Part 11

His prime minister and confidential adviser was a gray-headed, wrinkled negro named Zeb. He had been in his youth a sturdy fellow, but had dried up into an old codger who looked like a frosted persimmon. He was tough and leathery, with a head as hard as adamant, an obstinacy of disposition which required the full strength of his skull to keep it in. He had been born and bred on the place, and looked upon it and his master as his own property.

In early life he had been somewhat of a reprobate, so that his name and the gallows had frequently been coupled together in a very familiar manner; but he had disappointed all their prophecies, and in spite of his faults had steered clear of the halter.

As he grew old he became proportionably steady in his habits, and his evil name seemed to peel off. By the time he had become entirely useless and good for nothing, he had acquired quite a good character, and of late years he had never been known to swear when he had his own way, nor get drunk at his own expense. He, however, retained the habit of shooting with a long bow, and the marvellous character of his stories was only exceeded by the pertinacity with which he stuck to them.

His memory was a perfect magazine of mysterious experiences, of encounters with spirits of every denomination. The whole neighborhood of Dosoris, Matinecock and Lattingtown was but so many weird spots, noted in his memory as scenes of ghostly adventure. He could point out the very tree at Flag Brook where Ralph Crafts had a friendly chat with the Devil, who volunteered to whip Ralph's wife for him, and was beaten himself; and he could show the large tulip-tree at Dosoris, under which Parson Woolsey had an encounter of a more hostile character with the same personage, in which he so exorcised the Old Boy in bad Latin, and raised such a din about his ears with hard Scripture texts, that he took to flight, and never dared show his hoof there while the old clergyman lived.

Volkert Van Gelder pretended to turn an incredulous ear to these tales when Zeb happened to speak of them in public, and put his old retainer off with a 'pish;' but he always took occasion when no one was by to glean from him the full particulars. These were committed to writing, and stowed away in an ancient book-case mounted with brass, which is a perfect repository of abstruse history.

Zeb, however, had a crony in his own sphere, though not of his own color, equally versed in legendary lore. This was an old weather-beaten fellow with a red nose and a moist eye, of the name of Nick Wanzer.

Nick was born and bred at Matinecock. Many of his family had gone off to seek their fortunes in other parts of the world. Nick quoted the old saw, 'A rolling stone gathers no moss,' and staid at home. He grew no richer, but in process of time he certainly acquired a kind of moss-grown look, as if he were reaping the reward of his resolution.

He was addicted to strong drink and long stories, and by dint of constant indulgence in both, it became a matter of doubt whether his head or his stories had become toughest. He was usually to be met with either on the borders of the Dosoris mill-pond, with a fishing-rod across his shoulder, or trudging along the sand-bars, carrying a gun as battered as himself, with a slouch-tailed dog at his heels. He however was indigenous to the place, and belonged to that class of worthies, one or two of whom hang about every country village, and who drift through life always in sight, living no one knows how or where, and winding up their career by being found dead under some hedge or in some hay-mow.

In his youth he had been a harum-scarum fellow, a keen sportsman, and a persevering fisherman. Every rock from the Stepping Stones to Lloyd's Neck, was as familiar to him as his own dwelling, and there was not a corner of any swamp, or nook of woodland, which he had not traversed with dog and gun.

He had been terribly harried in the early part of his life, by a termagant wife, but he had at last deposited her in the Lattingtown church-yard, with a heavy stone over her to commemorate her virtues and to keep her quiet.

He had been too much cowed by stringent petticoat government, ever to be the man that he had been before his marriage; but it was a great weight off his mind to know that she was at rest, as well as himself. From that time he had been his own master, loitered about the country, attending to every body's business except his own. When the weather was fine, and the Sound smooth, he and Zeb passed whole mornings in a rickety boat, paddling about in search of fish. When the fish did not bite, the worthies might be descried upon one of the rocks at Martinecock, philosophizing over the past, while Nick's dog slept in the sunshine at their feet.

Of late Volkert had shown a strong yearning toward Nick. There was something in his good-for-nothing character which harmonized with the taste of Volkert, who had a weak spot in his affections for vagabonds. Nick, from a casual loiterer about the place, was gradually become a kind of appendage to it: running of errands, catching a mess of fish, or dropping a few woodcock at Volkert's door; ringing the noses of his pigs, and making himself generally useful. But the great secret of their intimacy was a certain adventure which Nick had met with, many years previously, in which Teunis Van Gelder bore a conspicuous part. It did not speak very well for the old pioneer, but Volkert took a strange pride in the evil odor which hung round the skirts of his ancestor. He forthwith took Nick by the hand, and although the tale was scouted by many as the fabrication of Nick's drunken brain, Volkert cross-examined him faithfully; took the whole down in writing, decided it to be both plausible and true, and forthwith deposited it among the arcana of his historic lore, from which I have drawn it. The adventure was as follows:

NICK WANZER'S ADVENTURE.

NICK had been passing an evening many years since at a husking-frolic. Like most persons who are good for nothing else, he was in his element there. He was a lusty dare-devil fellow then, ready for a fight or a frolic, and full of that rash yet jovial recklessness which makes friends of the men and plays the very deuce among the other sex. The party had been merry, and when the time came for breaking up, their merriment had become boisterous. Nick, overflowing with good cheer, took his leave of his host, shook hands with the mothers, kissed the prettiest of their daughters, and set out on his return to his own quarters.

The road was dark and gloomy, but he knew every inch of it. He was mellow with ale, apple-brandy and hard cider. He knew that he had to pass through a weird neighborhood, and all the tales which he had heard of ghosts and hobgoblins and Kidd and old Teunis Van Gelder were circulating freely through his brain, and, as he afterward acknowledged, what with the spirits within and the spirits without, his head was in somewhat of a turmoil.

He had a small boat drawn up in a creek near Peacock's Point, and as the road became somewhat unsteady as he proceeded, he determined to return home by water. Taking a short-cut across the fields and floundering through a swamp or two, he finally reached the creek, drew out his boat, and pushed out into the Sound.

It was one of those quiet still nights when there was scarcely a ripple on the water; every star was plainly reflected on its surface, and the moon hung in the sky like a huge globe of silver.

Nick pulled lazily along, thinking at one time of a farmer's daughter with whom he had passed a few love-passages behind the door; then of the ale and cider and apple-brandy; then of the tales of Kidd, with which an old black fiddler had regaled them at intervals during the evening: until he had got the apple-brandy and the farmer's daughter and Kidd and his treasure terribly jumbled together. He had been wondering where the freebooter could have put his money: and whether it was in gold-dust, or in bars or coin, and was in deep speculation as to whether it would be possible for him to discover it, dig it up, buy up the whole country round, and marry the girl just spoken of, when his attention was arrested by a loud hail.

'Boat a-hoy! boat a-hoy!'

The sound appeared to come from the Point at Matinecock, which was nearly half a mile distant; and yet the voice seemed to be scarcely fifty feet off. Nick dropped his oars and listened.

'B-o-a-t a-h-o-o-o-y!' again sounded across the water from the same direction, and yet apparently close at hand.

Nick looked about him in every direction, to ascertain if any other craft were in sight. The moon shone brilliantly, and its reflection rested like solid silver on the water: not a thing was to be seen. 'It's very strange,' thought he, 'but it can't cost much to answer.' So he put his hand to his mouth and gave the response: 'Hallo!'

'Come ashore; you're wanted!' was the rejoinder in the same singular tone.

Nick did not altogether relish the summons, but he was a good-natured fellow, so he turned his boat toward the land. As he approached it, he saw a figure seated on a rock at the water's edge. He supposed the hail might come from one of the neighbors who wanted a lift on his way home. But on nearer approach, he saw that the man on the rock was a stranger. By the light of the moon, he appeared to be a tall, gaunt man, black and grim, and dressed in a red shirt. A dark hat was slouched over his face, from beneath which two eyes glowed out like fire, and in his hand he held a club.

Nick eyed him for a moment, waiting for him to speak. But he sat without a word, and with his glowing eyes fixed on him in a way that made Nick's flesh creep. 'Do you want me?' at last inquired he.

'Not I,' replied the other in a gruff voice. 'You want me.'

'You? I never laid eyes on you before,' said Nick.

'I've been at your elbow for the last half-hour; ever since you were thinking of Kidd's money. I have charge of it.'

'Whew-w!' Nick drew a long, low whistle, and laid his finger with a sort of drunken gravity on his nose. 'Then you know what I was thinking of?'

The other nodded.

'You're not Kidd?'

The other shook his head.

'Nor Teunis Van Gelder?'

'No.'

'Then you must be ----' Nick paused, as he did not like to be disrespectful. 'You must be ----'

The other nodded. 'You've hit it.'

'The old Nick,' added Wanzer.

'Your namesake,' replied the stranger.

'And you have charge of Kidd's money?' inquired Nick.

The stranger nodded again.

'But can you tell me where it is?' asked Nick in an insinuating tone. 'It's of no use to any one now.'

The stranger looked about him, and then said in a cautious tone: I suppose I might, but it would be a breach of trust; I promised never to reveal it.'

'I think you observed that you are the Old Boy,' remarked Nick.

'The Old Boy, Old Nick, Old Harry, Old Scratch, among friends! My enemies are less courteous in their titles,' replied the other.

'Well,' said Nick, in a very insinuating tone, 'that being the case, a trifling breach of trust can't hurt _you_. You know that your character is none of the best; I don't mean to say that you deserve what is said of you,' added he in an apologetic tone, 'but people _will_ talk, and they sometimes make very free with you.'

'I know it,' replied the other. 'I'm used to it; I don't mind it.'

'Well,' said Nick, returning to the subject of the gold, 'if you could put me in the way of getting that money, I would do something for you d--d handsome.'

'I can't venture,' replied the other resolutely; 'I don't mind Kidd so much. He's bad enough, and has some desperate fellows leagued with him; but the worst of all is a hard-headed Dutchman, one Teunis Van Gelder. Since he came into our quarters, he and Kidd have struck up a kind of partnership: I've led a dog's life.'

'But they can't use the money,' urged Nick.

'Can any miser use his money?' inquired the other, 'yet no miser will part with it. They like to know it's there. I tell you, Sir,' said he, striking his club hard on the ground, and speaking with much emphasis, 'if they lost that money, they'd make my quarters too hot to hold me.'

'Well,' said Nick, 'I did not think that they could increase the temperature there; but if they did kick you out, would you mind it?'

'I was brought up there,' answered the other, 'and am somewhat used to the climate. I don't think I would feel at home any where else.'

Nick was unwilling to give up the chance of getting hold of the freebooter's treasure. 'Who is to tell them that you revealed it?' asked he; 'I would not.'

The stranger seemed impressed by this promise. 'Can I rely on you, Mr. Wanzer?'

Nick was vociferous in vindication of his trustworthiness.

'But there must be a consideration,' suggested the stranger. 'I never do any thing without it.'

'Just as you please,' said Nick, who was becoming reckless; 'I agree to any thing.'

'You know what my price is?'

'I've heard,' replied Nick. 'Give me the money, and make your own terms.'

'Enough,' answered the other.

'Jump in your boat, and pull for Sand's Point. I'll meet you there.'

Nick waited for no second bidding. He sprang into his boat, pushed off from the shore, and tugged away lustily at the oar. The exercise had the effect of taking off some of the fumes of the liquor which he had drank, and of bringing him to his senses. He began to think over his promise, and to wonder if he had not got himself into a scrape; but before he had settled the matter to his satisfaction, the boat grounded on the beach, and he found the stranger standing at his side, with a shovel in his hand. He beckoned to Nick, who followed him until they came to where a huge boulder, known as Kidd's Rock, juts out from the Point. Here he paused, threw the shovel to Nick, and told him to dig.

Nick was disposed to parley, but he felt the glowing eyes on him, and his heart failed him. He dug lustily, throwing out the sand in great shovelsfull. At last he struck something solid. He eagerly cleared away the dirt, and discovered a chest, secured with iron bands. He struck it with the shovel, and could hear the jingle of coin. All his scruples vanished at the sound.

'Now then, Nick, you remember your promise--about your soul,' said the stranger, jumping in the hole and planting himself firmly on the chest. 'There's the money.'

'Ay, ay,' said Nick recklessly; 'devil take the soul. I want the money.'

'Give me your hand,' said the other. 'It's no bargain until we have crossed hands.'

Nick had extended his hand, and already was that of the Great Adversary reached to grasp it, when a loud unearthly shout rang through the air.

Nick bounded from the hole at a single leap. The next instant, with a yell, two figures pounced upon the stranger in the pit. There were appalling screams and cries and all the struggle of fierce encounter. They seemed to breathe fire and smoke at each other: at one time the fight raged in the hole, then it seemed to be up the bank near Kidd's Rock, at another time in the air. In the moonlight Nick could see his friend hard beset, and he noticed that he suffered most from a grim old fellow in a cocked hat, with a slash across his nose. The other was square-built, with pistols in his belt, and a hanger at his side.

As Nick began to doubt how the battle would terminate, he quietly slipped into his boat, put off a short distance from the shore, and rested on his oars to watch the result.

In a few minutes he heard his name shouted from the beach. Nick was too wary to be entrapped by any feeling of sympathy. He kept a dead silence. The noise and uproar lasted for a short time longer, and then grew more and more distant, until it died away in the woods of Great Neck.

Nick now plied his oars vigorously, occasionally pausing to listen. At the same time he was not free from an apprehension that on looking round he might find his late visitor stationed in the bow of his boat. But he reached Matinecock in safety.

As he stepped ashore he was not a little dismayed at discovering the stranger seated on a rock, apparently as cool as if nothing had happened; but on closer examination Nick observed that his dress was very much dilapidated, and his face begrimed with smut and dirt.

'I hope you're not hurt,' said he, in a tone which was meant to be sympathizing. 'Those fellows were a little too much for you.'

'I told you how it would be,' said the other in a savage voice. 'They got wind of it somehow.'

'Who were they?'

'No matter. They are the most troublesome of all my boarders.'

'And the money?' inquired Nick.

'It's where you left it,' replied the other. 'You can get it if you like. You know our bargain: you're mine.'

'Not until I finger the cash,' replied Nick. 'And unless you are more lucky than you have been to-night, I don't think you'll put me in the way of doing it in a hurry.'

'Mr. Wanzer,' said the other, 'do you mean to break our bargain?'

'Where's the money?' demanded Nick in reply. 'If you mean that I should take it while those two pleasant gentlemen are mounting guard over it, you are much mistaken. I will see you to the ---- yourself first. And if you mean that I am to get it as I can, and be pestered by them while I live, and by you afterward, I won't do it. Do you think I did not recognize old Teunis Van Gelder: I've seen his picture too often. If he's too much for you, I'd like to know how I would come off in a scuffle with him; and if he and Kidd hunt in couples why damme I'll have nothing to do with it.'

Nick struck his feet resolutely on the side of his boat.

'You're resolved?' said the other sternly.

'I am,' said Nick.

'Then take the consequences.'

He raised his club, but at that moment the same loud unearthly yell which had startled him before broke through the air, and two figures sprang toward them: the one in a cocked hat gray and grim, the other armed to the teeth. Before the club could descend, the stranger bounded from the rock, and disappeared in the direction of Dosoris, the two following in full cry at his heels.

Nick hurried off, and made the best of his way to his cabin, where he was found in the morning in a sleep so sound that some thought it might have been the result of deep potations, but which Nick himself attributed entirely to the excitement of the scene which he had gone through at Sand's Point and Matinecock.

* * * * *

IN a note in the margin of the above manuscript my respected relative remarked, that Mr. Volkert Van Gelder, after full and mature investigation of the matter, had come to the conclusion that the adventure of Nick Wanzer was not a mere fabrication, but an actual occurrence.

He was forced to this conclusion by strong circumstantial evidence; for it was established beyond a doubt that Wanzer was at a husking-frolic on the very night alluded to, that he set out for home late, and somewhat involved in liquor; and also that he did own a boat which usually lay in a creek at Peacock's Point.

Nick Wanzer himself pointed out the rock on which the stranger sat when he first made overtures to him; and the situation of Kidd's Rock at Sand's Point is a matter of public notoriety. Under these circumstances, Mr. Van Gelder felt that to express farther doubt would be to cast an unjust imputation upon the character of a worthy and well-meaning citizen.

In commenting farther my respected relative observed, with his usual discrimination and acuteness, that it was a very nice point to decide. That there certainly was strong corroborative evidence of the truth of the story; and that although it was out of the usual course of things, yet that Matinecock was an unusual kind of place, and events might transpire there which would not happen elsewhere. Under these circumstances, and after fully weighing the evidence, he thought that Wanzer's statement was worthy of full credence from all persons of strong faith.

THE RAIN.

PATTER, patter comes the rain, Aslant against the window-pane: I can see the large drops fall-- Mystic globules, perfect all: See them speed their downward way, Fall, then weep themselves away. So, against my weary brain Thoughts come tapping like the rain: Radiant thoughts, from far-off spheres, Strike, then spend themselves in tears. O ye rain-drops clear and bright! O ye thoughts on wings of light! Will ye never, never tell Of the regions whence ye fell? Tell us whence ye come, and why When ye reach us then ye die? Are ye voiceless evermore, Only moaning, moaning ever, When your beauteous forms are driven 'Gainst the cold and glassy pane-- 'Gainst this hardened, earth-worn brain, In your fruitless, vain endeavor To convey to mortal ears The language of the far-off spheres?

SONNETS:

INSCRIBED TO MY FRIEND FANNY.

BY HENRY W. ROCKWELL.

PROEM.

EVEN as BEATRICE appeared to him Who passed through scenes of unimagined woe, Nor feared hell's gloomy sentry, nor the flow Of dismal Acheron; so I, through dim Uncertain paths like his--albeit my fame Pales 'neath his own, a taper to the sun-- Have here been led, and this my work begun, If ended, must be ended in thy name. No idle faith is this, by whose clear light, And the strong effort of Love's conquering will, From out life's mingling mass of good and ill I have ascended to the Infinite: Beholding thee whose beauty, cold and pale, Beams like the Cherubim within the veil.

SONNET I.

O THOU! who dwell'st in memory ever blest, (By whatsoever name in heaven thou'rt known, Thyself on earth, the last and loveliest one, An angel in my bosom art confessed:) If thou inspire my song as thou know'st best, And aid my fond endeavor now begun, No fabled muse need I for guidance own The fair inhabitant of my cold breast. Yet whether this my song may stand the test, Or challenge the full sure advance of time, I little know; but if the hidden force Of Love, and its strong faith, in which I rest, Assist my heart to build the tuneful rhyme, Thou only canst be named the primal source.

SONNET II.

ARS LONGA.

GIVE me from out the midnight of thy hair One tress to braid in this my votive song; For time though fleeting, art is nathless long; And I, though skill of workmanship not rare Be mine, in song would make for thee, most fair! A work of such device as shall prolong Thy name, exalted o'er Earth's meaner throng, And lovelier than they all in my compare. No silversmith of Ephesus am I, By such device to bring my craftsmen gain: Nor make I thee the idol of my heart; Though thou, like great 'DIANA,' whom they cry, Dost hold within my breast as chaste a reign, Nor ever shall thy gentle sway depart.

SONNET III.

A MINGLED sea of color here is rolled Across the billowy upland filmed with smoke, Whose groves of yellow beech and crimson oak Stand forth, a goodly prospect to behold; Nor with less glory do the mountains fold Their giant forms in Autumn's hazy cloak, While up their sides the distant wood has broke In long receding waves of ruddy gold. Could'st thou whose beauty doth my heart ensnare, Give to this lovely scene an added grace, I should not here perforce enjoy alone These blended hues, which Autumn, in despair At not out-vieing thy enchanting face, From his broad pallet o'er the woods has thrown.

SONNET IV.