“What’re they doin’ now, John?” I asked; “kin you mek out?”

“Lowerin’ a yawl, it looks like to me,” he says.

An’ so they wuz. In a short time the yawl pushed out from the ship, an’ then I could see plain enough what it wuz, an’ that some on the ship’s crew wuz comin’ ashore in that ere yawl.

We hunted round fur a place to hide, ’cause we knowed they couldn’t be a-comin’ ashore fur water. There wuzn’t no water to be got. Behind us wuz a clump o’ cedars purty thick, so we run ’long a windin’ holler, an’ crep’ up into that bunch o’ low cedars. When we looked out, the yawl wuz behind the hills; but purty soon it come into range near shore, an’ disappeared ag’in, fur the way on it wuz, thar wur a small gap ’tween the hills that give us this sight o’ the yawl. Arter the yawl got across that gap, we waited a long time—I tell you it wuz long—afore we see anythin’ more on ’em. We got scared a-waitin’; fur how could we tell but what they wuz mekin’ towards us? While I’d got sort o’ tired a-strainin’ an’ lookin’ here an’ thar, an’ fell to conject’rin’ what under the sun wuz goin’ to turn out on it all, John says all on a sudden, “Jess, look, thar’s one on ’em on yunder hill.”

I looked quick, and thar stood a sailor with a spy-glass searchin’ in ev’ry d’rection. We crouched flat, scratchin’ our hands an’ face in gittin’ under the branches near ground. We’d a been layin’ down all the time, but a spy-glass is purty fur-sighted, an’ we knowed it, so we crawled under the branches to be all the more out o’ sight.

In jist about three minutes the sailor wuz gone. Then we hed another time o’ fearin’ what ’ud come next, but soon some men ’peared on the top o’ the hill. Thar wuz five on ’em. I breathed hard, an’ so did John, till we see they wurn’t comin’ towards us. They wuz carryin’ somethin’ heavy, ez they’d stop, set it down, an’ take turns. An’ when they changed what they wuz carryin’, they changed shovels. They hed shovels with ’em, for these we could see plain enough.

These five men went onwards to a hill in the middle of the Beach—the highest hill within sev’ral miles—an’ stopped on the side o’ it toward the ocean. They stopped a long while an’ ’peared to be takin’ certain ranges. Fin’ly they begun to dig. Ev’ry single one o’ the five wur a-diggin’. The bank o’ course kep’ a growin’, and got so high, ur the hole got so deep, I dun know which, that we couldn’t see ’em any longer a-diggin’. Nex’ they all come out, took what they hed fetched with ’em, and put it into the hole. Then thar wuz a long halt—all on ’em down in the hole. Not one on ’em wuz seen fur a long time. That time they wuz out o’ sight so long that John proposed to skulk to our boat.

But I says, “No, we wun’t run no risks.”

He wuz afeard, an’ so wuz I. We hadn’t even our old flint-locks with us. They would a’boostered up our courage consid’rable. I wuz right, though, ’bout stayin’ where we wuz. We shouldn’t a hed time to get halfway to our boat, ’fore they come up out o’ the hole, an’ begun to shovel the sand in agin. I couldn’t mek out but four shov’lin’, but I never thought much on it at fust. When the hole, though, got purty nigh full—you could sort o’ tell by the banks—I couldn’t then mek out but four men. I strained an’ looked till there wuz dark spots a-swimmin’ ’fore my eyes, and then I whispered to John—for we wuz to the wind’ard on the men—sayin’, “John, how many do you mek out a-shov’lin’?”

“Four,” says he, “only four, an’ I been countin’ ’em agin an’ agin.”

“That’s all I kin mek out uther. Didn’t five on ’em come ashore?”

“I know thar wuz five,” says John; “I see them five jist ez plain ez I see them ere four now. I counted five on ’em in two dif’runt places.”

The hole wuz filled, they spatted on the sand with their shovels—that ere made me all the time think o’ buryin’ somebody—an’ then them four sailors went back to the yawl.

John an’ me waited and watched another long, tejus time—I suppose they wuz a-waitin fur the best chance to git their yawl through the surf. It’s easier to come on, you know, than it is to git back agin.

Through that ere gap ’tween the hills, though, we see the yawl ez they rowed off to the ship, and we breathed consid’rable easier. Anchor wuz huv up, the sails unclewed, an’ the ship tacked off to suth’ard.

The days is long that time o’ year, an’ it wuz well onto sundown afore the ship got under way. When we see she wuz headin’ off, we made fur our skiff.

We gin up all idee o’ hossfootin’ that night. It wuz too bad to leave the Beach, but we hed no mind to stay thar. We wuz mighty afeard, you see, an’ thar’s no use o’ denyin’ it—the thoughts o’ what become o’ that fifth man wuz boogerish; so we put for hum.

It would ’a been one o’ the very best nights for hossfootin’. The tide wuz high, an’ the moon come up over the Beach big an’ full; but the Beach lay all dusky an’ dark under the moon, an’ the night seemed owly. We laid our course straight across. It wurn’t pleasant sailin’, though, ez it hed been in the mornin’; fur the waves kep’ mekin’ moanin’ noises an’ guggling’s all ’round the boat. I wuz chilly, an’ my feelin’s crawled over me, and kep’ crawlin’ over me till we got to the landin’.

The folks wuz su’prised to see us. We got hum ’bout bed-time, an’ told at once what we’d seen; an’ instid o’ gittin’ off to bed ’arly, ez we al’ays did Sunday nights to git a good start Monday mornin’—instid o’ gittin’ off to bed, we all sot up an’ talked a long spell about it.

When I went to bed I couldn’t go to sleep, ’cause I kep’ thinkin’ over the hull matter. That day an’ that ere bright night hev al’ays seemed to me jist like two days into one. Thar wurn’t any daybreak, fur the moonlight wuz ez bright ez daylight, an’ you couldn’t tell when one went an’ another come. I s’pose though, arter all, that wuz a nat’rul thing in June, when the sun rises ’arliest in the year; but I never noticed it afore ur sence.

Two ur three days arterward, some o’ the neighbors stopped to the house in the edge o’the ev’nin’, an’ mongst other things that wuz talked over wuz that ere ship; fur, you see, she hed been noticed by all the people o’ that section the week afore, an’ now she wuz gone—nothin’ more’d been seen o’ her. I told what John an’ me hed seen, an’ so the story got afloat. All summer long, way into fall, neighbors an’ people livin’ quite a distance away would stop and ask me ’bout it—full a dozen men from the middle o’ the Islan’ stopped, fust an’ last, to ask me if it twan’t the same ship some o’ their mowers see, one foggy day six weeks later on, when they wuz on the Beach cuttin’ salt hay. Winter nights, we now an’ then would git to talkin’ it over ’round the fireplace. Well, time went on, an’ young people ez they growed up would ask me to tell it to them.

I’ve told it a good many times—a good many times. You see, it wur over fifty year ago sence it happened.

“Did anybody go to the spot an’ see what wuz buried thar?”

Some dare-devils from away West somewheres tried to dig thar. They took a clear night with only a little wind a-blowin’ an’ a few clouds afloat, but when they got fairly to work, it grew pitch dark, an’ foggy, ez quick ez a candle goes out. The air got so thick they couldn’t scarcely breathe, an’ then a skel’ton ghost with a dagger in its hand, that hed some kind o’ pale flame creepin’ an’ burnin’ on the blade, ’peared right above ’em. It stood a minute an’ shook the dagger, an’ then begun to move ’round ’em, comin’ nearer an’ nearer, till the men run headlong fur their boat, shakin’ cold, they wuz so scared.

I heerd one on ’em say, ten year arter, that that wuz the only time in all his life his hair ever stood on end.

But nobody round here never dug thar. They never even probed thar. They never tried the min’rul rod thar nuther, ez they did sometimes in other spots. Ev’rybody roun’ this ere part o’ the Islan’ knowed better. The treasure buried thar wuz enchanted treasure. Nobody meddles with enchanted treasure that knows what enchanted treasure is.

“What made it enchanted?”

That fifth man wuz a pris’ner they’d taken frum some ship they’d run down, robbed, an’ destroyed with the rest on the crew. They’d got ready to come ashore to bury treasure, an’ they ordered him to go long with ’em to help do it. He went, doin’ his part o’ the work jist ez ef he wur one o’ the gang.

They go ashore, mek up their minds ’bout the spot, take their ranges so they kin come back to the spot when they want to, an’ then begin to dig. When the hole is dug deep enough, they set the treasure into the hole, an’ all stan’ in thar aroun’ it. The leader o’ the gang tells the pris’ner that he’s got to stay by that ere treasure an’ guard it, so nobody kin ever git it but them.

They mek him sw’ar with some kind o’ an oath that he will. Then they mek way with him, an’ put his body over the treasure.

That’s why we couldn’t mek out no more ’an four men goin’ back when five come ashore. Them four men murdered the fifth one, an’ in so doin’ enchanted the treasure.

It wuz sealed in human blood, an’ the devil himself wuz thar in full charge. An’ that’s why thunder an’ lightnin’ comes, an’ spectres is seen, an’ the treasure sinks lower an’ lower, an’ the hole caves, when people hev tried to dig up enchanted treasure. An’ that’s why, too, so little buried treasure hez ever been found, ’cause pirates mos’ al’ays enchant it, an’ sometimes enchant it double. They murder their pris’ners, an’ bury ’em, knife in hand, settin’ on the treasure to guard it.