stories by modern american authors-第47节

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the　profound　stillness　of　the　woodland　they　could　distinguish　the

current　rippling　along　the　rocky　shore；　and　the　distant　murmuring

and　roaring　of　Hell　Gate。



The　negro　continued　his　labors；　and　had　already　digged　a

considerable　hole。　　The　doctor　stood　on　the　edge；　reading　formulae

every　now　and　then　from　his　black…letter　volume；　or　throwing　more

drugs　and　herbs　upon　the　fire；　while　Wolfert　bent　anxiously　over

the　pit；　watching　every　stroke　of　the　spade。　　Anyone　witnessing　the

scene　thus　lighted　up　by　fire；　lantern；　and　the　reflection　of

Wolfert's　red　mantle；　might　have　mistaken　the　little　doctor　for

some　foul　magician；　busied　in　his　incantations；　and　the　grizzly…

headed　negro　for　some　swart　goblin　obedient　to　his　commands。



At　length　the　spade　of　the　fisherman　struck　upon　something　that

sounded　hollow。　　The　sound　vibrated　to　Wolfert's　heart。　　He　struck

his　spade　again。



〃'Tis　a　chest；〃　said　Sam。



〃Full　of　gold；　I'll　warrant　it！〃　cried　Wolfert；　clasping　his　hands

with　rapture。



Scarcely　had　he　uttered　the　words　when　a　sound　from　above　caught

his　ear。　　He　cast　up　his　eyes；　and　lo！　by　the　expiring　light　of　the

fire　he　beheld；　just　over　the　disk　of　the　rock；　what　appeared　to　be

the　grim　visage　of　the　drowned　buccaneer；　grinning　hideously　down

upon　him。



Wolfert　gave　a　loud　cry　and　let　fall　the　lantern。　　His　panic

communicated　itself　to　his　companions。　　The　negro　leaped　out　of　the

hole；　the　doctor　dropped　his　book　and　basket；　and　began　to　pray　in

German。　　All　was　horror　and　confusion。　　The　fire　was　scattered

about；　the　lantern　extinguished。　　In　their　hurry…scurry＇1＇　they　ran

against　and　confounded　one　another。　　They　fancied　a　legion　of

hobgoblins　let　loose　upon　them；　and　that　they　saw；　by　the　fitful

gleams　of　the　scattered　embers；　strange　figures；　in　red　caps；

gibbering　and　ramping　around　them。　　The　doctor　ran　one　way；　the

negro　another；　and　Wolfert　made　for　the　water　side。　　As　he　plunged

struggling　onward　through　brush　and　brake；　he　heard　the　tread　of

some　one　in　pursuit。　　He　scrambled　frantically　forward。　　The

footsteps　gained　upon　him。　　He　felt　himself　grasped　by　his　cloak；

when　suddenly　his　pursuer　was　attacked　in　turn；　a　fierce　fight　and

struggle　ensued；　a　pistol　was　discharged　that　lit　up　rock　and　bush

for　a　second；　and　showed　two　figures　grappling　together；　all　was

then　darker　than　ever。　　The　contest　continued；　the　combatants

clinched　each　other；　and　panted　and　groaned；　and　rolled　among　the

rocks。　　There　was　snarling　and　growling　as　of　a　cur；　mingled　with

curses；　in　which　Wolfert　fancied　he　could　recognize　the　voice　of

the　buccaneer。　　He　would　fain　have　fled；　but　he　was　on　the　brink　of

a　precipice；　and　could　go　no　farther。





＇1＇　A　swift；　disorderly　movement。





Again　the　parties　were　on　their　feet；　again　there　was　a　tugging　and

struggling；　as　if　strength　alone　could　decide　the　combat；　until　one

was　precipitated　from　the　brow　of　the　cliff；　and　sent　headlong　into

the　deep　stream　that　whirled　below。　　Wolfert　heard　the　plunge；　and

a　kind　of　strangling；　bubbling　murmur；　but　the　darkness　of　the

night　hid　everything　from　him；　and　the　swiftness　of　the　current

swept　everything　instantly　out　of　hearing。　　One　of　the　combatants

was　disposed　of；　but　whether　friend　or　foe　Wolfert　could　not　tell；

nor　whether　they　might　not　both　be　foes。　　He　heard　the　survivor

approach；　and　his　terror　revived。　　He　saw；　where　the　profile　of　the

rocks　rose　against　the　horizon；　a　human　form　advancing。　　He　could

not　be　mistaken；　it　must　be　the　buccaneer。　　Whither　should　he　fly？…

…a　precipice　was　on　one　side；　a　murderer　on　the　other。　　The　enemy

approachedhe　was　close　at　hand。　　Wolfert　attempted　to　let　himself

down　the　face　of　the　cliff。　　His　cloak　caught　in　a　thorn　that　grew

on　the　edge。　　He　was　jerked　from　off　his　feet；　and　held　dangling　in

the　air；　half　choked　by　the　string　with　which　his　careful　wife　had

fastened　the　garment　around　his　neck。　　Wolfert　thought　his　last

moment　was　arrived；　already　had　he　committed　his　soul　to　St。

Nicholas；　when　the　string　broke；　and　he　tumbled　down　the　bank；

bumping　from　rock　to　rock　and　bush　to　bush；　and　leaving　the　red

cloak　fluttering　like　a　bloody　banner　in　the　air。



It　was　a　long　while　before　Wolfert　came　to　himself。　　When　he　opened

his　eyes；　the　ruddy　streaks　of　morning　were　already　shooting　up　the

sky。　　He　found　himself　grievously　battered；　and　lying　in　the　bottom

of　a　boat。　　He　attempted　to　sit　up；　but　was　too　sore　and　stiff　to

move。　　A　voice　requested　him　in　a　friendly　accents　to　lie　still。

He　turned　his　eyes　toward　the　speaker；　it　was　Dirk　Waldron。　　He　had

dogged　the　party；　at　the　earnest　request　of　Dame　Webber　and　her

daughter；　who；　with　the　laudable　curiosity　of　their　sex；　had　pried

into　the　secret　consultations　of　Wolfert　and　the　doctor。　　Dirk　had

been　completely　distanced　in　following　the　light　skiff　of　the

fisherman；　and　had　just　come　in　time　to　rescue　the　poor　money

digger　from　his　pursuer。



Thus　ended　this　perilous　enterprise。　　The　doctor　and　Black　Sam

severally　found　their　way　back　to　the　Manhattoes；　each　having　some

dreadful　tale　of　peril　to　relate。　　As　to　poor　Wolfert；　instead　of

returning　in　triumph；　laden　with　bags　of　gold；　he　was　borne　home　on

a　shutter；　followed　by　a　rabble…rout＇1＇　of　curious　urchins。　　His

wife　and　daughter　saw　the　dismal　pageant　from　a　distance；　and

alarmed　the　neighborhood　with　their　cries；　they　thought　the　poor

man　had　suddenly　settled　the　great　debt　of　nature　in　one　of　his

wayward　moods。　　Finding　him；　however；　still　living；　they　had　him

speedily　to　bed；　and　a　jury　of　old　matrons　of　the　neighborhood

assembled　to　determine　how　he　should　be　doctored。　　The　whole　town

was　in　a　buzz　with　the　story　of　the　money　diggers。　　Many　repaired

to　the　scene　of　the　previous　night's　adventures；　but　though　they

found　the　very　place　of　the　digging；　they　discovered　nothing　that

compensated　them　for　their　trouble。　　Some　say　they　found　the

fragments　of　an　oaken　chest；　and　an　iron　pot　lid；　which　savored

strongly　of　hidden　money；　and　that　in　the　old　family　vault　there

were　traces　of　bales　and　boxes；　but　this　is　all　very　dubious。





＇1＇　A　noisy　throng。





In　fact；　the　secret　of　all　this　story　has　never　to　this　day　been

discovered。　　Whether　any　treasure　were　ever　actually　buried　at　that

place；　whether；　if　so；　it　were　carried　off　at　night　by　those　who

had　buried　it；　or　whether　it　still　remains　there　under　the

guardianship　of　gnomes　and　spirits　until　it　shall　be　properly

sought　for；　is　all　matter　of　conjecture。　　For　my　part；　I　incline　to

the　latter　opinion；　and　make　no　doubt　that　great　sums　lie　buried；

both　there　and　in　other　parts　of　this　island　and　its　neighborhood；

ever　since　the　times　of　the　buccaneers　and　the　Dutch　colonists；　and

I　would　earnestly　recommend　the　search　after　them　to　such　of　my

fellow　citizens　as　are　not　engaged　in　any　other　speculations。



There　were　many　conjectures　formed；　also；　as　to　who　and　what　was

the　strange　man　of　the　seas；　who　had　domineered　over　the　little

fraternity　at　Corlear's　Hook　for　a　time；　disappeared　so　strangely；

and　reappeared　so　fearfully。　　Some　supposed　him　a　smuggler

stationed　at　that　place　to　assist　his　comrades　in　landing　their

goods　among　the　rocky　coves　of　the　island。　　Others；　that　he　was　one

of　the　ancient　comrades　of　Kidd　or　Bradish；　returned　to　convey　away

treasures　formerly　hidden　in　the　vicinity。　　The　only　circumstance

that　throws　anything　like　a　vague　light　on　this　mysterious　matter

is　a　report　which　prevailed　of　a　strange；　foreign…built　shallop；

with　much　the　look　of　a　picaroon；＇1＇　having　been　seen　hovering

about　the　Sound　for　several　days　without　landing　or　reporting

herself；　though　boats　were　seen　going　to　and　from　her　at　night；　and

that　she　was　seen　standing　out　of　the　mouth　of　the　harbor；　in　the

gray　of　the　dawn；　after　the　catastrophe　of　the　money　diggers。





＇1＇　A　piratical　vessel。





I　must　not　omit　to　mention　another　report；　also；　which　I　confess　is

rather　apocryphal；　of　the　buccaneer　who　is　supposed　to　have　been

drowned；　being　seen　before　daybreak；　with　a　lantern　in　his　hand；

seated　astride　of　his　great　sea　chest；　and　sailing　through　Hell

Gate；　which　just　then　began　to　roar　and　bellow　with　redoubled　fury。



While　all　the　gossip　world　was　thus　filled　with　talk　and　rumor；

poor　Wolfert　lay　sick　and　sorrowfully　in　his　bed；　bruised　in　body

and　sorely　beaten　down　in　mind。　　His　wife　and　daughter　did　all　they

could　to　bind　up　his　wounds；　both　corporal　and　spiritual。　　The　good

old　dame　never　stirred　from　his　bedside；　where　she　sat　knitting

from　morning　till　night；　while　his　daughter　busied　herself　about

him　with　the　fondest　care。　　Nor　did　they　lack　assistance　from

abroad。　　Whatever　may　be　said　of　the　desertion　of　friends　in

distress；　they　had　no　complaint　of　the　kind　to　make。　　Not　an　old

wife　of　the　neighborhood　but　abandoned　her　work　to　crowd　to　the

mansion　of　Wolfert　Webber；　to　inquire　after　his