John was a hand in the paper-mill at Islip in the twenties. The old mill is still standing in the western part of the village, near the road. One might almost touch it with the whip when driving by. It represents something of the Islip of the twenties which was far different from the Islip of to-day—a quiet, steady-going village, with no incoming of summer residents, and no flutter of gay summer life. A few sportsmen made their way thither in the season, but it was a hard day’s stage ride from South Ferry and too far away to attract even one or two of the many who were accustomed to leave New York during the summer. It was a quiet, steady-going place, and John was a quiet, steady-going hand, working in the mill every day. He had worked there several years with apparently no thought of doing anything else. He liked the place. The merry rumble, the cool moist air always prevalent, the stream always rushing underneath turning the wheels, and ever slipping on down the creek and spreading out into the broad bay. And the tons and tons of paper that were made and kept going off somewhere John took great pride in.

But one morning John went to his work in the mill with his mind no little disturbed. Nothing had happened out of the ordinary. His folks were all well and had gone about their work that morning in the usual way, with no apprehension of the idea absorbing his thought. He alone was disturbed. It was plain to see at the mill that his mind was preoccupied. He talked little. He did not so much as whistle once in going up and down stairs about his work that day. In the night he had had a singular dream, and he thought it over and over all day. When he left the mill at sundown, he had determined that if he should dream the same thing again he would prove the dream.

Several days passed and the impression on his mind had somehow lost its force.

But just a week later to the night, he dreamed again very vividly that at the Point of Woods there was treasure buried between the west end of the woods and the hills which flank the ocean.

The next day he narrated all the particulars of his dream to an intimate friend, Peter by name; and telling him further that as this was the second time he had dreamed the same thing he purposed to get a mineral-rod, go on the Beach, and search over that spot of ground.

Pete’s imagination became inflamed also, and he agreed to go with him.

But where was a mineral-rod to be got, or who knew how the magical thing was to be made? If one had a mineral-rod, it was an easy matter to hold it with both hands and walk over ground in which gold or silver was buried. When one came with it near a place where precious metal was hidden, tradition had always asserted that the rod would bend and twist in one’s hands and point toward the place of concealment; and such was the mystic attraction between any mass of gold or silver coin and the rod, that no matter how firmly held it would bend down straight when directly over any spot where money was buried.

John knew further from common tradition that this rod was always a crotch cut from a witchhazel bush. But just what additions or modifications were connected with it he had never heard.

He sought out, therefore, the oldest men and talked with them about buried treasure and mineral-rods, and in this way came upon more minute information. He followed up every clew, and at last heard of an old crone living in the middle of the Island who knew how mineral-rods were made, and who in her younger days had used one—proving its power, by holding one in her hands and traversing the garden to find some silver coins which had been concealed there as a test, detecting them at last hid in a cabbage-head.

John went to see her, reaching her cot at dusk and coming home in the evening. To do this he walked sixteen miles.

At first she was reticent.

“It ain’t no use to talk of mineral-rods with no gold nor silver to look at nor to feel of.”

There was no other way. So John put all the coins he had into her hand, and then she revealed her secret to him. Not only this, but she encouraged him when he told her of his plans. She related what she had done in her younger days when she lived in other parts. And more, she exacted a promise from him of some share of what he would surely find on the Beach.

“It had always been said,” she remarked as he was leaving, “and I’ve heerd it time an’ time agin, thet Kidd buried money on thet Beach as well as on Gard’ner’s Islan’. Nobody hed found any as yet, because nobody hed s’arched in the right spot. It hed come down from gineration to gineration thet he was along the South Beach many times, an’ thet he come in the inlets an’ got supplies of the Injins; an’ where could he bury treasure thet would be safer than on thet Beach? an’ if I was a younger woman, or even now at my age if I hed less rheumatiz, I’d go on to thet Beach an’ live there, an’ I’d s’arch it fur miles with a min’ral rod.”

In his lonely walk home he repeated the directions she had given him to fix them in his mind, for the old crone had been garrulous and had wandered from the particular subject again and again.

“Find a large witchhazel growing in moist, springy ground—near a stream was best. Cut a branch shaped like the letter Y, with prongs rather larger round than a man’s thumb, and leave the bark on. In the prong running down from the fork and near the end remove the bark and gouge out a hole large enough to hold a good-sized goosequill, which must be got from a pure white goose. Fill this quill with quicksilver and cover it tightly with kid. Then put this into the hole in the end of the witchhazel crotch, pack a little cotton around it, and replace the bark.

“He must carry a lucky bone in his pocket the while, and carry it with him for days before using the mineral-rod, as well as while using it. All must be done secretly, and no other person should see any part of the process. The rod must be concealed, and it was best to wrap it in an old coat till the spot of search was reached. When going to dig for treasure he must take nothing that had been used—always a new spade or shovel.”

John repeated these directions over and over in his walk through the great woods which are gone now almost completely.

The bay and the ocean to the south, the heavy forests north of the line of hamlets along the shores of the bay—such were the conditions at that time. To-day one can picture and realize those conditions to some degree,

The heavy forest engendered one sense of mystery, the sea engendered another. It is, then, no matter of surprise that in those days superstition and imagination had their rude votaries, and that there were more of this class than we are willing in these years to admit.

It was a month before the mineral-rod was completed, and then a fortnight more went by before all other arrangements and provisions for the expedition were made ready.

At last John and his friend Pete, who believed as confidently as he in buried treasure and the magical power of the mineral-rod to reveal the spot, sailed out of Doxsee’s creek and headed their craft for the Point of Woods.

It was a long sail, as they had to beat all the way across. When they reached the beach, they drew their boat up close to shore and made everything as secure as could be. They had plenty of time, for the daylight still lingered. And as they could not begin their search till after it was fully dark, they concluded to go to the tract of beach, look it thoroughly over, and determine where they would begin the search, and what should be the plan of walking over it with the mineral-rod.

This plan they discussed at great length.

“It’s my opinion,” said Pete, “that the only good way to do is to select some place as a centre, and then walk around this making your circle bigger all the time.”

But John opposed this strongly saying, “I don’t believe the mineral rod’ll work as well that way; and what is more, you’re likely to miss going over a good deal of ground, for it’s a pretty hard thing to keep the right curve when you’re several rods out from the centre.”

“But can’t you make the circles smaller and close together,” replied Pete, “and then some of the ground’ll be searched over twice?”

“No,” answered John; “there’s too much hit-and-miss about that. The best way, and the only right way is to begin on the top of the ridge of them surf hills and walk lengthwise of the Beach, just as near a bee-line as possible; and when you’ve gone over one length of the ground, then turn and walk back within two feet of the first line, and so on till you’ve gone over the hull ground to the edge of the woods.”

Each one held firmly to his own opinion, but John had the advantage in that he had proposed this quest and had made the greater part of the preparations for it.

Darkness had now fully settled. The wind blew out of the east, clear, dry, and cool. The stars shone with the lustre of a cold sky. Large and small, each glistened distinctly in the great dome. The night was beautiful, yet neither of these men appreciated the beauty or the mystery that surrounded them.

Unable to agree, they had returned to their boat. John took out the mineral-rod wrapped in an old coat, and Pete took the two new shovels and threw them over his shoulder. John led the way, and they walked over to the top of the hills.

“Accordin’ to my dream,” spoke John, “this is far enough west to begin. Stick one shovel down here, and the other we’ll use at the east end in the same way so as to keep track of what we’ve been over. We’ll have to change the shovel at each end every time till we get over to the edge of the woods.”

Pete pushed the shovel into the sand, and John undid the coat and took out the mineral-rod. He was excited as he grasped each branch, pushed out his arms, and held the rod in proper position. His hands trembled as he started, and the tighter he grasped the rod—one of the conditions necessary for him to observe—the more his hands shook. He walked carefully over the uneven surface of the ridge till he reached the eastern limit according to his dream. Pete drove the shovel into the sand at this end, and they began the search back. Slowly back and forth they walked these long bouts, working laboriously down the slope of the hills. It was tiring work. John’s attention was strained again and again. Time after time he would stop, retrace his steps and walk a second time over some spot, going very slowly indeed and clutching the mineral-rod so tightly that the tremor of his hands deceived and balked him. Often he would become so perplexed that he would put the rod into Pete’s hands, send him back to the starting-point, and then walk behind him till the uncertain spot had been passed and Pete had said he could feel no bending down or pointing of the rod. The more, however, Pete was called upon to use the rod, the more uncertain he himself grew. Sometimes they both fell to doubting, and then it took them more than an hour to traverse one length of beach and back. To add to their excitement, they were approaching the middle part of the Beach, the very place where they believed they would surely find an indication of buried gold.

The night, however, had gone faster than they were aware. The day was breaking faintly in the east, and when searching up to the top of a small hillock, they suddenly noticed the dawn.

The search they both knew must be conducted at night.

What was it best to do?

“We’ve got to stop, make marks of some kind to show us where we left off, and come back again at dark to-night and go over the rest of the ground.”

So they wrapped the mineral-rod up in the coat, heaped up a little mound of sand where both shovels stood, took these, and made their way to the boat.

They were hungry, but they did not delay to eat. It was best for them, they felt, to get away from that part of the Beach.

Accordingly they got their boat under way, and as they sailed eastward along the Beach, tired and chilly, they ate their breakfast. After they had sailed four or five miles they headed out into the bay. When the sun was well up, they put about and steered directly for the Beach. On the flats they anchored, lay down in their boat, and went to sleep.

Just before dusk that night they were back at the Point of Woods. As soon as the day had completely gone they stood up the shovels in the mounds they had made at daybreak that morning, undid again the mineral-rod and began anew the search. They worked carefully for three hours, becoming at times confused, as on the previous night, and frequently retracing their steps and going over many places a second time. They had worked their way, however, nearly over to the outskirts of the wood. John had come to a small hillock, perhaps four feet high, and was walking up over it when suddenly he felt the end of the rod drawn strongly down. He could not mistake this. Some decided force had pulled the end of the mineral-rod down, and it pointed obliquely to the hillock.

“There’s no doubt this time,” he said as he stepped back a few paces, feeling as he did so some decrease in the force exerted upon the end of the mineral-rod. “You get the shovel to the west and bring the old coat here. I’ll get the shovel behind us. This, I tell you, is the very spot.”

Each of them was highly excited as he came back to the hillock.

“Hold on,” said John as he restrained Pete from striking his shovel into the sand. “Let’s begin together, and remember that come whatever will, not one word must be spoken while we’re digging—not a sound till we’ve got what there is here completely out of the hole.”