University of Virginia Library

CAPTAIN KIDD'S MONEY.

ONE of our most favorite legendary
resorts was the old barn.

Sam Lawson preferred it on many
accounts. It was quiet and retired,
that is to say, at such distance from his
own house, that he could not hear if
Hepsy called ever so loudly, and farther
off than it would be convenient for that industrious
and painstaking woman to follow him. Then there
was the soft fragrant cushion of hay, on which his
length of limb could be easily bestowed.

Our barn had an upper loft with a swinging outer
door that commanded a view of the old mill, the
waterfall, and the distant windings of the river, with
its grassy green banks, its graceful elm draperies, and

its white flocks of water-lilies; and then on this
Saturday afternoon we had Sam all to ourselves. It
was a drowsy, dreamy October day, when the hens
were lazily “craw, crawing,” in a soft, conversational
undertone with each other, as they scratched and
picked the hay-seed under the barn windows. Below
in the barn black Cæsar sat quietly hatchelling flax,
sometimes gurgling and giggling to himself with an
overflow of that interior jollity with which he
seemed to be always full. The African in New
England was a curious contrast to everybody around
him in the joy and satisfaction that he seemed to feel
in the mere fact of being alive. Every white person
was glad or sorry for some appreciable cause in the
past, present, or future, which was capable of being
definitely stated; but black Cæsar was in an eternal
giggle and frizzle and simmer of enjoyment for
which he could give no earthly reason: he was an
“embodied joy,” like Shelley's skylark.

“Jest hear him,” said Sam Lawson, looking pensively
over the hay-mow, and strewing hayseed down
on his wool. “How that 'are critter seems to tickle
and laugh all the while 'bout nothin'. Lordy massy!

he don't seem never to consider that `this life's a
dream, an empty show.'”

“Look here, Sam,” we broke in, anxious to cut
short a threatened stream of morality, “you promised
to tell us about Capt. Kidd, and how you dug
for his money.”

“Did I, now? Wal, boys, that 'are history o'
Kidd's is a warnin' to fellers. Why, Kidd had pious
parents and Bible and sanctuary privileges when he
was a boy, and yet come to be hanged. It's all in
this 'ere song I'm a goin' to sing ye. Lordy massy!
I wish I had my bass-viol now. — Cæsar,” he said,
calling down from his perch, “can't you strike the
pitch o' `Cap'n Kidd,' on your fiddle?”

Cæsar's fiddle was never far from him. It was, in
fact, tucked away in a nice little nook just over the
manger; and he often caught an interval from his
work to scrape a dancing-tune on it, keeping time
with his heels, to our great delight.

A most wailing minor-keyed tune was doled forth,
which seemed quite refreshing to Sam's pathetic vein,
as he sang in his most lugubrious tones, —

“Now ye see, boys, he's a goin' to tell how he
abused his religious privileges; just hear now: —

“Did ye ever hear o' such a hardened, contrary
critter, boys? It's awful to think on. Wal, ye see
that 'are's the way fellers allers begin the ways o'

sin, by turnin' their backs on the Bible and the advice
o' pious parents. Now hear what he come
to: —

“There was a good deal more on't,” said Sam,
pausing, “but I don't seem to remember it; but it's
real solemn and affectin'.”

“Who was Capt. Kidd, Sam?” said I.

“Wal, he was an officer in the British navy, and
he got to bein' a pirate: used to take ships and sink
'em, and murder the folks; and so they say he got

no end o' money, — gold and silver and precious
stones, as many as the wise men in the East. But
ye see, what good did it all do him? He couldn't
use it, and dar'sn't keep it; so he used to bury it in
spots round here and there in the awfullest heathen
way ye ever heard of. Why, they say he allers used
to kill one or two men or women or children of his
prisoners, and bury with it, so that their sperits
might keep watch on it ef anybody was to dig arter
it. That 'are thing has been tried and tried and
tried, but no man nor mother's son on 'em ever got a
cent that dug. 'Twas tried here'n Oldtown; and
they come pretty nigh gettin' on't, but it gin
'em the slip. Ye see, boys, it's the Devil's money,
and he holds a pretty tight grip on't.”

“Well, how was it about digging for it? Tell us,
did you do it? Were you there? Did you see it?
And why couldn't they get it?” we both asked
eagerly and in one breath.

“Why, Lordy massy! boys, your questions tumbles
over each other thick as martins out o' a martin-box.
Now, you jest be moderate and let alone, and I'll tell
you all about it from the beginnin' to the end. I

didn't railly have no hand in't, though I was knowin'
to 't, as I be to most things that goes on round
here; but my conscience wouldn't railly a let me start
on no sich undertakin'.

“Wal, the one that fust sot the thing a goin' was
old Mother Hokum, that used to live up in that
little tumble-down shed by the cranberry-pond up
beyond the spring pastur'. They had a putty bad
name, them Hokums. How they got a livin' nobody
knew; for they didn't seem to pay no attention to
raisin' nothin' but childun, but the duce knows,
there was plenty o' them. Their old hut was like
a rabbit-pen: there was a tow-head to every crack
and cranny. 'Member what old Cæsar said once
when the word come to the store that old Hokum
had got twins. `S'pose de Lord knows best,' says
Cæsar, `but I thought dere was Hokums enough
afore.' Wal, even poor workin' industrious folks
like me finds it's hard gettin' along when there's so
many mouths to feed. Lordy massy! there don't
never seem to be no end on't, and so it ain't wonderful,
come to think on't, ef folks like them Hokums
gets tempted to help along in ways that ain't quite

right. Anyhow, folks did use to think that old
Hokum was too sort o' familiar with their wood-piles
'long in the night, though they couldn't never prove
it on him; and when Mother Hokum come to houses
round to wash, folks use sometimes to miss pieces,
here and there, though they never could find 'em on
her; then they was allers a gettin' in debt here and a
gettin' in debt there. Why, they got to owin' two dollars
to Joe Gidger for butcher's meat. Joe was sort
o' good-natured and let 'em have meat, 'cause Hokum
he promised so fair to pay; but he couldn't never get
it out o' him. 'Member once Joe walked clear up to
the cranberry-pond arter that 'are two dollars; but
Mother Hokum she see him a comin' jest as he come
past the juniper-bush on the corner. She says to
Hokum, `Get into bed, old man, quick, and let me
tell the story,' says she. So she covered him up;
and when Gidger come in she come up to him, and
says she, `Why, Mr. Gidger, I'm jest ashamed to
see ye: why, Mr. Hokum was jest a comin' down to
pay ye that 'are money last week, but ye see he was
took down with the small-pox' — Joe didn't hear
no more: he just turned round, and he streaked it
out that 'are door with his coat-tails flyin' out
straight ahind him; and old Mother Hokum she jest
stood at the window holdin' her sides and laughin'
fit to split, to see him run. That 'are's jest a sample
o' the ways them Hokums cut up.

“Wal, you see, boys, there's a queer kind o' rock
down on the bank 'o the river, that looks sort o' like
a grave-stone. The biggest part on't is sunk down
under ground, and it's pretty well growed over with
blackberry-vines; but, when you scratch the bushes
away, they used to make out some queer marks on
that 'are rock. They was sort o' lines and crosses;
and folks would have it that them was Kidd's private
marks, and that there was one o' the places where
he hid his money.

“Wal, there's no sayin' fairly how it come to be
thought so; but fellers used to say so, and they used
sometimes to talk it over to the tahvern, and kind o'
wonder whether or no, if they should dig, they
wouldn't come to suthin'.

“Wal, old Mother Hokum she heard on't, and
she was a sort o' enterprisin' old crittur: fact was,
she had to be, 'cause the young Hokums was jest like

bag-worms, the more they growed the more they eat,
and I expect she found it pretty hard to fill their
mouths; and so she said ef there was any thing
under that 'are rock, they'd as good's have it as the
Devil; and so she didn't give old Hokum no peace
o' his life, but he must see what there was there.

“Wal, I was with 'em the night they was a talkin'
on't up. Ye see, Hokum he got thirty-seven
cents' worth o' lemons and sperit. I see him goin'
by as I was out a splittin' kindlin's; and says he,
`Sam, you jest go 'long up to our house to-night,'
says he: `Toddy Whitney and Harry Wiggin's comin'
up, and we're goin' to have a little suthin' hot,'
says he; and he kind o' showed me the lemons and
sperit. And I told him I guessed I would go 'long.
Wal, I kind o' wanted to see what they'd be up to,
ye know.

“Wal, come to find out, they was a talkin' about
Cap'n Kidd's treasures, and layin' out how they
should get it, and a settin' one another on with gret
stories about it.

“`I've heard that there was whole chists full o'
gold guineas,' says one.

“`And I've heard o' gold bracelets and ear-rings
and finger-rings all sparklin' with diamonds,' says
another.

“`Maybe it's old silver plate from some o' them
old West Indian grandees,' says another.

“`Wal, whatever it is,' says Mother Hokum, `I
want to be into it,' says she.

“`Wal, Sam, won't you jine?' says they.

“`Wal, boys,' says I, `I kind o' don't feel jest like
j'inin'. I sort o' ain't clear about the rights on't:
seems to me it's mighty nigh like goin' to the Devil
for money.'

“`Wal,' says Mother Hokum, `what if 'tis?
Money's money, get it how ye will; and the Devil's
money 'll buy as much meat as any. I'd go to the
Devil, if he gave good money.'

“`Wal, I guess I wouldn't,' says I. `Don't you
'member the sermon Parson Lothrop preached about
hastin' to be rich, last sabba' day?'

“`Parson Lothrop be hanged!' says she. `Wal,
now,' says she, `I like to see a parson with his silk
stockin's and great gold-headed cane, a lollopin' on
his carriage behind his fat, prancin' hosses, comin' to

meetin' to preach to us poor folks not to want to be
rich! How'd he like it to have forty-'leven children,
and nothin' to put onto 'em or into 'em, I wonder?
Guess if Lady Lothrop had to rub and scrub, and
wear her fingers to the bone as I do, she'd want to
be rich; and I guess the parson, if he couldn't get a
bellyful for a week, would be for diggin' up Kidd's
money, or doing 'most any thing else to make the pot
bile.'

“`Wal,' says I, `I'll kind o' go with ye, boys, and
sort o' see how things turn out; but I guess I won't
take no shere in't,' says I.

“Wal, they got it all planned out. They was to
wait till the full moon, and then they was to get
Primus King to go with 'em and help do the diggin'.
Ye see, Hokum and Toddy Whitney and Wiggin are
all putty softly fellers, and hate dreffully to work;
and I tell you the Kidd money ain't to be got without
a pretty tough piece o' diggin'. Why, it's jest like
diggin' a well to get at it. Now, Primus King was
the master hand for diggin' wells, and so they said
they'd get him by givin' on him a shere.

“Harry Wiggin he didn't want no nigger a sherin'

in it, he said; but Toddy and Hokum they said that
when there was such stiff diggin' to be done, they
didn't care if they did go in with a nigger.

“Wal, Wiggin he said he hadn't no objection to
havin' the nigger do the diggin,' it was sherin' the
profits he objected to.

“`Wal,' says Hokum, `you can't get him without,'
says he. `Primus knows too much,' says he: `you
can't fool him.' Finally they 'greed that they was to
give Primus twenty dollars, and shere the treasure
'mong themselves.

“Come to talk with Primus, he wouldn't stick in a
spade, unless they'd pay him aforehand. Ye see, Primus
was up to 'em; he knowed about Gidger, and
there wa'n't none on 'em that was particular good
pay; and so they all jest hed to rake and scrape, and
pay him down the twenty dollars among 'em; and
they 'greed for the fust full moon, at twelve o'clock
at night, the 9th of October.

“Wal, ye see I had to tell Hepsy I was goin' out to
watch. Wal, so I was; but not jest in the way she
took it: but, Lordy massy! a feller has to tell his wife
suthin' to keep her quiet, ye know, 'specially Hepsy.

“Wal, wal, of all the moonlight nights that ever I
did see, I never did see one equal to that. Why,
you could see the color o' every thing. I 'member I
could see how the huckleberry-bushes on the rock
was red as blood when the moonlight shone through
'em; 'cause the leaves, you see, had begun to turn.

“Goin' on our way we got to talkin' about the
sperits.

“`I ain't afraid on 'em,' says Hokum. `What
harm can a sperit do me?' says he. `I don't care ef
there's a dozen on 'em;' and he took a swig at his
bottle.

“`Oh! there ain't no sperits,' says Harry Wiggin.
`That 'are talk's all nonsense;' and he took a swig
at his bottle.

“`Wal,' says Toddy, `I don't know 'bout that 'are.
Me and Ike Sanders has seen the sperits in the Cap'n
Brown house. We thought we'd jest have a peek
into the window one night; and there was a whole
flock o' black colts without no heads on come rushin'
on us and knocked us flat.'

“`I expect you'd been at the tahvern,' said Hokum.

“`Wal, yes, we had; but them was sperits: we

wa'n't drunk, now; we was jest as sober as ever we
was.'

“`Wal, they won't get away my money,' says Primus,
for I put it safe away in Dinah's teapot afore I
come out;' and then he showed all his ivories from
ear to ear. `I think all this 'are's sort o' foolishness,'
says Primus.

“`Wal,' says I, `boys, I ain't a goin' to have no
part or lot in this 'ere matter, but I'll jest lay it off to
you how it's to be done. Ef Kidd's money is under
this rock, there's sperits that watch it, and you
mustn't give 'em no advantage. There mustn't be a
word spoke from the time ye get sight o' the treasure
till ye get it safe up on to firm ground,' says I.
`Ef ye do, it'll vanish right out o' sight. I've talked
with them that has dug down to it and seen it;
but they allers lost it, 'cause they'd call out and
say suthin'; and the minute they spoke, away it
went.'

“Wal, so they marked off the ground; and Primus
he begun to dig, and the rest kind o' sot round.
It was so still it was kind o' solemn. Ye see, it was
past twelve o'clock, and every critter in Oldtown

was asleep; and there was two whippoorwills on the
great Cap'n Brown elm-trees, that kep' a answerin'
each other back and forward sort o' solitary like; and
then every once in a while there'd come a sort o'
strange whisper up among the elm-tree leaves, jest
as if there was talkin' goin' on; and every time Primus
struck his spade into the ground it sounded sort
o' holler, jest as if he'd been a diggin' a grave. `It's
kind o' melancholy,' says, I, `to think o' them poor
critters that had to be killed and buried jest to keep
this 'ere treasure. What awful things 'll be brought
to light in the judgment day! Them poor critters
they loved to live and hated to die as much as any
on us; but no, they hed to die jest to satisfy that
critter's wicked will. I've heard them as thought
they could tell the Cap'n Kidd places by layin' their
ear to the ground at midnight, and they'd hear
groans and wailin's.”

“Why, Sam! were there really people who could
tell where Kidd's money was?” I here interposed.

“Oh, sartin! why, yis. There was Shebna Bascom,
he was one. Shebna could always tell what was under
the earth. He'd cut a hazel-stick, and hold it in

[ILLUSTRATION]

“The dug down about five feet.”—Page 119.

[Description: 703EAF. Illustration page. Image of a man standing chest-deep in a hole in the ground digging. Four other people are watching.]

his hand when folks was wantin' to know where to
dig wells; and that 'are stick would jest turn in his
hand, and p'int down till it would fairly grind the
bark off; and ef you dug in that place you was sure
to find a spring. Oh, yis! Shebna he's told many
where the Kidd money was, and been with 'em when
they dug for it; but the pester on't was they allers
lost it, 'cause they would some on 'em speak afore
they thought.”

“But, Sam, what about this digging? Let's
know what came of it,” said we, as Sam appeared to
lose his way in his story.

“Wal, ye see, they dug down about five feet, when
Primus he struck his spade smack on something that
chincked like iron.

“Wal, then Hokum and Toddy Whitney was into
the hole in a minute: they made Primus get out, and
they took the spade, 'cause they wanted to be sure to
come on it themselves.

“Wal, they begun, and they dug and he scraped,
and sure enough they come to a gret iron pot as big
as your granny's dinner-pot, with an iron bale to it.

“Wal, then they put down a rope, and he put the

rope through the handle; then Hokum and Toddy they
clambered upon the bank, and all on 'em began to draw
up jest as still and silent as could be. They drawed and
they drawed, till they jest got it even with the ground,
when Toddy spoke out all in a tremble, `There,'
says he, `we've got it!' And the minit he spoke
they was both struck by suthin' that knocked 'em
clean over; and the rope give a crack like a pistolshot,
and broke short off; and the pot went down,
down, down, and they heard it goin', jink, jink, jink;
and it went way down into the earth, and the ground
closed over it; and then they heard the screechin'est
laugh ye ever did hear.”

“I want to know, Sam, did you see that pot?” I
exclaimed at this part of the story.

“Wal, no, I didn't. Ye see, I jest happened to
drop asleep while they was diggin', I was so kind o'
tired, and I didn't wake up till it was all over.

“I was waked up, 'cause there was consid'able of
a scuffle; for Hokum was so mad at Toddy for
speakin', that he was a fistin' on him; and old Primus
he jest haw-hawed and laughed. `Wal, I got
my money safe, anyhow,' says he.

“`Wal, come to,' says I. `'Tain't no use cryin'
for spilt milk: you've jest got to turn in now and fill
up this 'ere hole, else the selectmen 'll be down on
ye.'

“`Wal,' says Primus, `I didn't engage to fill up
no holes;' and he put his spade on his shoulder and
trudged off.

“Wal, it was putty hard work, fillin' in that hole;
but Hokum and Toddy and Wiggin had to do it,
'cause they didn't want to have everybody a laughin'
at 'em; and I kind o' tried to set it home to 'em,
showin' on 'em that 'twas all for the best.

“`Ef you'd a been left to get that 'are money,
there'd a come a cuss with it,' says I. `It shows the
vanity o' hastin' to be rich.'

“`Oh, you shet up!' says Hokum, says he. `You
never hasted to any thing,' says he. Ye see, he was
riled, that's why he spoke so.”

“Sam,” said we, after maturely reflecting over the
story, “what do you suppose was in that pot?”

“Lordy massy! boys: ye never will be done askin'
questions. Why, how should I know?”