His Only Wish Was To Secure The Old
Fisherman As A Pilot To The Spot, And This Was Readily Effected.
The
long time that had intervened since his nocturnal adventure had effaced
all Sam's awe of the place, and the promise of a trifling reward roused
him at once from his sleep and his sunshine.
The tide was adverse to making the expedition by water, and Wolfert was
too impatient to get to the land of promise, to wait for its turning;
they set off, therefore, by land. A walk of four or five miles brought
them to the edge of a wood, which at that time covered the greater part
of the eastern side of the island. It was just beyond the pleasant
region of Bloomen-dael. Here they struck into a long lane, straggling
among trees and bushes, very much overgrown with weeds and mullein
stalks as if but seldom used, and so completely overshadowed as to
enjoy but a kind of twilight. Wild vines entangled the trees and
flaunted in their faces; brambles and briars caught their clothes as
they passed; the garter-snake glided across their path; the spotted
toad hopped and waddled before them, and the restless cat-bird mewed at
them from every thicket. Had Wolfert Webber been deeply read in
romantic legend he might have fancied himself entering upon forbidden,
enchanted ground; or that these were some of the guardians set to keep
a watch upon buried treasure. As it was, the loneliness of the place,
and the wild stories connected with it, had their effect upon his mind.
On reaching the lower end of the lane they found themselves near the
shore of the Sound, in a kind of amphitheatre, surrounded by forest
tree. The area had once been a grass-plot, but was now shagged with
briars and rank weeds. At one end, and just on the river bank, was a
ruined building, little better than a heap of rubbish, with a stack of
chimneys rising like a solitary tower out of the centre. The current of
the Sound rushed along just below it, with wildly-grown trees drooping
their branches into its waves.
Wolfert had not a doubt that this was the haunted house of father
red-cap, and called to mind the story of Peechy Prauw. The evening was
approaching, and the light falling dubiously among these places, gave a
melancholy tone to the scene, well calculated to foster any lurking
feeling of awe or superstition. The night-hawk, wheeling about in the
highest regions of the air, emitted his peevish, boding cry. The
woodpecker gave a lonely tap now and then on some hollow tree, and the
firebird,[3] as he streamed by them with his deep-red plumage, seemed
like some genius flitting about this region of mystery.
[Footnote 3: Orchard Oreole.]
They now came to an enclosure that had once been a garden. It extended
along the foot of a rocky ridge, but was little better than a
wilderness of weeds, with here and there a matted rose-bush, or a peach
or plum tree grown wild and ragged, and covered with moss. At the lower
end of the garden they passed a kind of vault in the side of the bank,
facing the water. It had the look of a root-house. The door, though
decayed, was still strong, and appeared to have been recently patched
up. Wolfert pushed it open. It gave a harsh grating upon its hinges,
and striking against something like a box, a rattling sound ensued, and
a skull rolled on the floor. Wolfert drew back shuddering, but was
reassured on being informed by Sam that this was a family vault
belonging to one of the old Dutch families that owned this estate; an
assertion which was corroborated by the sight of coffins of various
sizes piled within. Sam had been familiar with all these scenes when a
boy, and now knew that he could not be far from the place of which they
were in quest.
They now made their way to the water's edge, scrambling along ledges of
rocks, and having often to hold by shrubs and grape-vines to avoid
slipping into the deep and hurried stream. At length they came to a
small cove, or rather indent of the shore. It was protected by steep
rocks and overshadowed by a thick copse of oaks and chestnuts, so as to
be sheltered and almost concealed. The beach sloped gradually within
the cove, but the current swept deep and black and rapid along its
jutting points. Sam paused; raised his remnant of a hat, and scratched
his grizzled poll for a moment, as he regarded this nook: then suddenly
clapping his hands, he stepped exultingly forward, and pointing to a
large iron ring, stapled firmly in the rock, just where a broad shelve
of stone furnished a commodious landing-place. It was the very spot
where the red-caps had landed. Years had changed the more perishable
features of the scene; but rock and iron yield slowly to the influence
of time. On looking more narrowly, Wolfert remarked three crosses cut
in the rock just above the ring, which had no doubt some mysterious
signification. Old Sam now readily recognized the overhanging rock
under which his skiff had been sheltered during the thunder-gust. To
follow up the course which the midnight gang had taken, however, was a
harder task. His mind had been so much taken up on that eventful
occasion by the persons of the drama, as to pay but little attention to
the scenes; and places looked different by night and day. After
wandering about for some time, however, they came to an opening among
the trees which Sam thought resembled the place. There was a ledge of
rock of moderate height like a wall on one side, which Sam thought
might be the very ridge from which he overlooked the diggers. Wolfert
examined it narrowly, and at length described three crosses similar to
those above the iron ring, cut deeply into the face of the rock, but
nearly obliterated by the moss that had grown on them.
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