad now taken charge of him and his fortunes, and Tom did not have to goback to the fisherman's hut.
Old Abrahamson talked a great deal about it, and would come in his cupsand harangue good Parson Jones, making a vast protestation of what hewould do to Tom--if he ever caught him--for running away. But Tom on allthese occasions kept carefully out of his way, and nothing came of theold man's threatenings.
Tom used to go over to see his foster mother now and then, but alwayswhen the old man was from home. And Molly Abrahamson used to warn himto keep out of her father's way. "He's in as vile a humor as ever I see,Tom," she said; "he sits sulking all day long, and 'tis my belief he'dkill ye if he caught ye."
Of course Tom said nothing, even to her, about the treasure, and he andthe reverend gentleman kept the knowledge thereof to themselves. Aboutthree weeks later Parson Jones managed to get him shipped aboard of avessel bound for New York town, and a few days later Tom Chist landedat that place. He had never been in such a town before, and he couldnot sufficiently wonder and marvel at the number of brick houses, atthe multitude of people coming and going along the fine, hard, earthensidewalk, at the shops and the stores where goods hung in the windows,and, most of all, the fortifications and the battery at the point,at the rows of threatening cannon, and at the scarlet-coated sentriespacing up and down the ramparts. All this was very wonderful, and sowere the clustered boats riding at anchor in the harbor. It was like anew world, so different was it from the sand hills and the sedgy levelsof Henlopen.
Tom Chist took up his lodgings at a coffee house near to the town hall,and thence he sent by the postboy a letter written by Parson Jonesto Master Chillingsworth. In a little while the boy returned witha message, asking Tom to come up to Mr. Chillingsworth's house thatafternoon at two o'clock.
Tom went thither with a great deal of trepidation, and his heart fellaway altogether when he found it a fine, grand brick house, threestories high, and with wrought-iron letters across the front.
The counting house was in the same building; but Tom, because of Mr.Jones's letter, was conducted directly into the parlor, where the greatrich man was awaiting his coming. He was sitting in a leather-coveredarmchair, smoking a pipe of tobacco, and with a bottle of fine oldMadeira close to his elbow.
Tom had not had a chance to buy a new suit of clothes yet, and so hecut no very fine figure in the rough dress he had brought with him fromHenlopen. Nor did Mr. Chillingsworth seem to think very highly of hisappearance, for he sat looking sideways at Tom as he smoked.
"Well, my lad," he said, "and what is this great thing you have totell me that is so mightily wonderful? I got what's-his-name--Mr.Jones's--letter, and now I am ready to hear what you have to say."
But if he thought but little of his visitor's appearance at first, hesoon changed his sentiments toward him, for Tom had not spoken twentywords when Mr. Chillingsworth's whole aspect changed. He straightenedhimself up in his seat, laid aside his pipe, pushed away his glass ofMadeira, and bade Tom take a chair.
He listened without a word as Tom Chist told of the buried treasure, ofhow he had seen the poor negro murdered, and of how he and ParsonJones had recovered the chest again. Only once did Mr. Chillingsworthinterrupt the narrative. "And to think," he cried, "that the villainthis very day walks about New York town as though he were an honest man,ruffling it with the best of us! But if we can only get hold of theselog books you speak of. Go on; tell me more of this."
When Tom Chist's narrative was ended, Mr. Chillingsworth's bearing wasas different as daylight is from dark. He asked a thousand questions,all in the most polite and gracious tone imaginable, and not only urgeda glass of his fine old Madeira upon Tom, but asked him to
stayto supper. There was nobody to be there, he said, but his wife anddaughter.
Tom, all in a panic at the very thought of the two ladies, sturdilyrefused to stay even for the dish of tea Mr. Chillingsworth offered him.
He did not know that he was destined to stay there as long as he shouldlive.
"And now," said Mr. Chillingsworth, "tell me about yourself."
"I have nothing to tell, Your Honor," said Tom, "except that I waswashed up out of the sea."
"Washed up out of the sea!" exclaimed Mr. Chillingsworth. "Why, how wasthat? Come, begin at the beginning, and tell me all."
Thereupon Tom Chist did as he was bidden, beginning at the verybeginning and telling everything just as Molly Abrahamson had often toldit to him. As he continued, Mr. Chillingsworth's interest changed intoan appearance of stronger and stronger excitement. Suddenly he jumped upout of his chair and began to walk up and down the room.
"Stop! stop!" he cried out at last, in the midst of something Tom wassaying. "Stop! stop! Tell me; do you know the name of the vessel thatwas wrecked, and from which you were washed ashore?"
"I've heard it said," said Tom Chist, "'twas the Bristol Merchant."
"I knew it! I knew it!" exclaimed the great man, in a loud voice,flinging his hands up into the air. "I felt it was so the moment youbegan the story. But tell me this, was there nothing found with you witha mark or a name upon it?"
"There was a kerchief," said Tom, "marked with a T and a C."
"Theodosia Chillingsworth!" cried out the merchant. "I knew it! I knewit! Heavens! to think of anything so wonderful happening as this! Boy!boy! dost thou know who thou art? Thou art my own brother's son. Hisname was Oliver Chillingsworth, and he was my partner in business,and thou art his son." Then he ran out into the entryway, shouting andcalling for his wife and daughter to come.
So Tom Chist--or Thomas Chillingsworth, as he now was to be called--didstay to supper, after all.
This is the story, and I hope you may like it. For Tom Chist becamerich and great, as was to be supposed, and he married his pretty cousinTheodosia (who had been named for his own mother, drowned in the BristolMerchant).
He did not forget his friends, but had Parson Jones brought to New Yorkto live.
As to Molly and Matt Abrahamson, they both enjoyed a pension of tenpounds a year for as long as they lived; for now that all was well withhim, Tom bore no grudge against the old fisherman for all the drubbingshe had suffered.
The treasure box was brought on to New York, and if Tom Chist did notget all the money there was in it (as Parson Jones had opined he would)he got at least a good big lump of it.
And it is my belief that those log books did more to get Captain Kiddarrested in Boston town and hanged in London than anything else that wasbrought up against him.