They were not so much horror-struck as might have been
expected. Trustees were appointed to take charge of Tom's effects.
There was nothing, however, to administer upon. On searching his
coffers all his bonds and mortgages were found reduced to cinders. In
place of gold and silver, his iron chest was filled with chips and
shavings; two skeletons lay in his stable instead of his half-starved
horses, and the very next day his great house took fire and was burnt
to the ground.
Such was the end of Tom Walker and his ill-gotten wealth. Let all
griping money-brokers lay this story to heart. The truth of it is not
to be doubted. The very hole under the oak trees, from whence he dug
Kidd's money, is to be seen to this day; and the neighboring swamp and
old Indian fort is often haunted in stormy nights by a figure on
horseback, in a morning-gown and white cap, which is doubtless the
troubled spirit of the usurer. In fact, the story has resolved itself
into a proverb, and is the origin of that popular saying prevalent
throughout New-England, of "The Devil and Tom Walker."
Such, as nearly as I can recollect, was the tenor of the tale told by
the Cape Cod whaler.
