Sam Lawson's Oldtown Fireside Stories

“‘Wal, who should the critter be, then?’ says I.

“‘Wal,’ says Tom, ‘ef that ‘are ain’t a British naval officer, I lose my bet. I’ve been used to the ways on ‘em, and I knows their build and their step.’

“‘And what do you suppose she’s got in that long box?’ says I.

“‘What has she got?’ says Tom. ‘Wal, folks might say none o’ my bisness; but I s’pects it ‘ll turn out some o’ my bisness, and yourn too, if he don’t look sharp arter it,’ says Tom. ‘It’s no good, that ‘are box ain’t.’

“‘Why don’t you speak to Mr. More?’ says I.

“‘Wal, you see she’s a chipperin’ round and a-makin’ herself agreeable to both on ‘em, you see; she don’t mean to give nobody any chance for a talk with ‘em; but I’ve got my eye on her, for all that. You see I hain’t no sort o’ disposition to sarve out a time on one o’ them British prison-ships,’ says Tom Toothacre. ‘It might be almighty handy for them British to have “The Brilliant” for a coast-vessel,’ says he; ‘but, ye see, it can’t be spared jest yet. So, madam,’ says he, ‘I’ve got my eye on you.’

“Wal, Tom was as good as his word; for when Mr. More came towards him at the wheel, Tom he up and says to him, ‘Mr. More,’ says he, that ‘are big box in the state-room yonder wants lookin’ into.’

“Tom was a sort o’ privileged character, and had a way o’ speakin’ up that the officers took in good part, ‘cause they knew he was a fust-rate hand.

“Wal, Mr. More he looks mysterious; and says he, Tom, do the boys know what’s in that ‘are box?’

“‘I bet they don’t,’ says Tom. ‘If they had, you wouldn’t a got ‘em to help it aboard.’

“‘Wal, you see, poor woman,’ says Mr. More to Tom, ‘she was so distressed. She wanted to get her husband’s body to Boston; and there wa’n’t no other way, and so the cap’n let it come aboard. He didn’t want the boys to suspect what it really was.’

“‘Husband’s body be hanged!’ said Tom. ‘Guess that ‘are corpse ain’t so dead but what there ‘ll be a resurrection afore mornin’, if it ain’t looked arter,’ says he.

“‘Why, what do you mean, Tom?’ said Mr. More, all in a blue maze.

“‘I mean, that ‘are gal that’s ben a switchin’ her petticuts up and down our deck ain’t no gal at all. That are’s a British officer, Mr. More. You give my duty to the cap’n, and tell him to look into his widder’s bandbox, and see what he ‘ll find there.’

“Wal, the mate he went and had a talk with the cap’n; and they ‘greed between ‘em that Mr. More was to hold her in talk while the cap’n went and took observations in the state-room.

“So, down the cap’n goes into the state-room to give a look at the box. Wal, he finds the stateroom door all locked to be sure, and my lady had the key in her pocket; but then the cap’n he had a master key to it; and so he puts it in, and opens the door quite softly, and begins to take observations.

“Sure enough, he finds that the screws had been drawed from the top o’ the box, showin’ that the widder had been a tinkerin’ on’t when they thought she was a cryin’ over it; and then, lookin’ close, he sees a bit o’ twine goin’ from a crack in the box out o’ the winder, and up on deck.

“Wal, the cap’n he kind o’ got in the sperit o’ the thing; and he thought he’d jest let the widder play her play out, and see what it would come to. So he jest calls Tom Toothacre down to him and whispered to him. ‘Tom,’ says he, ‘you jest crawl under the berth in that ‘are state-room, and watch that ‘are box.’ And Tom said he would.

“So Tom creeps under the berth, and lies there still as a mouse; and the cap’n he slips out and turns the key in the door, so that when madam comes down she shouldn’t s’pect nothin’.

“Putty soon, sure enough, Tom heard the lock rattle, and the young widder come in; and then he heard a bit o’ conversation between her and the corpse.

“‘What time is it?’ come in a kind o’ hoarse whisper out o’ the box.

“‘Well, ‘bout nine o’clock,’ says she.

“‘How long afore you ‘ll let me out?’ says he.

“‘Oh! you must have patience,’ says she, ‘till they’re all gone off to sleep; when there ain’t but one man up. I can knock him down,’ says she, ‘and then I ‘ll pull the string for you.’

“‘The devil you will, ma’am!’ says Tom to himself, under the berth.

“‘Well, it’s darned close here,’ says the fellow in the box. He didn’t say darned, boys; but he said a wickeder word that I can’t repeat, noways,” said Sam, in a parenthesis: “these ‘ere British officers was drefful swearin’ critters.

“‘You must have patience a while longer,’ says the lady, ‘till I pull the string.’ Tom Toothacre lay there on his back a laughin’.

“‘Is every thing goin’ on right?’ says the man in the box.

“‘All straight,’ says she: ‘there don’t none of ‘em suspect.’

“‘You bet,’ says Tom Toothacre, under the berth; and he said he had the greatest mind to catch the critter by the feet as she was a standin’ there, but somehow thought it would be better fun to see the thing through ‘cording as they’d planned it.

“Wal, then she went off switchin’ and mincin’ up to the deck agin, and a flirtin’ with the cap’n; for you see ‘twas ‘greed to let ‘em play their play out.

“Wal, Tom he lay there a waitin’; and he waited and waited and waited, till he ‘most got asleep; but finally he heard a stirrin’ in the box, as if the fellah was a gettin’ up. Tom he jest crawled out still and kerful, and stood up tight agin the wall. Putty soon he hears a grunt, and he sees the top o’ the box a risin’ up, and a man jest gettin’ out on’t mighty still.

“Wal, Tom he waited till he got fairly out on to the floor, and had his hand on the lock o’ the door, when he jumps on him, and puts both arms round him, and gin him a regular bear’s hug.

“‘Why, what’s this?’ says the man.

“‘Guess ye ‘ll find out, darn ye,’ says Tom Tooth-acre. ‘So, ye wanted our ship, did ye? Wal, ye jest can’t have our ship,’ says Tom, says he; and I tell you he jest run that ‘are fellow up stairs lickety-split, for Tom was strong as a giant.

“The fust thing they saw was Mr. More hed got the widder by both arms, and was tying on ‘em behind her. ‘Ye see, madam, your game’s up,’ says Mr. More, ‘but we ‘ll give ye a free passage to Boston, tho’,’ says he: ‘we wanted a couple o’ prisoners about these days, and you ‘ll do nicely.’

“The fellers they was putty chopfallen, to be sure, and the one in women’s clothes ‘specially: ‘cause when he was found out, he felt foolish enough in his petticuts; but they was both took to Boston, and given over as prisoners.

“Ye see, come to look into matters, they found these two young fellows, British officers, had formed a regular plot to take Cap’n Tucker’s vessel, and run it into Halifax; and ye see, Cap’n Tucker he was so sort o’ spry, and knew all the Maine coast so well, and was so ‘cute at dodgin’ in and out all them little bays and creeks and places all ‘long shore, that he made the British considerable trouble, ‘cause wherever they didn’t want him, that’s where he was sure to be.

“So they’d hatched up this ‘ere plan. There was one or two British sailors had been and shipped aboard ‘The Brilliant’ a week or two aforehand, and ‘twas suspected they was to have helped in the plot if things had gone as they laid out; but I tell you, when the fellows see which way the cat jumped, they took pretty good care to say that they hadn’t nothin’ to do with it. Oh, no, by no manner o’ means! Wal, o’ course, ye know, it couldn’t be proved on ‘em, and so we let it go.

“But I tell you, Cap’n Tucker he felt pretty cheap about his widder. The worst on’t was, they do say Ma’am Tucker got hold of it; and you might know if a woman got hold of a thing like that she’d use it as handy as a cat would her claws. The women they can’t no more help hittin’ a fellow a clip and a rap when they’ve fairly got him, than a cat when she’s ketched a mouse; and so I shouldn’t wonder if the Commodore heard something about his widder every time he went home from his v’yages the longest day he had to live. I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout it, ye know: I only kind o’ jedge by what looks, as human natur’ goes.

“But, Lordy massy! boys,’ ‘t wa’n’t nothin’ to be ‘shamed of in the cap’n. Folks ‘ll have to answer for wus things at the last day than tryin’ to do a kindness to a poor widder, now, I tell you. It’s better to be took in doin’ a good thing, than never try to do good; and it’s my settled opinion,” said Sam, taking up his mug of cider and caressing it tenderly, “it’s my humble opinion, that the best sort o’ folks is the easiest took in, ’specially by the women. I reely don’t think I should a done a bit better myself.”

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, —

“‘My name was Robert KiddAs I sailed, as I sailed,My name was Robert Kidd;God’s laws I did forbid,And so wickedly I did,As I sailed, as I sailed.’

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

“‘My father taught me well,As I sailed, as I sailed;My father taught me wellTo shun the gates of hell,But yet I did rebel,As I sailed, as I sailed.“‘He put a Bible in my hand,As I sailed, as I sailed;He put a Bible in my hand,And I sunk it in the sandBefore I left the strand,As I sailed, as I sailed.’

“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: —

“‘Then I murdered William More,As I sailed, as I sailed;I murdered William More,And left him in his gore,Not many leagues from shore,As I sailed, as I sailed.“‘To execution dockI must go, I must go.To execution dock,While thousands round me flock,To see me on the block,I must go, I must go.

“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 I 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 a’ 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 alterin’ 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.”