by Poe · Cluster: Short Story · Concealment Hidden Identity · Justice Right and Wrong
Abstract
A tale of ratiocination in which Legrand decodes a pirate’s cryptogram to unearth Captain Kidd’s buried treasure; a detective-style story driven by cipher-breaking, gold, and analytic reasoning.
Testo / Text
Parti / Parts
- Part 1
- Part 2
- Part 3
- Part 4
- Part 5
- Part 6
- Part 7
- Part 8
- Part 9
- Part 10
- Part 11
- Part 12
- Part 13
- Part 14
- Part 15
Readability (prose)69.6 Flesch ease8.3 FK grade11.3 Fog9% complex19.2 words/sent
Connections
Topoi: Quest Motifs: Money and Gold, Letters and Writing Themes & Concepts: Ratiocination Detection, Truth Forms & Genres: Detective Fiction, Short Story
Testo integrale / Full text
What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad!
He hath been bitten by the Tarantula.
—All in the Wrong.
Many years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William
Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been
wealthy; but a series of misfortunes had reduced him to want. To
avoid the mortification consequent upon his disasters, he left
New Orleans, the city of his forefathers, and took up his
residence at Sullivan’s Island, near Charleston, South Carolina.
This Island is a very singular one. It consists of little else
than the sea sand, and is about three miles long. Its breadth at
no point exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is separated from the
main land by a scarcely perceptible creek, oozing its way through
a wilderness of reeds and slime, a favorite resort of the marsh
hen. The vegetation, as might be supposed, is scant, or at least
dwarfish. No trees of any magnitude are to be seen. Near the
western extremity, where Fort Moultrie stands, and where are some
miserable frame buildings, tenanted, during summer, by the
fugitives from Charleston dust and fever, may be found, indeed,
the bristly palmetto; but the whole island, with the exception of
this western point, and a line of hard, white beach on the
seacoast, is covered with a dense undergrowth of the sweet
myrtle, so much prized by the horticulturists of England. The
shrub here often attains the height of fifteen or twenty feet,
and forms an almost impenetrable coppice, burthening the air with
its fragrance.
In the inmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the eastern
or more remote end of the island, Legrand had built himself a
small hut, which he occupied when I first, by mere accident, made
his acquaintance. This soon ripened into friendship—for there was
much in the recluse to excite interest and esteem. I found him
well educated, with unusual powers of mind, but infected with
misanthropy, and subject to perverse moods of alternate
enthusiasm and melancholy. He had with him many books, but rarely
employed them. His chief amusements were gunning and fishing, or
sauntering along the beach and through the myrtles, in quest of
shells or entomological specimens—his collection of the latter
might have been envied by a Swammerdamm. In these excursions he
was usually accompanied by an old negro, called Jupiter, who had
been manumitted before the reverses of the family, but who could
be induced, neither by threats nor by promises, to abandon what
he considered his right of attendance upon the footsteps of his
young “Massa Will.” It is not improbable that the relatives of
Legrand, conceiving him to be somewhat unsettled in intellect,
had contrived to instil this obstinacy into Jupiter, with a view
to the supervision and guardianship of the wanderer.
The winters in the latitude of Sullivan’s Island are seldom very
severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed
when a fire is considered necessary. About the middle of October,
18—, there occurred, however, a day of remarkable chilliness.
Just before sunset I scrambled my way through the evergreens to
the hut of my friend, whom I had not visited for several weeks—my
residence being, at that time, in Charleston, a distance of nine
miles from the island, while the facilities of passage and
re-passage were very far behind those of the present day. Upon
reaching the hut I rapped, as was my custom, and getting no
reply, sought for the key where I knew it was secreted, unlocked
the door and went in. A fine fire was blazing upon the hearth. It
was a novelty, and by no means an ungrateful one. I threw off an
overcoat, took an arm-chair by the crackling logs, and awaited
patiently the arrival of my hosts.
Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial welcome.
Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to prepare some
marsh-hens for supper. Legrand was in one of his fits—how else
shall I term them?—of enthusiasm. He had found an unknown
bivalve, forming a new genus, and, more than this, he had hunted
down and secured, with Jupiter’s assistance, a _scarabæus_ which
he believed to be totally new, but in respect to which he wished
to have my opinion on the morrow.
“And why not to-night?” I asked, rubbing my hands over the blaze,
and wishing the whole tribe of _scarabæi_ at the devil.
“Ah, if I had only known you were here!” said Legrand, “but it’s
so long since I saw you; and how could I foresee that you would
pay me a visit this very night of all others? As I was coming
home I met Lieutenant G——, from the fort, and, very foolishly, I
lent him the bug; so it will be impossible for you to see it
until the morning. Stay here to-night, and I will send Jup down
for it at sunrise. It is the loveliest thing in creation!”
“What?—sunrise?”
“Nonsense! no!—the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color—about the
size of a large hickory-nut—with two jet black spots near one
extremity of the back, and another, somewhat longer, at the
other. The _antennæ_ are—”
“Dey aint no tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin on you,”
here interrupted Jupiter; “de bug is a goole bug, solid, ebery
bit of him, inside and all, sep him wing—neber feel half so hebby
a bug in my life.”
“Well, suppose it is, Jup,” replied Legrand, somewhat more
earnestly, it seemed to me, than the case demanded, “is that any
reason for your letting the birds burn? The color”—here he turned
to me—“is really almost enough to warrant Jupiter’s idea. You
never saw a more brilliant metallic lustre than the scales
emit—but of this you cannot judge till tomorrow. In the mean time
I can give you some idea of the shape.” Saying this, he seated
himself at a small table, on which were a pen and ink, but no
paper. He looked for some in a drawer, but found none.
“Never mind,” said he at length, “this will answer;” and he drew
from his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what I took to be very dirty
foolscap, and made upon it a rough drawing with the pen. While he
did this, I retained my seat by the fire, for I was still chilly.
When the design was complete, he handed it to me without rising.
As I received it, a loud growl was heard, succeeded by a
scratching at the door. Jupiter opened it, and a large
Newfoundland, belonging to Legrand, rushed in, leaped upon my
shoulders, and loaded me with caresses; for I had shown him much
attention during previous visits. When his gambols were over, I
looked at the paper, and, to speak the truth, found myself not a
little puzzled at what my friend had depicted.
“Well!” I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, “this
_is_ a strange _scarabæus_, I must confess: new to me: never saw
anything like it before—unless it was a skull, or a
death’s-head—which it more nearly resembles than anything else
that has come under _my_ observation.”
“A death’s-head!” echoed Legrand. “Oh—yes—well, it has something
of that appearance upon paper, no doubt. The two upper black
spots look like eyes, eh? and the longer one at the bottom like a
mouth—and then the shape of the whole is oval.”
“Perhaps so,” said I; “but, Legrand, I fear you are no artist. I
must wait until I see the beetle itself, if I am to form any idea
of its personal appearance.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said he, a little nettled, “I draw
tolerably—_should_ do it at least—have had good masters, and
flatter myself that I am not quite a blockhead.”
“But, my dear fellow, you are joking then,” said I, “this is a
very passable _skull_—indeed, I may say that it is a very
_excellent_ skull, according to the vulgar notions about such
specimens of physiology—and your _scarabæus_ must be the queerest
_scarabæus_ in the world if it resembles it. Why, we may get up a
very thrilling bit of superstition upon this hint. I presume you
will call the bug _scarabæus caput hominis_, or something of that
kind—there are many similar titles in the Natural Histories. But
where are the _antennæ_ you spoke of?”
“The _antennæ!_” said Legrand, who seemed to be getting
unaccountably warm upon the subject; “I am sure you must see the
_antennæ_. I made them as distinct as they are in the original
insect, and I presume that is sufficient.”
“Well, well,” I said, “perhaps you have—still I don’t see them;”
and I handed him the paper without additional remark, not wishing
to ruffle his temper; but I was much surprised at the turn
affairs had taken; his ill humor puzzled me—and, as for the
drawing of the beetle, there were positively _no antennæ_
visible, and the whole _did_ bear a very close resemblance to the
ordinary cuts of a death’s-head.
He received the paper very peevishly, and was about to crumple
it, apparently to throw it in the fire, when a casual glance at
the design seemed suddenly to rivet his attention. In an instant
his face grew violently red—in another as excessively pale. For
some minutes he continued to scrutinize the drawing minutely
where he sat. At length he arose, took a candle from the table,
and proceeded to seat himself upon a sea-chest in the farthest
corner of the room. Here again he made an anxious examination of
the paper; turning it in all directions. He said nothing,
however, and his conduct greatly astonished me; yet I thought it
prudent not to exacerbate the growing moodiness of his temper by
any comment. Presently he took from his coat pocket a wallet,
placed the paper carefully in it, and deposited both in a
writing-desk, which he locked. He now grew more composed in his
demeanor; but his original air of enthusiasm had quite
disappeared. Yet he seemed not so much sulky as abstracted. As
the evening wore away he became more and more absorbed in
reverie, from which no sallies of mine could arouse him. It had
been my intention to pass the night at the hut, as I had
frequently done before, but, seeing my host in this mood, I
deemed it proper to take leave. He did not press me to remain,
but, as I departed, he shook my hand with even more than his
usual cordiality.
It was about a month after this (and during the interval I had
seen nothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at Charleston,
from his man, Jupiter. I had never seen the good old negro look
so dispirited, and I feared that some serious disaster had
befallen my friend.
“Well, Jup,” said I, “what is the matter now?—how is your
master?”
“Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as mought
be.”
“Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he complain
of?”
“Dar! dat’s it!—him neber ’plain of notin’—but him berry sick for
all dat.”
“_Very_ sick, Jupiter!—why didn’t you say so at once? Is he
confined to bed?”
“No, dat he aint!—he aint ’fin’d nowhar—dat’s just whar de shoe
pinch—my mind is got to be berry hebby ’bout poor Massa Will.”
“Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are talking
about. You say your master is sick. Hasn’t he told you what ails
him?”
“Why, massa, ’taint worf while for to git mad about de
matter—Massa Will say noffin at all aint de matter wid him—but
den what make him go about looking dis here way, wid he head down
and he soldiers up, and as white as a gose? And den he keep a
syphon all de time—”
“Keeps a what, Jupiter?”
“Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate—de queerest figgurs I
ebber did see. Ise gittin’ to be skeered, I tell you. Hab for to
keep mighty tight eye ’pon him ’noovers. Todder day he gib me
slip ’fore de sun up and was gone de whole ob de blessed day. I
had a big stick ready cut for to gib him deuced good beating when
he did come—but Ise sich a fool dat I hadn’t de heart arter
all—he look so berry poorly.”
“Eh?—what?—ah yes!—upon the whole I think you had better not be
too severe with the poor fellow—don’t flog him, Jupiter—he can’t
very well stand it—but can you form no idea of what has
occasioned this illness, or rather this change of conduct? Has
anything unpleasant happened since I saw you?”
“No, massa, dey aint bin noffin onpleasant _since_ den—‘twas
_’fore_ den I’m feared—‘twas de berry day you was dare.”
“How? what do you mean?”
“Why, massa, I mean de bug—dare now.”
“The what?”
“De bug,—I’m berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere ’bout
de head by dat goole-bug.”
“And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a supposition?”
“Claws enuff, massa, and mouff too. I nebber did see sick a
deuced bug—he kick and he bite ebery ting what cum near him.
Massa Will cotch him fuss, but had for to let him go ’gin mighty
quick, I tell you—den was de time he must ha’ got de bite. I did
n’t like de look oh de bug mouff, myself, no how, so I would n’t
take hold ob him wid my finger, but I cotch him wid a piece ob
paper dat I found. I rap him up in de paper and stuff piece ob it
in he mouff—dat was de way.”
“And you think, then, that your master was really bitten by the
beetle, and that the bite made him sick?”
“I do n’t tink noffin about it—I nose it. What make him dream
’bout de goole so much, if ’taint cause he bit by de goole-bug?
Ise heerd ’bout dem goole-bugs fore dis.”
“But how do you know he dreams about gold?”
“How I know? why ’cause he talk about it in he sleep—dat’s how I
nose.”
“Well, Jup, perhaps you are right; but to what fortunate
circumstance am I to attribute the honor of a visit from you
to-day?”
“What de matter, massa?”
“Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand?”
“No, massa, I bring dis here pissel;” and here Jupiter handed me
a note which ran thus:
“MY DEAR ——Why have I not seen you for so long a time? I hope you
have not been so foolish as to take offence at any little
_brusquerie_ of mine; but no, that is improbable. Since I saw you
I have had great cause for anxiety. I have something to tell you,
yet scarcely know how to tell it, or whether I should tell it at
all.
“I have not been quite well for some days past, and poor old Jup
annoys me, almost beyond endurance, by his well-meant attentions.
Would you believe it?—he had prepared a huge stick, the other
day, with which to chastise me for giving him the slip, and
spending the day, _solus_, among the hills on the main land. I
verily believe that my ill looks alone saved me a flogging.
“I have made no addition to my cabinet since we met.
“If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come over with
Jupiter. _Do_ come. I wish to see you to-_night_, upon business
of importance. I assure you that it is of the _highest_
importance.
“Ever yours,
“WILLIAM LEGRAND”.
There was something in the tone of this note which gave me great
uneasiness. Its whole style differed materially from that of
Legrand. What could he be dreaming of? What new crotchet
possessed his excitable brain? What “business of the highest
importance” could he possibly have to transact? Jupiter’s account
of him boded no good. I dreaded lest the continued pressure of
misfortune had, at length, fairly unsettled the reason of my
friend. Without a moment’s hesitation, therefore, I prepared to
accompany the negro.
Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three spades, all
apparently new, lying in the bottom of the boat in which we were
to embark.
“What is the meaning of all this, Jup?” I inquired.
“Him syfe, massa, and spade.”
“Very true; but what are they doing here?”
“Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will sis pon my buying for
him in de town, and de debbil’s own lot of money I had to gib for
’em.”
“But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your ‘Massa
Will’ going to do with scythes and spades?”
“Dat’s more dan _I_ know, and debbil take me if I don’t b’lieve
’tis more dan he know, too. But it’s all cum ob do bug.”
Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained of Jupiter, whose
whole intellect seemed to be absorbed by “de bug,” I now stepped
into the boat and made sail. With a fair and strong breeze we
soon ran into the little cove to the northward of Fort Moultrie,
and a walk of some two miles brought us to the hut. It was about
three in the afternoon when we arrived. Legrand had been awaiting
us in eager expectation. He grasped my hand with a nervous
empressement which alarmed me and strengthened the suspicions
already entertained. His countenance was pale even to
ghastliness, and his deep-set eyes glared with unnatural lustre.
After some inquiries respecting his health, I asked him, not
knowing what better to say, if he had yet obtained the
_scarabæus_ from Lieutenant G——.
“Oh, yes,” he replied, coloring violently, “I got it from him the
next morning. Nothing should tempt me to part with that
_scarabæus_. Do you know that Jupiter is quite right about it?”
“In what way?” I asked, with a sad foreboding at heart.
“In supposing it to be a bug of _real gold_.” He said this with
an air of profound seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly shocked.
“This bug is to make my fortune,” he continued, with a triumphant
smile, “to reinstate me in my family possessions. Is it any
wonder, then, that I prize it? Since Fortune has thought fit to
bestow it upon me, I have only to use it properly and I shall
arrive at the gold of which it is the index. Jupiter; bring me
that _scarabæus!_”
“What! de bug, massa? I’d rudder not go fer trubble dat bug—you
mus’ git him for your own self.” Hereupon Legrand arose, with a
grave and stately air, and brought me the beetle from a glass
case in which it was enclosed. It was a beautiful scarabæus, and,
at that time, unknown to naturalists—of course a great prize in a
scientific point of view. There were two round, black spots near
one extremity of the back, and a long one near the other. The
scales were exceedingly hard and glossy, with all the appearance
of burnished gold. The weight of the insect was very remarkable,
and, taking all things into consideration, I could hardly blame
Jupiter for his opinion respecting it; but what to make of
Legrand’s concordance with that opinion, I could not, for the
life of me, tell.
“I sent for you,” said he, in a grandiloquent tone, when I had
completed my examination of the beetle, “I sent for you, that I
might have your counsel and assistance in furthering the views of
Fate and of the bug—”
“My dear Legrand,” I cried, interrupting him, “you are certainly
unwell, and had better use some little precautions. You shall go
to bed, and I will remain with you a few days, until you get over
this. You are feverish and—”
“Feel my pulse,” said he.
I felt it, and, to say the truth, found not the slightest
indication of fever.
“But you may be ill and yet have no fever. Allow me this once to
prescribe for you. In the first place, go to bed. In the next—”
“You are mistaken,” he interposed, “I am as well as I can expect
to be under the excitement which I suffer. If you really wish me
well, you will relieve this excitement.”
“And how is this to be done?”
“Very easily. Jupiter and myself are going upon an expedition
into the hills, upon the main land, and, in this expedition we
shall need the aid of some person in whom we can confide. You are
the only one we can trust. Whether we succeed or fail, the
excitement which you now perceive in me will be equally allayed.”
“I am anxious to oblige you in any way,” I replied; “but do you
mean to say that this infernal beetle has any connection with
your expedition into the hills?”
“It has.”
“Then, Legrand, I can become a party to no such absurd
proceeding.”
“I am sorry—very sorry—for we shall have to try it by ourselves.”
“Try it by yourselves! The man is surely mad!—but stay!—how long
do you propose to be absent?”
“Probably all night. We shall start immediately, and be back, at
all events, by sunrise.”
“And will you promise me, upon your honor, that when this freak
of yours is over, and the bug business (good God!) settled to
your satisfaction, you will then return home and follow my advice
implicitly, as that of your physician?”
“Yes; I promise; and now let us be off, for we have no time to
lose.”
With a heavy heart I accompanied my friend. We started about four
o’clock—Legrand, Jupiter, the dog, and myself. Jupiter had with
him the scythe and spades—the whole of which he insisted upon
carrying—more through fear, it seemed to me, of trusting either
of the implements within reach of his master, than from any
excess of industry or complaisance. His demeanor was dogged in
the extreme, and “dat deuced bug” were the sole words which
escaped his lips during the journey. For my own part, I had
charge of a couple of dark lanterns, while Legrand contented
himself with the _scarabæus_, which he carried attached to the
end of a bit of whip-cord; twirling it to and fro, with the air
of a conjuror, as he went. When I observed this last, plain
evidence of my friend’s aberration of mind, I could scarcely
refrain from tears. I thought it best, however, to humor his
fancy, at least for the present, or until I could adopt some more
energetic measures with a chance of success. In the mean time I
endeavored, but all in vain, to sound him in regard to the object
of the expedition. Having succeeded in inducing me to accompany
him, he seemed unwilling to hold conversation upon any topic of
minor importance, and to all my questions vouchsafed no other
reply than “we shall see!”
We crossed the creek at the head of the island by means of a
skiff, and, ascending the high grounds on the shore of the main
land, proceeded in a northwesterly direction, through a tract of
country excessively wild and desolate, where no trace of a human
footstep was to be seen. Legrand led the way with decision;
pausing only for an instant, here and there, to consult what
appeared to be certain landmarks of his own contrivance upon a
former occasion.
In this manner we journeyed for about two hours, and the sun was
just setting when we entered a region infinitely more dreary than
any yet seen. It was a species of table land, near the summit of
an almost inaccessible hill, densely wooded from base to
pinnacle, and interspersed with huge crags that appeared to lie
loosely upon the soil, and in many cases were prevented from
precipitating themselves into the valleys below, merely by the
support of the trees against which they reclined. Deep ravines,
in various directions, gave an air of still sterner solemnity to
the scene.
The natural platform to which we had clambered was thickly
overgrown with brambles, through which we soon discovered that it
would have been impossible to force our way but for the scythe;
and Jupiter, by direction of his master, proceeded to clear for
us a path to the foot of an enormously tall tulip-tree, which
stood, with some eight or ten oaks, upon the level, and far
surpassed them all, and all other trees which I had then ever
seen, in the beauty of its foliage and form, in the wide spread
of its branches, and in the general majesty of its appearance.
When we reached this tree, Legrand turned to Jupiter, and asked
him if he thought he could climb it. The old man seemed a little
staggered by the question, and for some moments made no reply. At
length he approached the huge trunk, walked slowly around it, and
examined it with minute attention. When he had completed his
scrutiny, he merely said,
“Yes, massa, Jup climb any tree he ebber see in he life.”
“Then up with you as soon as possible, for it will soon be too
dark to see what we are about.”
“How far mus go up, massa?” inquired Jupiter.
“Get up the main trunk first, and then I will tell you which way
to go—and here—stop! take this beetle with you.”
“De bug, Massa Will!—de goole-bug!” cried the negro, drawing back
in dismay—“what for mus tote de bug way up de tree?—d—n if I do!”
“If you are afraid, Jup, a great big negro like you, to take hold
of a harmless little dead beetle, why you can carry it up by this
string—but, if you do not take it up with you in some way, I
shall be under the necessity of breaking your head with this
shovel.”
“What de matter now, massa?” said Jup, evidently shamed into
compliance; “always want for to raise fuss wid old nigger. Was
only funnin any how. _Me_ feered de bug! what I keer for de bug?”
Here he took cautiously hold of the extreme end of the string,
and, maintaining the insect as far from his person as
circumstances would permit, prepared to ascend the tree.
In youth, the tulip-tree, or _Liriodendron Tulipferum_, the most
magnificent of American foresters, has a trunk peculiarly smooth,
and often rises to a great height without lateral branches; but,
in its riper age, the bark becomes gnarled and uneven, while many
short limbs make their appearance on the stem. Thus the
difficulty of ascension, in the present case, lay more in
semblance than in reality. Embracing the huge cylinder, as
closely as possible, with his arms and knees, seizing with his
hands some projections, and resting his naked toes upon others,
Jupiter, after one or two narrow escapes from falling, at length
wriggled himself into the first great fork, and seemed to
consider the whole business as virtually accomplished. The risk
of the achievement was, in fact, now over, although the climber
was some sixty or seventy feet from the ground.
“Which way mus go now, Massa Will?” he asked.
“Keep up the largest branch—the one on this side,” said Legrand.
The negro obeyed him promptly, and apparently with but little
trouble; ascending higher and higher, until no glimpse of his
squat figure could be obtained through the dense foliage which
enveloped it. Presently his voice was heard in a sort of halloo.
“How much fudder is got for go?”
“How high up are you?” asked Legrand.
“Ebber so fur,” replied the negro; “can see de sky fru de top ob
de tree.”
“Never mind the sky, but attend to what I say. Look down the
trunk and count the limbs below you on this side. How many limbs
have you passed?”
“One, two, tree, four, fibe—I done pass fibe big limb, massa, pon
dis side.”
“Then go one limb higher.”
In a few minutes the voice was heard again, announcing that the
seventh limb was attained.
“Now, Jup,” cried Legrand, evidently much excited, “I want you to
work your way out upon that limb as far as you can. If you see
anything strange, let me know.” By this time what little doubt I
might have entertained of my poor friend’s insanity, was put
finally at rest. I had no alternative but to conclude him
stricken with lunacy, and I became seriously anxious about
getting him home. While I was pondering upon what was best to be
done, Jupiter’s voice was again heard.
“Mos feerd for to ventur pon dis limb berry far—’tis dead limb
putty much all de way.”
“Did you say it was a dead limb, Jupiter?” cried Legrand in a
quavering voice.
“Yes, massa, him dead as de door-nail—done up for sartain—done
departed dis here life.”
“What in the name heaven shall I do?” asked Legrand, seemingly in
the greatest distress.
“Do!” said I, glad of an opportunity to interpose a word, “why
come home and go to bed. Come now!—that’s a fine fellow. It’s
getting late, and, besides, you remember your promise.”
“Jupiter,” cried he, without heeding me in the least, “do you
hear me?”
“Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain.”
“Try the wood well, then, with your knife, and see if you think
it very rotten.”
“Him rotten, massa, sure nuff,” replied the negro in a few
moments, “but not so berry rotten as mought be. Mought ventur out
leetle way pon de limb by myself, dat’s true.”
“By yourself!—what do you mean?”
“Why I mean de bug. ’Tis _berry_ hebby bug. Spose I drop him down
fuss, and den de limb won’t break wid just de weight ob one
nigger.”
“You infernal scoundrel!” cried Legrand, apparently much
relieved, “what do you mean by telling me such nonsense as that?
As sure as you drop that beetle I’ll break your neck. Look here,
Jupiter, do you hear me?”
“Yes, massa, needn’t hollo at poor nigger dat style.”
“Well! now listen!—if you will venture out on the limb as far as
you think safe, and not let go the beetle, I’ll make you a
present of a silver dollar as soon as you get down.”
“I’m gwine, Massa Will—deed I is,” replied the negro very
promptly—“mos out to the eend now.”
“_Out to the end!_” here fairly screamed Legrand, “do you say you
are out to the end of that limb?”
“Soon be to de eend, massa,—o-o-o-o-oh! Lor-gol-a-marcy! what is
dis here pon de tree?”
“Well!” cried Legrand, highly delighted, “what is it?”
“Why taint noffin but a skull—somebody bin lef him head up de
tree, and de crows done gobble ebery bit ob de meat off.”
“A skull, you say!—very well—how is it fastened to the limb?—what
holds it on?”
“Sure nuff, massa; mus look. Why dis berry curous sarcumstance,
pon my word—dare’s a great big nail in de skull, what fastens ob
it on to de tree.”
“Well now, Jupiter, do exactly as I tell you—do you hear?”
“Yes, massa.”
“Pay attention, then—find the left eye of the skull.”
“Hum! hoo! dat’s good! why dare aint no eye lef at all.”
“Curse your stupidity! do you know your right hand from your
left?”
“Yes, I knows dat—knows all about dat—’tis my lef hand what I
chops de wood wid.”
“To be sure! you are left-handed; and your left eye is on the
same side as your left hand. Now, I suppose, you can find the
left eye of the skull, or the place where the left eye has been.
Have you found it?”
Here was a long pause. At length the negro asked,
“Is de lef eye of de skull pon de same side as de lef hand of de
skull, too?—cause de skull aint got not a bit ob a hand at
all—nebber mind! I got de lef eye now—here de lef eye! what mus
do wid it?”
“Let the beetle drop through it, as far as the string will
reach—but be careful and not let go your hold of the string.”
“All dat done, Massa Will; mighty easy ting for to put de bug fru
de hole—look out for him dare below!”
During this colloquy no portion of Jupiter’s person could be
seen; but the beetle, which he had suffered to descend, was now
visible at the end of the string, and glistened, like a globe of
burnished gold, in the last rays of the setting sun, some of
which still faintly illumined the eminence upon which we stood.
The _scarabæus_ hung quite clear of any branches, and, if allowed
to fall, would have fallen at our feet. Legrand immediately took
the scythe, and cleared with it a circular space, three or four
yards in diameter, just beneath the insect, and, having
accomplished this, ordered Jupiter to let go the string and come
down from the tree.
Driving a peg, with great nicety, into the ground, at the precise
spot where the beetle fell, my friend now produced from his
pocket a tape measure. Fastening one end of this at that point of
the trunk, of the tree which was nearest the peg, he unrolled it
till it reached the peg, and thence farther unrolled it, in the
direction already established by the two points of the tree and
the peg, for the distance of fifty feet—Jupiter clearing away the
brambles with the scythe. At the spot thus attained a second peg
was driven, and about this, as a centre, a rude circle, about
four feet in diameter, described. Taking now a spade himself, and
giving one to Jupiter and one to me, Legrand begged us to set
about digging as quickly as possible.
To speak the truth, I had no especial relish for such amusement
at any time, and, at that particular moment, would most willingly
have declined it; for the night was coming on, and I felt much
fatigued with the exercise already taken; but I saw no mode of
escape, and was fearful of disturbing my poor friend’s equanimity
by a refusal. Could I have depended, indeed, upon Jupiter’s aid,
I would have had no hesitation in attempting to get the lunatic
home by force; but I was too well assured of the old negro’s
disposition, to hope that he would assist me, under any
circumstances, in a personal contest with his master. I made no
doubt that the latter had been infected with some of the
innumerable Southern superstitions about money buried, and that
his phantasy had received confirmation by the finding of the
_scarabæus_, or, perhaps, by Jupiter’s obstinacy in maintaining
it to be “a bug of real gold.” A mind disposed to lunacy would
readily be led away by such suggestions—especially if chiming in
with favorite preconceived ideas—and then I called to mind the
poor fellow’s speech about the beetle’s being “the index of his
fortune.” Upon the whole, I was sadly vexed and puzzled, but, at
length, I concluded to make a virtue of necessity—to dig with a
good will, and thus the sooner to convince the visionary, by
ocular demonstration, of the fallacy of the opinions he
entertained.
The lanterns having been lit, we all fell to work with a zeal
worthy a more rational cause; and, as the glare fell upon our
persons and implements, I could not help thinking how picturesque
a group we composed, and how strange and suspicious our labors
must have appeared to any interloper who, by chance, might have
stumbled upon our whereabouts.
We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was said; and our
chief embarrassment lay in the yelpings of the dog, who took
exceeding interest in our proceedings. He, at length, became so
obstreperous that we grew fearful of his giving the alarm to some
stragglers in the vicinity—or, rather, this was the apprehension
of Legrand;—for myself, I should have rejoiced at any
interruption which might have enabled me to get the wanderer
home. The noise was, at length, very effectually silenced by
Jupiter, who, getting out of the hole with a dogged air of
deliberation, tied the brute’s mouth up with one of his
suspenders, and then returned, with a grave chuckle, to his task.
When the time mentioned had expired, we had reached a depth of
five feet, and yet no signs of any treasure became manifest. A
general pause ensued, and I began to hope that the farce was at
an end. Legrand, however, although evidently much disconcerted,
wiped his brow thoughtfully and recommenced. We had excavated the
entire circle of four feet diameter, and now we slightly enlarged
the limit, and went to the farther depth of two feet. Still
nothing appeared. The gold-seeker, whom I sincerely pitied, at
length clambered from the pit, with the bitterest disappointment
imprinted upon every feature, and proceeded, slowly and
reluctantly, to put on his coat, which he had thrown off at the
beginning of his labor. In the mean time I made no remark.
Jupiter, at a signal from his master, began to gather up his
tools. This done, and the dog having been unmuzzled, we turned in
profound silence towards home.
We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direction, when,
with a loud oath, Legrand strode up to Jupiter, and seized him by
the collar. The astonished negro opened his eyes and mouth to the
fullest extent, let fall the spades, and fell upon his knees.
“You scoundrel,” said Legrand, hissing out the syllables from
between his clenched teeth—“you infernal black villain!—speak, I
tell you!—answer me this instant, without
prevarication!—which—which is your left eye?”
“Oh, my golly, Massa Will! aint dis here my lef eye for sartain?”
roared the terrified Jupiter, placing his hand upon his right
organ of vision, and holding it there with a desperate
pertinacity, as if in immediate dread of his master’s attempt at
a gouge.
“I thought so!—I knew it! hurrah!” vociferated Legrand, letting
the negro go, and executing a series of curvets and caracols,
much to the astonishment of his valet, who, arising from his
knees, looked, mutely, from his master to myself, and then from
myself to his master.
“Come! we must go back,” said the latter, “the game’s not up
yet;” and he again led the way to the tulip-tree.
“Jupiter,” said he, when we reached its foot, “come here! was the
skull nailed to the limb with the face outwards, or with the face
to the limb?”
“De face was out, massa, so dat de crows could get at de eyes
good, widout any trouble.”
“Well, then, was it this eye or that through which you dropped
the beetle?”—here Legrand touched each of Jupiter’s eyes.
“’Twas dis eye, massa—de lef eye—jis as you tell me,” and here it
was his right eye that the negro indicated.
“That will do—we must try it again.”
Here my friend, about whose madness I now saw, or fancied that I
saw, certain indications of method, removed the peg which marked
the spot where the beetle fell, to a spot about three inches to
the westward of its former position. Taking, now, the tape
measure from the nearest point of the trunk to the peg, as
before, and continuing the extension in a straight line to the
distance of fifty feet, a spot was indicated, removed, by several
yards, from the point at which we had been digging.
Around the new position a circle, somewhat larger than in the
former instance, was now described, and we again set to work with
the spades. I was dreadfully weary, but, scarcely understanding
what had occasioned the change in my thoughts, I felt no longer
any great aversion from the labor imposed. I had become most
unaccountably interested—nay, even excited. Perhaps there was
something, amid all the extravagant demeanor of Legrand—some air
of forethought, or of deliberation, which impressed me. I dug
eagerly, and now and then caught myself actually looking, with
something that very much resembled expectation, for the fancied
treasure, the vision of which had demented my unfortunate
companion. At a period when such vagaries of thought most fully
possessed me, and when we had been at work perhaps an hour and a
half, we were again interrupted by the violent howlings of the
dog. His uneasiness, in the first instance, had been, evidently,
but the result of playfulness or caprice, but he now assumed a
bitter and serious tone. Upon Jupiter’s again attempting to
muzzle him, he made furious resistance, and, leaping into the
hole, tore up the mould frantically with his claws. In a few
seconds he had uncovered a mass of human bones, forming two
complete skeletons, intermingled with several buttons of metal,
and what appeared to be the dust of decayed woollen. One or two
strokes of a spade upturned the blade of a large Spanish knife,
and, as we dug farther, three or four loose pieces of gold and
silver coin came to light.
At sight of these the joy of Jupiter could scarcely be
restrained, but the countenance of his master wore an air of
extreme disappointment. He urged us, however, to continue our
exertions, and the words were hardly uttered when I stumbled and
fell forward, having caught the toe of my boot in a large ring of
iron that lay half buried in the loose earth.
We now worked in earnest, and never did I pass ten minutes of
more intense excitement. During this interval we had fairly
unearthed an oblong chest of wood, which, from its perfect
preservation and wonderful hardness, had plainly been subjected
to some mineralizing process—perhaps that of the bi-chloride of
mercury. This box was three feet and a half long, three feet
broad, and two and a half feet deep. It was firmly secured by
bands of wrought iron, riveted, and forming a kind of open
trelliswork over the whole. On each side of the chest, near the
top, were three rings of iron—six in all—by means of which a firm
hold could be obtained by six persons. Our utmost united
endeavors served only to disturb the coffer very slightly in its
bed. We at once saw the impossibility of removing so great a
weight. Luckily, the sole fastenings of the lid consisted of two
sliding bolts. These we drew back—trembling and panting with
anxiety. In an instant, a treasure of incalculable value lay
gleaming before us. As the rays of the lanterns fell within the
pit, there flashed upwards a glow and a glare, from a confused
heap of gold and of jewels, that absolutely dazzled our eyes.
I shall not pretend to describe the feelings with which I gazed.
Amazement was, of course, predominant. Legrand appeared exhausted
with excitement, and spoke very few words. Jupiter’s countenance
wore, for some minutes, as deadly a pallor as it is possible, in
nature of things, for any negro’s visage to assume. He seemed
stupefied—thunderstricken. Presently he fell upon his knees in
the pit, and, burying his naked arms up to the elbows in gold,
let them there remain, as if enjoying the luxury of a bath. At
length, with a deep sigh, he exclaimed, as if in a soliloquy:
“And dis all cum ob de goole-bug! de putty goole-bug! de poor
little goole-bug, what I boosed in dat sabage kind ob style! Aint
you shamed ob yourself, nigger?—answer me dat!”
It became necessary, at last, that I should arouse both master
and valet to the expediency of removing the treasure. It was
growing late, and it behooved us to make exertion, that we might
get every thing housed before daylight. It was difficult to say
what should be done, and much time was spent in deliberation—so
confused were the ideas of all. We, finally, lightened the box by
removing two thirds of its contents, when we were enabled, with
some trouble, to raise it from the hole. The articles taken out
were deposited among the brambles, and the dog left to guard
them, with strict orders from Jupiter neither, upon any pretence,
to stir from the spot, nor to open his mouth until our return. We
then hurriedly made for home with the chest; reaching the hut in
safety, but after excessive toil, at one o’clock in the morning.
Worn out as we were, it was not in human nature to do more
immediately. We rested until two, and had supper; starting for
the hills immediately afterwards, armed with three stout sacks,
which, by good luck, were upon the premises. A little before four
we arrived at the pit, divided the remainder of the booty, as
equally as might be, among us, and, leaving the holes unfilled,
again set out for the hut, at which, for the second time, we
deposited our golden burthens, just as the first faint streaks of
the dawn gleamed from over the tree-tops in the East.
We were now thoroughly broken down; but the intense excitement of
the time denied us repose. After an unquiet slumber of some three
or four hours’ duration, we arose, as if by preconcert, to make
examination of our treasure.
The chest had been full to the brim, and we spent the whole day,
and the greater part of the next night, in a scrutiny of its
contents. There had been nothing like order or arrangement. Every
thing had been heaped in promiscuously. Having assorted all with
care, we found ourselves possessed of even vaster wealth than we
had at first supposed. In coin there was rather more than four
hundred and fifty thousand dollars—estimating the value of the
pieces, as accurately as we could, by the tables of the period.
There was not a particle of silver. All was gold of antique date
and of great variety—French, Spanish, and German money, with a
few English guineas, and some counters, of which we had never
seen specimens before. There were several very large and heavy
coins, so worn that we could make nothing of their inscriptions.
There was no American money. The value of the jewels we found
more difficulty in estimating. There were diamonds—some of them
exceedingly large and fine—a hundred and ten in all, and not one
of them small; eighteen rubies of remarkable brilliancy;—three
hundred and ten emeralds, all very beautiful; and twenty-one
sapphires, with an opal. These stones had all been broken from
their settings and thrown loose in the chest. The settings
themselves, which we picked out from among the other gold,
appeared to have been beaten up with hammers, as if to prevent
identification. Besides all this, there was a vast quantity of
solid gold ornaments; nearly two hundred massive finger and
earrings; rich chains—thirty of these, if I remember;
eighty-three very large and heavy crucifixes; five gold censers
of great value; a prodigious golden punch bowl, ornamented with
richly chased vine-leaves and Bacchanalian figures; with two
sword-handles exquisitely embossed, and many other smaller
articles which I cannot recollect. The weight of these valuables
exceeded three hundred and fifty pounds avoirdupois; and in this
estimate I have not included one hundred and ninety-seven superb
gold watches; three of the number being worth each five hundred
dollars, if one. Many of them were very old, and as timekeepers
valueless; the works having suffered, more or less, from
corrosion—but all were richly jewelled and in cases of great
worth. We estimated the entire contents of the chest, that night,
at a million and a half of dollars; and upon the subsequent
disposal of the trinkets and jewels (a few being retained for our
own use), it was found that we had greatly undervalued the
treasure.
When, at length, we had concluded our examination, and the
intense excitement of the time had, in some measure, subsided,
Legrand, who saw that I was dying with impatience for a solution
of this most extraordinary riddle, entered into a full detail of
all the circumstances connected with it.
“You remember;” said he, “the night when I handed you the rough
sketch I had made of the _scarabæus_. You recollect also, that I
became quite vexed at you for insisting that my drawing resembled
a death’s-head. When you first made this assertion I thought you
were jesting; but afterwards I called to mind the peculiar spots
on the back of the insect, and admitted to myself that your
remark had some little foundation in fact. Still, the sneer at my
graphic powers irritated me—for I am considered a good
artist—and, therefore, when you handed me the scrap of parchment,
I was about to crumple it up and throw it angrily into the fire.”
“The scrap of paper, you mean,” said I.
“No; it had much of the appearance of paper, and at first I
supposed it to be such, but when I came to draw upon it, I
discovered it, at once, to be a piece of very thin parchment. It
was quite dirty, you remember. Well, as I was in the very act of
crumpling it up, my glance fell upon the sketch at which you had
been looking, and you may imagine my astonishment when I
perceived, in fact, the figure of a death’s-head just where, it
seemed to me, I had made the drawing of the beetle. For a moment
I was too much amazed to think with accuracy. I knew that my
design was very different in detail from this—although there was
a certain similarity in general outline. Presently I took a
candle, and seating myself at the other end of the room,
proceeded to scrutinize the parchment more closely. Upon turning
it over, I saw my own sketch upon the reverse, just as I had made
it. My first idea, now, was mere surprise at the really
remarkable similarity of outline—at the singular coincidence
involved in the fact, that unknown to me, there should have been
a skull upon the other side of the parchment, immediately beneath
my figure of the _scarabæus_, and that this skull, not only in
outline, but in size, should so closely resemble my drawing. I
say the singularity of this coincidence absolutely stupefied me
for a time. This is the usual effect of such coincidences. The
mind struggles to establish a connexion—a sequence of cause and
effect—and, being unable to do so, suffers a species of temporary
paralysis. But, when I recovered from this stupor, there dawned
upon me gradually a conviction which startled me even far more
than the coincidence. I began distinctly, positively, to remember
that there had been no drawing upon the parchment when I made my
sketch of the _scarabæus_. I became perfectly certain of this;
for I recollected turning up first one side and then the other,
in search of the cleanest spot. Had the skull been then there, of
course I could not have failed to notice it. Here was indeed a
mystery which I felt it impossible to explain; but, even at that
early moment, there seemed to glimmer, faintly, within the most
remote and secret chambers of my intellect, a glow-worm-like
conception of that truth which last night’s adventure brought to
so magnificent a demonstration. I arose at once, and putting the
parchment securely away, dismissed all farther reflection until I
should be alone.
“When you had gone, and when Jupiter was fast asleep, I betook
myself to a more methodical investigation of the affair. In the
first place I considered the manner in which the parchment had
come into my possession. The spot where we discovered the
_scarabæus_ was on the coast of the main land, about a mile
eastward of the island, and but a short distance above high water
mark. Upon my taking hold of it, it gave me a sharp bite, which
caused me to let it drop. Jupiter, with his accustomed caution,
before seizing the insect, which had flown towards him, looked
about him for a leaf, or something of that nature, by which to
take hold of it. It was at this moment that his eyes, and mine
also, fell upon the scrap of parchment, which I then supposed to
be paper. It was lying half buried in the sand, a corner sticking
up. Near the spot where we found it, I observed the remnants of
the hull of what appeared to have been a ship’s long boat. The
wreck seemed to have been there for a very great while; for the
resemblance to boat timbers could scarcely be traced.
“Well, Jupiter picked up the parchment, wrapped the beetle in it,
and gave it to me. Soon afterwards we turned to go home, and on
the way met Lieutenant G——. I showed him the insect, and he
begged me to let him take it to the fort. Upon my consenting, he
thrust it forthwith into his waistcoat pocket, without the
parchment in which it had been wrapped, and which I had continued
to hold in my hand during his inspection. Perhaps he dreaded my
changing my mind, and thought it best to make sure of the prize
at once—you know how enthusiastic he is on all subjects connected
with Natural History. At the same time, without being conscious
of it, I must have deposited the parchment in my own pocket.
“You remember that when I went to the table, for the purpose of
making a sketch of the beetle, I found no paper where it was
usually kept. I looked in the drawer, and found none there. I
searched my pockets, hoping to find an old letter, when my hand
fell upon the parchment. I thus detail the precise mode in which
it came into my possession; for the circumstances impressed me
with peculiar force.
“No doubt you will think me fanciful—but I had already
established a kind of connexion. I had put together two links of
a great chain. There was a boat lying upon a sea-coast, and not
far from the boat was a parchment—not a paper—with a skull
depicted upon it. You will, of course, ask ‘where is the
connexion?’ I reply that the skull, or death’s-head, is the
well-known emblem of the pirate. The flag of the death’s head is
hoisted in all engagements.
“I have said that the scrap was parchment, and not paper.
Parchment is durable—almost imperishable. Matters of little
moment are rarely consigned to parchment; since, for the mere
ordinary purposes of drawing or writing, it is not nearly so well
adapted as paper. This reflection suggested some meaning—some
relevancy—in the death’s-head. I did not fail to observe, also,
the form of the parchment. Although one of its corners had been,
by some accident, destroyed, it could be seen that the original
form was oblong. It was just such a slip, indeed, as might have
been chosen for a memorandum—for a record of something to be long
remembered and carefully preserved.”
“But,” I interposed, “you say that the skull was not upon the
parchment when you made the drawing of the beetle. How then do
you trace any connexion between the boat and the skull—since this
latter, according to your own admission, must have been designed
(God only knows how or by whom) at some period subsequent to your
sketching the _scarabæus?_”
“Ah, hereupon turns the whole mystery; although the secret, at
this point, I had comparatively little difficulty in solving. My
steps were sure, and could afford but a single result. I
reasoned, for example, thus: When I drew the _scarabæus_, there
was no skull apparent upon the parchment. When I had completed
the drawing I gave it to you, and observed you narrowly until you
returned it. You, therefore, did not design the skull, and no one
else was present to do it. Then it was not done by human agency.
And nevertheless it was done.
“At this stage of my reflections I endeavored to remember, and
did remember, with entire distinctness, every incident which
occurred about the period in question. The weather was chilly (oh
rare and happy accident!), and a fire was blazing upon the
hearth. I was heated with exercise and sat near the table. You,
however, had drawn a chair close to the chimney. Just as I placed
the parchment in your hand, and as you were in the act of
inspecting it, Wolf, the Newfoundland, entered, and leaped upon
your shoulders. With your left hand you caressed him and kept him
off, while your right, holding the parchment, was permitted to
fall listlessly between your knees, and in close proximity to the
fire. At one moment I thought the blaze had caught it, and was
about to caution you, but, before I could speak, you had
withdrawn it, and were engaged in its examination. When I
considered all these particulars, I doubted not for a moment that
heat had been the agent in bringing to light, upon the parchment,
the skull which I saw designed upon it. You are well aware that
chemical preparations exist, and have existed time out of mind,
by means of which it is possible to write upon either paper or
vellum, so that the characters shall become visible only when
subjected to the action of fire. Zaffre, digested in aqua regia,
and diluted with four times its weight of water, is sometimes
employed; a green tint results. The regulus of cobalt, dissolved
in spirit of nitre, gives a red. These colors disappear at longer
or shorter intervals after the material written upon cools, but
again become apparent upon the re-application of heat.
“I now scrutinized the death’s-head with care. Its outer
edges—the edges of the drawing nearest the edge of the
vellum—were far more distinct than the others. It was clear that
the action of the caloric had been imperfect or unequal. I
immediately kindled a fire, and subjected every portion of the
parchment to a glowing heat. At first, the only effect was the
strengthening of the faint lines in the skull; but, upon
persevering in the experiment, there became visible, at the
corner of the slip, diagonally opposite to the spot in which the
death’s-head was delineated, the figure of what I at first
supposed to be a goat. A closer scrutiny, however, satisfied me
that it was intended for a kid.”
“Ha! ha!” said I, “to be sure I have no right to laugh at you—a
million and a half of money is too serious a matter for mirth—but
you are not about to establish a third link in your chain—you
will not find any especial connexion between your pirates and a
goat—pirates, you know, have nothing to do with goats; they
appertain to the farming interest.”
“But I have just said that the figure was not that of a goat.”
“Well, a kid then—pretty much the same thing.”
“Pretty much, but not altogether,” said Legrand. “You may have
heard of one Captain Kidd. I at once looked upon the figure of
the animal as a kind of punning or hieroglyphical signature. I
say signature; because its position upon the vellum suggested
this idea. The death’s-head at the corner diagonally opposite,
had, in the same manner, the air of a stamp, or seal. But I was
sorely put out by the absence of all else—of the body to my
imagined instrument—of the text for my context.”
“I presume you expected to find a letter between the stamp and
the signature.”
“Something of that kind. The fact is, I felt irresistibly
impressed with a presentiment of some vast good fortune
impending. I can scarcely say why. Perhaps, after all, it was
rather a desire than an actual belief;—but do you know that
Jupiter’s silly words, about the bug being of solid gold, had a
remarkable effect upon my fancy? And then the series of accidents
and coincidences—these were so very extraordinary. Do you observe
how mere an accident it was that these events should have
occurred upon the sole day of all the year in which it has been,
or may be, sufficiently cool for fire, and that without the fire,
or without the intervention of the dog at the precise moment in
which he appeared, I should never have become aware of the
death’s-head, and so never the possessor of the treasure?”
“But proceed—I am all impatience.”
“Well; you have heard, of course, the many stories current—the
thousand vague rumors afloat about money buried, somewhere upon
the Atlantic coast, by Kidd and his associates. These rumors must
have had some foundation in fact. And that the rumors have
existed so long and so continuous, could have resulted, it
appeared to me, only from the circumstance of the buried treasure
still remaining entombed. Had Kidd concealed his plunder for a
time, and afterwards reclaimed it, the rumors would scarcely have
reached us in their present unvarying form. You will observe that
the stories told are all about money-seekers, not about
money-finders. Had the pirate recovered his money, there the
affair would have dropped. It seemed to me that some accident—say
the loss of a memorandum indicating its locality—had deprived him
of the means of recovering it, and that this accident had become
known to his followers, who otherwise might never have heard that
treasure had been concealed at all, and who, busying themselves
in vain, because unguided attempts, to regain it, had given first
birth, and then universal currency, to the reports which are now
so common. Have you ever heard of any important treasure being
unearthed along the coast?”
“Never.”
“But that Kidd’s accumulations were immense, is well known. I
took it for granted, therefore, that the earth still held them;
and you will scarcely be surprised when I tell you that I felt a
hope, nearly amounting to certainty, that the parchment so
strangely found, involved a lost record of the place of deposit.”
“But how did you proceed?”
“I held the vellum again to the fire, after increasing the heat;
but nothing appeared. I now thought it possible that the coating
of dirt might have something to do with the failure; so I
carefully rinsed the parchment by pouring warm water over it,
and, having done this, I placed it in a tin pan, with the skull
downwards, and put the pan upon a furnace of lighted charcoal. In
a few minutes, the pan having become thoroughly heated, I removed
the slip, and, to my inexpressible joy, found it spotted, in
several places, with what appeared to be figures arranged in
lines. Again I placed it in the pan, and suffered it to remain
another minute. Upon taking it off, the whole was just as you see
it now.”
Here Legrand, having re-heated the parchment, submitted it to my
inspection. The following characters were rudely traced, in a red
tint, between the death’s-head and the goat:
“53‡‡†305))6*;4826)4‡.)4‡);806*;48†8¶60))85;1‡(;:‡*8†83(88)5*†
;46(;88*96*?;8)*‡(;485);5*†2:*‡(;4956*2(5*—4)8¶8*;4069285);)
6†8)4‡‡;1(‡9;48081;8:8‡1;48†85;4)485†528806*81(‡9;48;(88;4(‡?3
4;48)4‡;161;:188;‡?;”
“But,” said I, returning him the slip, “I am as much in the dark
as ever. Were all the jewels of Golconda awaiting me upon my
solution of this enigma, I am quite sure that I should be unable
to earn them.”
“And yet,” said Legrand, “the solution is by no means so
difficult as you might be lead to imagine from the first hasty
inspection of the characters. These characters, as any one might
readily guess, form a cipher—that is to say, they convey a
meaning; but then, from what is known of Kidd, I could not
suppose him capable of constructing any of the more abstruse
cryptographs. I made up my mind, at once, that this was of a
simple species—such, however, as would appear, to the crude
intellect of the sailor, absolutely insoluble without the key.”
“And you really solved it?”
“Readily; I have solved others of an abstruseness ten thousand
times greater. Circumstances, and a certain bias of mind, have
led me to take interest in such riddles, and it may well be
doubted whether human ingenuity can construct an enigma of the
kind which human ingenuity may not, by proper application,
resolve. In fact, having once established connected and legible
characters, I scarcely gave a thought to the mere difficulty of
developing their import.
“In the present case—indeed in all cases of secret writing—the
first question regards the language of the cipher; for the
principles of solution, so far, especially, as the more simple
ciphers are concerned, depend upon, and are varied by, the genius
of the particular idiom. In general, there is no alternative but
experiment (directed by probabilities) of every tongue known to
him who attempts the solution, until the true one be attained.
But, with the cipher now before us, all difficulty was removed by
the signature. The pun upon the word ‘Kidd’ is appreciable in no
other language than the English. But for this consideration I
should have begun my attempts with the Spanish and French, as the
tongues in which a secret of this kind would most naturally have
been written by a pirate of the Spanish main. As it was, I
assumed the cryptograph to be English.
“You observe there are no divisions between the words. Had there
been divisions, the task would have been comparatively easy. In
such case I should have commenced with a collation and analysis
of the shorter words, and, had a word of a single letter
occurred, as is most likely, (a or I, for example,) I should have
considered the solution as assured. But, there being no division,
my first step was to ascertain the predominant letters, as well
as the least frequent. Counting all, I constructed a table, thus:
Of the character 8 there are 33.
; “ 26.
4 “ 19.
‡ ) “ 16.
* “ 13.
5 “ 12.
6 “ 11.
† 1 “ 8.
0 “ 6.
9 2 “ 5.
: 3 “ 4.
? “ 3.
¶ “ 2.
-. “ 1.
“Now, in English, the letter which most frequently occurs is e.
Afterwards, succession runs thus: _a o i d h n r s t u y c f g l
m w b k p q x z_. _E_ predominates so remarkably that an
individual sentence of any length is rarely seen, in which it is
not the prevailing character.
“Here, then, we leave, in the very beginning, the groundwork for
something more than a mere guess. The general use which may be
made of the table is obvious—but, in this particular cipher, we
shall only very partially require its aid. As our predominant
character is 8, we will commence by assuming it as the _e_ of the
natural alphabet. To verify the supposition, let us observe if
the 8 be seen often in couples—for _e_ is doubled with great
frequency in English—in such words, for example, as ‘meet,’
‘.fleet,’ ‘speed,’ ‘seen,’ been,’ ‘agree,’ &c. In the present
instance we see it doubled no less than five times, although the
cryptograph is brief.
“Let us assume 8, then, as _e_. Now, of all _words_ in the
language, ‘the’ is most usual; let us see, therefore, whether
there are not repetitions of any three characters, in the same
order of collocation, the last of them being 8. If we discover
repetitions of such letters, so arranged, they will most probably
represent the word ‘the.’ Upon inspection, we find no less than
seven such arrangements, the characters being ;48. We may,
therefore, assume that ; represents _t_, 4 represents _h_, and 8
represents _e_—the last being now well confirmed. Thus a great
step has been taken.
“But, having established a single word, we are enabled to
establish a vastly important point; that is to say, several
commencements and terminations of other words. Let us refer, for
example, to the last instance but one, in which the combination
;48 occurs—not far from the end of the cipher. We know that the ;
immediately ensuing is the commencement of a word, and, of the
six characters succeeding this ‘the,’ we are cognizant of no less
than five. Let us set these characters down, thus, by the letters
we know them to represent, leaving a space for the unknown—
t eeth.
“Here we are enabled, at once, to discard the ‘th,’ as forming no
portion of the word commencing with the first t; since, by
experiment of the entire alphabet for a letter adapted to the
vacancy, we perceive that no word can be formed of which this
_th_ can be a part. We are thus narrowed into
t ee,
and, going through the alphabet, if necessary, as before, we
arrive at the word ‘tree,’ as the sole possible reading. We thus
gain another letter, _r_, represented by (, with the words ‘the
tree’ in juxtaposition.
“Looking beyond these words, for a short distance, we again see
the combination ;48, and employ it by way of termination to what
immediately precedes. We have thus this arrangement:
the tree ;4(‡?34 the,
or, substituting the natural letters, where known, it reads thus:
the tree thr‡?3h the.
“Now, if, in place of the unknown characters, we leave blank
spaces, or substitute dots, we read thus:
the tree thr...h the,
when the word ‘_through_’ makes itself evident at once. But this
discovery gives us three new letters, _o_, _u_ and _g_,
represented by ‡, ? and 3.
“Looking now, narrowly, through the cipher for combinations of
known characters, we find, not very far from the beginning, this
arrangement,
83(88, or egree,
which, plainly, is the conclusion of the word ‘degree,’ and gives
us another letter, _d_, represented by †.
“Four letters beyond the word ‘degree,’ we perceive the
combination
;46(;88.
“Translating the known characters, and representing the unknown
by dots, as before, we read thus:
th.rtee,
an arrangement immediately suggestive of the word ‘thirteen,’ and
again furnishing us with two new characters, _i_ and _n_,
represented by 6 and *.
“Referring, now, to the beginning of the cryptograph, we find the
combination,
53‡‡†.
“Translating as before, we obtain
good,
which assures us that the first letter is _A_, and that the first
two words are ‘A good.’
“It is now time that we arrange our key, as far as discovered, in
a tabular form, to avoid confusion. It will stand thus:
5 represents a
† “ d
8 “ e
3 “ g
4 “ h
6 “ i
* “ n
‡ “ o
( “ r
; “ t
? “ u
“We have, therefore, no less than eleven of the most important
letters represented, and it will be unnecessary to proceed with
the details of the solution. I have said enough to convince you
that ciphers of this nature are readily soluble, and to give you
some insight into the rationale of their development. But be
assured that the specimen before us appertains to the very
simplest species of cryptograph. It now only remains to give you
the full translation of the characters upon the parchment, as
unriddled. Here it is:
“‘_A good glass in the bishop’s hostel in the devil’s seat
forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes northeast and by north
main branch seventh limb east side shoot from the left eye of the
death’s-head a bee line from the tree through the shot fifty feet
out_.’”
“But,” said I, “the enigma seems still in as bad a condition as
ever. How is it possible to extort a meaning from all this jargon
about ‘devil’s seats,’ ‘death’s heads,’ and ‘bishop’s hotels?’”
“I confess,” replied Legrand, “that the matter still wears a
serious aspect, when regarded with a casual glance. My first
endeavor was to divide the sentence into the natural division
intended by the cryptographist.”
“You mean, to punctuate it?”
“Something of that kind.”
“But how was it possible to effect this?”
“I reflected that it had been a point with the writer to run his
words together without division, so as to increase the difficulty
of solution. Now, a not over-acute man, in pursuing such an
object, would be nearly certain to overdo the matter. When, in
the course of his composition, he arrived at a break in his
subject which would naturally require a pause, or a point, he
would be exceedingly apt to run his characters, at this place,
more than usually close together. If you will observe the MS., in
the present instance, you will easily detect five such cases of
unusual crowding. Acting upon this hint, I made the division
thus: ‘A good glass in the Bishop’s hostel in the Devil’s
seat—forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes—northeast and by
north—main branch seventh limb east side—shoot from the left eye
of the death’s-head—a bee-line from the tree through the shot
fifty feet out.’”
“Even this division,” said I, “leaves me still in the dark.”
“It left me also in the dark,” replied Legrand, “for a few days;
during which I made diligent inquiry, in the neighborhood of
Sullivan’s Island, for any building which went by the name of the
‘Bishop’s Hotel;’ for, of course, I dropped the obsolete word
‘hostel.’ Gaining no information on the subject, I was on the
point of extending my sphere of search, and proceeding in a more
systematic manner, when, one morning, it entered into my head,
quite suddenly, that this ‘Bishop’s Hostel’ might have some
reference to an old family, of the name of Bessop, which, time
out of mind, had held possession of an ancient manor-house, about
four miles to the northward of the island. I accordingly went
over to the plantation, and re-instituted my inquiries among the
older negroes of the place. At length one of the most aged of the
women said that she had heard of such a place as Bessop’s Castle,
and thought that she could guide me to it, but that it was not a
castle nor a tavern, but a high rock.
“I offered to pay her well for her trouble, and, after some
demur, she consented to accompany me to the spot. We found it
without much difficulty, when, dismissing her, I proceeded to
examine the place. The ‘castle’ consisted of an irregular
assemblage of cliffs and rocks—one of the latter being quite
remarkable for its height as well as for its insulated and
artificial appearance. I clambered to its apex, and then felt
much at a loss as to what should be next done.
“While I was busied in reflection, my eyes fell upon a narrow
ledge in the eastern face of the rock, perhaps a yard below the
summit upon which I stood. This ledge projected about eighteen
inches, and was not more than a foot wide, while a niche in the
cliff just above it gave it a rude resemblance to one of the
hollow-backed chairs used by our ancestors. I made no doubt that
here was the ‘devil’s seat’ alluded to in the MS., and now I
seemed to grasp the full secret of the riddle.
“The ‘good glass,’ I knew, could have reference to nothing but a
telescope; for the word ‘glass’ is rarely employed in any other
sense by seamen. Now here, I at once saw, was a telescope to be
used, and a definite point of view, admitting no variation, from
which to use it. Nor did I hesitate to believe that the phrases,
‘forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes,’ and ‘northeast and by
north,’ were intended as directions for the levelling of the
glass. Greatly excited by these discoveries, I hurried home,
procured a telescope, and returned to the rock.
“I let myself down to the ledge, and found that it was impossible
to retain a seat upon it except in one particular position. This
fact confirmed my preconceived idea. I proceeded to use the
glass. Of course, the ‘forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes’
could allude to nothing but elevation above the visible horizon,
since the horizontal direction was clearly indicated by the
words, ‘northeast and by north.’ This latter direction I at once
established by means of a pocket-compass; then, pointing the
glass as nearly at an angle of forty-one degrees of elevation as
I could do it by guess, I moved it cautiously up or down, until
my attention was arrested by a circular rift or opening in the
foliage of a large tree that overtopped its fellows in the
distance. In the centre of this rift I perceived a white spot,
but could not, at first, distinguish what it was. Adjusting the
focus of the telescope, I again looked, and now made it out to be
a human skull.
“Upon this discovery I was so sanguine as to consider the enigma
solved; for the phrase ‘main branch, seventh limb, east side,’
could refer only to the position of the skull upon the tree,
while ‘shoot from the left eye of the death’s head’ admitted,
also, of but one interpretation, in regard to a search for buried
treasure. I perceived that the design was to drop a bullet from
the left eye of the skull, and that a bee-line, or, in other
words, a straight line, drawn from the nearest point of the trunk
through ‘the shot,’ (or the spot where the bullet fell,) and
thence extended to a distance of fifty feet, would indicate a
definite point—and beneath this point I thought it at least
possible that a deposit of value lay concealed.”
“All this,” I said, “is exceedingly clear, and, although
ingenious, still simple and explicit. When you left the Bishop’s
Hotel, what then?”
“Why, having carefully taken the bearings of the tree, I turned
homewards. The instant that I left ‘the devil’s seat,’ however,
the circular rift vanished; nor could I get a glimpse of it
afterwards, turn as I would. What seems to me the chief ingenuity
in this whole business, is the fact (for repeated experiment has
convinced me it is a fact) that the circular opening in question
is visible from no other attainable point of view than that
afforded by the narrow ledge upon the face of the rock.
“In this expedition to the ‘Bishop’s Hotel’ I had been attended
by Jupiter, who had, no doubt, observed, for some weeks past, the
abstraction of my demeanor, and took especial care not to leave
me alone. But, on the next day, getting up very early, I
contrived to give him the slip, and went into the hills in search
of the tree. After much toil I found it. When I came home at
night my valet proposed to give me a flogging. With the rest of
the adventure I believe you are as well acquainted as myself.”
“I suppose,” said I, “you missed the spot, in the first attempt
at digging, through Jupiter’s stupidity in letting the bug fall
through the right instead of through the left eye of the skull.”
“Precisely. This mistake made a difference of about two inches
and a half in the ‘shot’—that is to say, in the position of the
peg nearest the tree; and had the treasure been beneath the
‘shot,’ the error would have been of little moment; but ‘the
shot,’ together with the nearest point of the tree, were merely
two points for the establishment of a line of direction; of
course the error, however trivial in the beginning, increased as
we proceeded with the line, and by the time we had gone fifty
feet, threw us quite off the scent. But for my deep-seated
impressions that treasure was here somewhere actually buried, we
might have had all our labor in vain.”
“But your grandiloquence, and your conduct in swinging the
beetle—how excessively odd! I was sure you were mad. And why did
you insist upon letting fall the bug, instead of a bullet, from
the skull?”
“Why, to be frank, I felt somewhat annoyed by your evident
suspicions touching my sanity, and so resolved to punish you
quietly, in my own way, by a little bit of sober mystification.
For this reason I swung the beetle, and for this reason I let it
fall it from the tree. An observation of yours about its great
weight suggested the latter idea.”
“Yes, I perceive; and now there is only one point which puzzles
me. What are we to make of the skeletons found in the hole?”
“That is a question I am no more able to answer than yourself.
There seems, however, only one plausible way of accounting for
them—and yet it is dreadful to believe in such atrocity as my
suggestion would imply. It is clear that Kidd—if Kidd indeed
secreted this treasure, which I doubt not—it is clear that he
must have had assistance in the labor. But this labor concluded,
he may have thought it expedient to remove all participants in
his secret. Perhaps a couple of blows with a mattock were
sufficient, while his coadjutors were busy in the pit; perhaps it
required a dozen—who shall tell?”