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diff --git a/1761-h/1761-h.htm b/1761-h/1761-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f3565f5 --- /dev/null +++ b/1761-h/1761-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1529 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of My Buried Treasure, by Richard Harding Davis</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +p.caption {font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of My Buried Treasure, by Richard Harding Davis</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: My Buried Treasure</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Richard Harding Davis</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May, 1999 [eBook #1761]<br /> +[Most recently updated: March 19, 2023]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Aaron Cannon and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY BURIED TREASURE ***</div> + +<h1>MY BURIED TREASURE</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Richard Harding Davis</h2> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p> +This is a true story of a search for buried treasure. The only part that is not +true is the name of the man with whom I searched for the treasure. Unless I +keep his name out of it he will not let me write the story, and, as it was his +expedition and as my share of the treasure is only what I can make by writing +the story, I must write as he dictates. I think the story should be told, +because our experience was unique, and might be of benefit to others. And, +besides, I need the money. +</p> + +<p> +There is, however, no agreement preventing me from describing him as I think he +is, or reporting, as accurately as I can, what he said and did as he said and +did it. +</p> + +<p> +For purposes of identification I shall call him Edgar Powell. The last name has +no significance; but the first name is not chosen at random. The leader of our +expedition, the head and brains of it, was and is the sort of man one would +address as Edgar. No one would think of calling him “Ed,” or “Eddie,” any more +than he would consider slapping him on the back. +</p> + +<p> +We were together at college; but, as six hundred other boys were there at the +same time, that gives no clew to his identity. Since those days, until he came +to see me about the treasure, we had not met. All I knew of him was that he had +succeeded his father in manufacturing unshrinkable flannels. Of course, the +reader understands that is not the article of commerce he manufactures; but it +is near enough, and it suggests the line of business to which he gives his +life’s blood. It is not similar to my own line of work, and in consequence, +when he wrote me, on the unshrinkable flannels official writing-paper, that he +wished to see me in reference to a matter of business of “mutual benefit,” I +was considerably puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +A few days later, at nine in the morning, an hour of his own choosing, he came +to my rooms in New York City. +</p> + +<p> +Except that he had grown a beard, he was as I remembered him, thin and tall, +but with no chest, and stooping shoulders. He wore eye-glasses, and as of old +through these he regarded you disapprovingly and warily as though he suspected +you might try to borrow money, or even joke with him. As with Edgar I had never +felt any temptation to do either, this was irritating. +</p> + +<p> +But from force of former habit we greeted each other by our first names, and he +suspiciously accepted a cigar. Then, after fixing me both with his eyes and +with his eye-glasses and swearing me to secrecy, he began abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“Our mills,” he said, “are in New Bedford; and I own several small cottages +there and in Fairhaven. I rent them out at a moderate rate. The other day one +of my tenants, a Portuguese sailor, was taken suddenly ill and sent for me. He +had made many voyages in and out of Bedford to the South Seas, whaling, and he +told me on his last voyage he had touched at his former home at Teneriffe. +There his grandfather had given him a document that had been left him by +<i>his</i> father. His grandfather said it contained an important secret, but +one that was of value only in America, and that when he returned to that +continent he must be very careful to whom he showed it. He told me it was +written in a kind of English he could not understand, and that he had been +afraid to let any one see it. He wanted me to accept the document in payment of +the rent he owed me, with the understanding that I was not to look at it, and +that if he got well I was to give it back. If he pulled through, he was to pay +me in some other way; but if he died I was to keep the document. About a month +ago he died, and I examined the paper. It purports to tell where there is +buried a pirate’s treasure. And,” added Edgar, gazing at me severely and as +though he challenged me to contradict him, “I intend to dig for it!” +</p> + +<p> +Had he told me he contemplated crossing the Rocky Mountains in a Baby Wright, +or leading a cotillon, I could not have been more astonished. I am afraid I +laughed aloud. +</p> + +<p> +“You!” I exclaimed. “Search for buried treasure?” +</p> + +<p> +My tone visibly annoyed him. Even the eye-glasses radiated disapproval. +</p> + +<p> +“I see nothing amusing in the idea,” Edgar protested coldly. “It is a plain +business proposition. I find the outlay will be small, and if I am successful +the returns should be large; at a rough estimate about one million dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +Even to-day, no true American, at the thought of one million dollars, can +remain covered. His letter to me had said, “for our mutual benefit.” I became +respectful and polite, I might even say abject. After all, the ties that bind +us in those dear old college days are not lightly to be disregarded. +</p> + +<p> +“If I can be of any service to you, Edgar, old man,” I assured him heartily, +“if I can help you find it, you know I shall be only too happy.” With regret I +observed that my generous offer did not seem to deeply move him. +</p> + +<p> +“I came to you in this matter,” he continued stiffly, “because you seemed to be +the sort of person who would be interested in a search for buried treasure.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” I exclaimed. “Always have been.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you,” he demanded searchingly, “any practical experience?” +</p> + +<p> +I tried to appear at ease; but I knew then just how the man who applies to look +after your furnace feels, when you ask him if he can also run a sixty +horse-power dynamo. +</p> + +<p> +“I have never actually <i>found</i> any buried treasure,” I admitted; “but I +know where lots of it is, and I know just how to go after it.” I endeavored to +dazzle him with expert knowledge. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” I went on airily, “I am familiar with all the expeditions that +have tried for the one on Cocos Island, and I know all about the Peruvian +treasure on Trinidad, and the lost treasures of Jalisco near Guadalajara, and +the sunken galleon on the Grand Cayman, and when I was on the Isle of Pines I +had several very tempting offers to search there. And the late Captain Boynton +invited me——” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” interrupted Edgar in a tone that would tolerate no trifling, “you +yourself have never financed or organized an expedition with the object in view +of——” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that part’s easy!” I assured him. “The fitting-out part you can safely +leave to me.” I assumed a confidence that I hoped he might believe was real. +“There’s always a tramp steamer in the Erie Basin,” I said, “that one can +charter for any kind of adventure, and I have the addresses of enough soldiers +of fortune, filibusters, and professional revolutionists to man a battle-ship, +all fine fellows in a tight corner. And I’ll promise you they’ll follow us to +hell, and back——” +</p> + +<p> +“That!” exclaimed Edgar, “is exactly what I feared!” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon!” I exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s exactly what I <i>don’t</i> want,” said Edgar sternly. “I don’t +<i>intend</i> to get into any tight corners. I don’t <i>want</i> to go to +hell!” +</p> + +<p> +I saw that in my enthusiasm I had perhaps alarmed him. I continued more +temperately. +</p> + +<p> +“Any expedition after treasure,” I pointed out, “is never without risk. You +must have discipline, and you must have picked men. Suppose there’s a mutiny? +Suppose they try to rob us of the treasure on our way home? We must have men we +can rely on, and men who know how to pump a Winchester. I can get you both. And +Bannerman will furnish me with anything from a pair of leggins to a quick +firing gun, and on Clark Street they’ll quote me a special rate on ship stores, +hydraulic pumps, divers’ helmets——” +</p> + +<p> +Edgar’s eye-glasses became frosted with cold, condemnatory scorn. He shook his +head disgustedly. +</p> + +<p> +“I was afraid of this!” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +I endeavored to reassure him. +</p> + +<p> +“A little danger,” I laughed, “only adds to the fun.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to understand,” exclaimed Edgar indignantly, “there isn’t going to +be any danger. There isn’t going to be any fun. This is a plain business +proposition. I asked you those questions just to test you. And you approached +the matter exactly as I feared you would. I was prepared for it. In fact,” he +explained shamefacedly, “I’ve read several of your little stories, and I find +they run to adventure and blood and thunder; they are not of the analytical +school of fiction. Judging from them,” he added accusingly, “you have a +tendency to the romantic.” He spoke reluctantly as though saying I had a +tendency to epileptic fits or the morphine habit. +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid,” I was forced to admit, “that to me pirates and buried treasure +always suggest adventure. And your criticism of my writings is well observed. +Others have discovered the same fatal weakness. We cannot all,” I pointed out, +“manufacture unshrinkable flannels.” +</p> + +<p> +At this compliment to his more fortunate condition, Edgar seemed to soften. +</p> + +<p> +“I grant you,” he said, “that the subject has almost invariably been approached +from the point of view you take. And what,” he demanded triumphantly, “has been +the result? Failure, or at least, before success was attained, a most +unnecessary and regrettable loss of blood and life. Now, on my expedition, I do +not intend that any blood shall be shed, or that anybody shall lose his life. I +have not entered into this matter hastily. I have taken out information, and +mean to benefit by other people’s mistakes. When I decided to go on with this,” +he explained, “I read all the books that bear on searches for buried treasure, +and I found that in each case the same mistakes were made, and that then, in +order to remedy the mistakes, it was invariably necessary to kill somebody. +Now, by not making those mistakes, it will not be necessary for me to kill any +one, and nobody is going to have a chance to kill me. +</p> + +<p> +“You propose that we fit out a schooner and sign on a crew. What will happen? A +man with a sabre cut across his forehead, or with a black patch over one eye, +will inevitably be one of that crew. And, as soon as we sail, he will at once +begin to plot against us. A cabin boy who the conspirators think is asleep in +his bunk will overhear their plot and will run to the quarter-deck to give +warning; but a pistol shot rings out, and the cabin boy falls at the foot of +the companion ladder. The cabin boy is always the first one to go. After that +the mutineers kill the first mate, and lock us in our cabin, and take over the +ship. They will then broach a cask of rum, and all through the night we will +listen to their drunken howlings, and from the cabin airport watch the body of +the first mate rolling in the lee scuppers.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you forget,” I protested eagerly, “there is always <i>one</i> faithful +member of the crew, who——” +</p> + +<p> +Edgar interrupted me impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“I have not overlooked him,” he said. “He is a Jamaica negro of gigantic +proportions, or the ship’s cook; but he always gets his too, and he gets it +good. They throw <i>him</i> to the sharks! Then we all camp out on a desert +island inhabited only by goats, and we build a stockade, and the mutineers come +to treat with us under a white flag, and we, trusting entirely to their honor, +are fools enough to go out and talk with them. At which they shoot us up, and +withdraw laughing scornfully.” Edgar fixed his eye-glasses upon me accusingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I right, or am I wrong?” he demanded. I was unable to answer. +</p> + +<p> +“The only man,” continued Edgar warmly, “who ever showed the slightest +intelligence in the matter was the fellow in the ‘Gold Bug’. <i>He</i> kept his +mouth shut. He never let any one know that he was after buried treasure, until +he found it. That’s me! Now I know <i>exactly</i> where this treasure is, +and——” +</p> + +<p> +I suppose, involuntarily, I must have given a start of interest; for Edgar +paused and shook his head, slyly and cunningly. “And if you think I have the +map on my person now,” he declared in triumph, “you’ll have to guess again!” +</p> + +<p> +“Really,” I protested, “I had no intention——” +</p> + +<p> +“Not you, perhaps,” said Edgar grudgingly; “but your Japanese valet conceals +himself behind those curtains, follows me home, and at night——” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got a valet,” I objected. +</p> + +<p> +Edgar merely smiled with the most aggravating self-sufficiency. “It makes no +difference,” he declared. “<i>No one</i> will ever find that map, or see that +map, or know where that treasure is, until <i>I</i> point to the spot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your caution is admirable,” I said; “but what,” I jeered, “makes you think you +can point to the spot, because your map says something like, ‘Through the +Sunken Valley to Witch’s Caldron, four points N. by N. E. to Gallows Hill where +the shadow falls at sunrise, fifty fathoms west, fifty paces north as the crow +flies, to the Seven Wells’? How the deuce,” I demanded, “is any one going to +point to <i>that</i> spot?” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t that kind of map,” shouted Edgar triumphantly. “If it had been, I +wouldn’t have gone on with it. It’s a map anybody can read except a half-caste +Portuguese sailor. It’s as plain as a laundry bill. It says,” he paused +apprehensively, and then continued with caution, “it says at such and such a +place there is a something. So many somethings from that something are three +what-you-may-call-’ems, and in the centre of these three what-you-may-call-’ems +is buried the treasure. It’s as plain as that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Even with the few details you have let escape you,” I said, “I could find +<i>that</i> spot in my sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think you could,” said Edgar uncomfortably; but I could see that he +had mentally warned himself to be less communicative. “And,” he went on, “I am +willing to lead you to it, if you subscribe to certain conditions.” +</p> + +<p> +Edgar’s insulting caution had ruffled my spirit. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you think you can trust <small>ME</small>?” I asked haughtily. And +then, remembering my share of the million dollars, I added in haste, “I accept +the conditions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, as you say, one has got to take <i>some</i> risk,” Edgar continued; +“but I feel sure,” he said, regarding me doubtfully, “you would not stoop to +open robbery.” I thanked him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, until one is tempted,” said Edgar, “one never knows <i>what</i> he might +do. And I’ve simply <i>got</i> to have one other man, and I picked on you +because I thought you could write about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” I said, “I am to act as the historian of the expedition.” +</p> + +<p> +“That will be arranged later,” said Edgar. “What I chiefly want you for is to +dig. <i>Can</i> you dig?” he asked eagerly. I told him I could; but that I +would rather do almost anything else. +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>must</i> have one other man,” repeated Edgar, “a man who is strong enough +to dig, and strong enough to resist the temptation to murder me.” The retort +was so easy that I let it pass. Besides, on Edgar, it would have been wasted. +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>think</i> you will do,” he said with reluctance. “And now the +conditions!” +</p> + +<p> +I smiled agreeably. +</p> + +<p> +“You are already sworn to secrecy,” said Edgar. “And you now agree in every +detail to obey me implicitly, and to accompany me to a certain place, where you +will dig. If I find the treasure, you agree, to help me guard it, and convey it +to wherever I decide it is safe to leave it. Your responsibility is then at an +end. One year after the treasure is discovered, you will be free to write the +account of the expedition. For what you write, some magazine may pay you. What +it pays you will be your share of the treasure.” +</p> + +<p> +Of my part of the million dollars, which I had hastily calculated could not be +less than one-fifth, I had already spent over one hundred thousand dollars and +was living far beyond my means. I had bought a farm with a waterfront on the +Sound, a motor-boat, and, as I was not sure which make I preferred, three +automobiles. I had at my own, expense produced a play of mine that no manager +had appreciated, and its name in electric lights was already blinding Broadway. +I had purchased a Hollander express rifle, a <i>real</i> amber cigar holder, a +private secretary who could play both rag-time and tennis, and a fur coat. So +Edgar’s generous offer left me naked. When I had again accustomed myself to the +narrow confines of my flat, and the jolt of the surface cars, I asked humbly: +</p> + +<p> +“Is that <i>all</i> I get?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should you expect any more?” demanded Edgar. “It isn’t <i>your</i> +treasure. You wouldn’t expect me to make you a present of an interest in my +mills; why should you get a share of my treasure?” He gazed at me +reproachfully. “I thought you’d be pleased,” he said. “It must be hard to think +of things to write about, and I’m giving you a subject for nothing. I thought,” +he remonstrated, “you’d jump at the chance. It isn’t every day a man can dig +for buried treasure.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right,” I said. “Perhaps I appreciate that quite as well as you do. +But my time has a certain small value, and I can’t leave my work just for +excitement. We may be weeks, months—— How long do you think we——” +</p> + +<p> +Behind his eye-glasses Edgar winked reprovingly. +</p> + +<p> +“That is a leading question,” he said. “I will pay all your legitimate +expenses—transportation, food, lodging. It won’t cost you a cent. And you write +the story—with my name left out,” he added hastily; “it would hurt my standing +in the trade,” he explained—“and get paid for it.” +</p> + +<p> +I saw a sea voyage at Edgar’s expense. I saw palm leaves, coral reefs. I felt +my muscles aching and the sweat run from my neck and shoulders as I drove my +pick into the chest of gold. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go with you!” I said. We shook hands on it. “When do we start?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Now!” said Edgar. I thought he wished to test me; he had touched upon one of +my pet vanities. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t do that with me!” I said. “My bags are packed and ready for any +place in the wide world, except the cold places. I can start this minute. Where +is it, the Gold Coast, the Ivory Coast, the Spanish Main——” +</p> + +<p> +Edgar frowned inscrutably. “Have you an empty suit-case?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Why <small>EMPTY</small>?” I demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“To carry the treasure,” said Edgar. “I left mine in the hall. We will need +two.” +</p> + +<p> +“And your trunks?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“There aren’t going to be any trunks,” said Edgar. From his pocket he had taken +a folder of the New Jersey Central Railroad. “If we hurry,” he exclaimed, “we +can catch the ten-thirty express, and return to New York in time for dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what about the treasure?” I roared. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll’ bring it with us,” said Edgar. +</p> + +<p> +I asked for information. I demanded confidences. Edgar refused both. I insisted +that I might be allowed at least to carry my automatic pistol. “Suppose some +one tries to take the treasure from us?” I pointed out. +</p> + +<p> +“No one,” said Edgar severely, “would be such an ass as to imagine we are +carrying buried treasure in a suit-case. He will think it contains pajamas.” +</p> + +<p> +“For local color, then,” I begged, “I want to say in my story that I went +heavily armed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say it, then,” snapped Edgar. “But you can’t <i>do</i> it! Not with me, you +can’t! How do I know you mightn’t——” He shook his head warily. +</p> + +<p> +It was a day in early October, the haze of Indian summer was in the air, and as +we crossed the North River by the Twenty-third Street Ferry the sun flashed +upon the white clouds overhead and the tumbling waters below. On each side of +us great vessels with the Blue Peter at the fore lay at the wharfs ready to +cast off, or were already nosing their way down the channel toward strange and +beautiful ports. Lamport and Holt were rolling down to Rio; the Royal Mail’s +<i>Magdalena</i>, no longer “white and gold,” was off to Kingston, where once +seven pirates swung in chains; the <i>Clyde</i> was on her way to Hayti where +the buccaneers came from; the <i>Morro Castle</i> was bound for Havana, which +Morgan, king of all the pirates, had once made his own; and the <i>Red D</i> +was steaming to Porto Cabello where Sir Francis Drake, as big a buccaneer as +any of them, lies entombed in her harbor. And <i>I</i> was setting forth on a +buried-treasure expedition on a snub-nosed, flat-bellied, fresh-water +ferry-boat, bound for Jersey City! No one will ever know my sense of +humiliation. And, when the Italian boy insulted my immaculate tan shoes by +pointing at them and saying, “Shine?” I could have slain him. Fancy digging for +buried treasure in freshly varnished boots! But Edgar did not mind. To him +there was nothing lacking; it was just as it should be. He was deeply engrossed +in calculating how many offices were for rent in the Singer Building! +</p> + +<p> +When we reached the other side, he refused to answer any of my eager questions. +He would not let me know even for what place on the line he had purchased our +tickets, and, as a hint that I should not disturb him, he stuffed into my hands +the latest magazines. “At least tell me this,” I demanded. “Have you ever been +to this place before to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +“Once,” said Edgar shortly, “last week. That’s when I found out I would need +some one with me who could dig.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know it’s the <i>right</i> place?” I whispered. +</p> + +<p> +The summer season was over, and of the chair car we were the only occupants; +but, before he answered, Edgar looked cautiously round him and out of the +window. We had just passed Red Bank. +</p> + +<p> +“Because the map told me,” he answered. “Suppose,” he continued fretfully, “you +had a map of New York City with the streets marked on it plainly? Suppose the +map said that if you walked to where Broadway and Fifth Avenue meet, you would +find the Flatiron Building. Do you think you could find it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Was it as easy as <i>that?</i>” I gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“It was as easy as <i>that!</i>” said Edgar. +</p> + +<p> +I sank back into my chair and let the magazines slide to the floor. What +fiction story was there in any one of them so enthralling as the actual +possibilities that lay before me? In two hours I might be bending over a pot of +gold, a sea chest stuffed with pearls and rubies! +</p> + +<p> +I began to recall all the stories I had heard as a boy of treasure buried along +the coast by Kidd on his return voyage from the Indies. Where along the Jersey +sea-line were there safe harbors? The train on which we were racing south had +its rail head at Barnegat Bay. And between Barnegat and Red Bank there now was +but one other inlet, that of the Manasquan River. It might be Barnegat; it +might be Manasquan. It could not be a great distance from either; + +for sailors would not have carried their burden far from the ship. I glanced +appealingly at Edgar. He was smiling happily over “Pickings from Puck.” We +passed Asbury Park and Ocean Grove, halted at Sea Girt, and again at Manasquan; +but Egdar did not move. The next station was Point Pleasant, and as the train +drew to a stop, Edgar rose calmly and grasped his suit-case. +</p> + +<p> +“We get out here,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Drawn up at the station were three open-work hacks with fringe around the top. +From each a small boy waved at us with his whip. +</p> + +<p> +“Curtis House? The Gladstone? The Cottage in the Pines?” they chanted +invitingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Take me to a hardware store,” said Edgar, “where one can buy a spade.” When we +stopped I made a move to get down; but Edgar stopped me. +</p> + +<p> +I protested indignantly, “I haven’t <i>much</i> to say about this expedition;” +I exclaimed, “but, as <i>I</i> have to do the digging, I intend to choose my +own spade.” +</p> + +<p> +Edgar’s eye-glasses flashed defiance. “You have given your word to obey me,” he +said sternly. “If you do not intend to obey me, you can return in ten minutes +by the next train.” +</p> + +<p> +I sank into my seat. In a moment the mutiny had been crushed. Not even a cabin +boy had fallen! Edgar returned with a spade, an axe, and a pick. He placed them +in the seat beside the boy driver. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your name, boy?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Rupert,” said the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“Rupert,” continued Edgar, “drive us to the beach. When you get to the bathing +pavilions keep on along the shore toward Manasquan Inlet.” He touched the spade +with his hand. “I have bought a building lot on the beach,” he explained, “and +am going to dig a hole, and plant a flagpole.” +</p> + +<p> +I was choked with indignation. As a writer of fiction my self-respect was +insulted. +</p> + +<p> +“If there are any more lies to be told,” I whispered, “please let <i>me</i> +tell them. Your invention is crude, ridiculous! Why,” I demanded, “should +anybody want to plant a flagpole on a wind-swept beach in October? It’s not the +season for flagpoles. Besides,” I jeered, “where is your flagpole? Is it +concealed in the suit-case?” +</p> + +<p> +Edgar frowned uneasily, and touched the boy on the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“The flagpole itself,” he explained, “is coming down to-morrow by express.” +</p> + +<p> +The boy yawned, and slapped the flanks of his horse with the reins. “Gat up!” +he said. +</p> + +<p> +We crossed the railroad tracks and moved toward the ocean down a broad, sandy +road. The season had passed and the windows of the cottages and bungalows on +either side of the road were barricaded with planks. On the verandas hammocks +abandoned to the winds hung in tatters, on the back porches the doors of empty +refrigerators swung open on one hinge, and on every side above the fields of +gorgeous golden-rod rose signs reading “For Rent.” When we had progressed in +silence for a mile, the sandy avenue lost itself in the deeper sand of the +beach, and the horse of his own will came to a halt. On one side we were +surrounded by locked and deserted bathing houses, on the other by empty +pavilions shuttered and barred against the winter, but still inviting one to +“Try our salt water taffy” or to “<i>Keep cool</i> with an ice-cream soda.” +Rupert turned and looked inquiringly at Edgar. To the north the beach stretched +in an unbroken line to Manasquan Inlet. To the south three miles away we could +see floating on the horizon-like a mirage the hotels and summer cottages of Bay +Head. +</p> + +<p> +“Drive toward the inlet,” directed Edgar. “This gentleman and I will walk.” +</p> + +<p> +Relieved of our weight, the horse stumbled bravely into the trackless sand, +while below on the damper and firmer shingle we walked by the edge of the +water. +</p> + +<p> +The tide was coming in and the spent waves, spreading before them an advance +guard of tiny shells and pebbles, threatened our boots’ and at the same time in +soothing, lazy whispers warned us of their attack. These lisping murmurs and +the crash and roar of each incoming wave as it broke were the only sounds. And +on the beach we were the only human figures. At last the scene began to bear +some resemblance to one set for an adventure. The rolling ocean, a coast +steamer dragging a great column of black smoke, and cast high upon the beach +the wreck of a schooner, her masts tilting drunkenly, gave color to our +purpose. It became filled with greater promise of drama, more picturesque. I +began to thrill with excitement. I regarded Edgar appealingly, in eager +supplication. At last he broke the silence that was torturing me. +</p> + +<p> +“We will now walk higher up,” he commanded. “If we get our feet wet, we may +take cold.” +</p> + +<p> +My spirit was too far broken to make reply. But to my relief I saw that in +leaving the beach Edgar had some second purpose. With each heavy step he was +drawing toward two high banks of sand in a hollow behind which, protected by +the banks, were three stunted, wind-driven pines. His words came back to me. +</p> + +<p> +“So many what-you-may-call-’ems.” Were these pines the three somethings from +something, the what-you-may-call-’ems? The thought chilled me to the spine. I +gazed at them fascinated. I felt like falling on my knees in the sand and +tearing their secret from them with my bare hands. I was strong enough to dig +them up by the roots, strong enough to dig the Panama Canal! I glanced +tremulously at Edgar. His eyes were wide open and, eloquent with dismay, his +lower jaw had fallen. He turned and looked at me for the first time with +consideration. Apology and remorse were written in every line of his +countenance. +</p> + +<p> +I’m sorry, he stammered. I had a cruel premonition. I exclaimed with distress. +</p> + +<p> +“You have lost the map!” I hissed. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” protested Edgar; “but I entirely forgot to bring any lunch!” +</p> + +<p> +With violent mutterings I tore off my upper and outer garments and tossed them +into the hack. +</p> + +<p> +“Where do I begin?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +Edgar pointed to a spot inside the triangle formed by the three trees and +equally distant from each. +</p> + +<p> +“Put that horse behind the bank,” I commanded, “where no one can see him! And +both you and Rupert keep off the sky-line!” From the north and south we were +now all three hidden by the two high banks of sand; to the east lay the beach +and the Atlantic Ocean, and to the west stretches of marshes that a mile away +met a wood of pine trees and the railroad round-house. +</p> + +<p> +I began to dig. I knew that weary hours lay before me, and I attacked the sand +leisurely and with deliberation. It was at first no great effort; but as the +hole grew in depth, and the roots of the trees were exposed, the work was +sufficient for several men. Still, as Edgar had said, it is not every day that +one can dig for treasure, and in thinking of what was to come I forgot my hands +that quickly blistered, and my breaking back. After an hour I insisted that +Edgar should take a turn; but he made such poor headway that my patience could +not contain me, and I told him I was sufficiently rested and would continue. +With alacrity he scrambled out of the hole, and, taking a cigar from my case, +seated himself comfortably in the hack. I took my comfort in anticipating the +thrill that would be mine when the spade would ring on the ironbound chest; +when, with a blow of the axe, I would expose to view the hidden jewels, the +pieces of eight, coated with verdigris, the string of pearls, the chains of +yellow gold. Edgar had said a million dollars. That must mean there would be +diamonds, many diamonds. I would hold them in my hands, watch them, at the +sudden sunshine, blink their eyes and burst into tiny, burning fires. In +imagination I would replace them in the setting, from which, years before, they +had been stolen. I would try to guess whence they came from a jewelled chalice +in some dim cathedral, from the breast of a great lady, from the hilt of an +admiral’s sword. +</p> + +<p> +After another hour I lifted my aching shoulders and, wiping the sweat from my +eyes, looked over the edge of the hole. Rupert, with his back to the sand-hill, +was asleep. Edgar with one hand was waving away the mosquitoes and in the other +was holding one of the magazines he had bought on the way down. I could even +see the page upon which his eyes were riveted. It was an advertisement for +breakfast food. In my indignation the spade slipped through my cramped and +perspiring fingers, and as it struck the bottom of the pit, something—a band of +iron, a steel lock, an iron ring—gave forth a muffled sound. My heart stopped +beating as suddenly as though Mr. Corbett had hit it with his closed fist. My +blood turned to melted ice. I drove the spade down as fiercely as though it was +a dagger. It sank into rotten wood. I had made no sound; for I could hardly +breathe. But the slight noise of the blow had reached Edgar. I heard the +springs of the hack creak as he vaulted from it, and the next moment he was +towering above me, peering down into the pit. His eyes were wide with +excitement, greed, and fear. In his hands he clutched the two suit-cases. Like +a lion defending his cubs he glared at me. +</p> + +<p> +“Get out!” he shouted. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img src="images/img01.jpg" width="600" height="385" alt="[Illustration]" /> +<p class="caption">In his hands he clutched the two suit-cases. . . . “Get out!” +he shouted.</p> +</div> + +<p> +“Like hell!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Get out!” he roared. “I’ll do the rest. That’s mine, not yours! <i>Get +out!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +With a swift kick I brushed away the sand. I found I was standing on a squat +wooden box, bound with bands of rusty iron. I had only to stoop to touch it. It +was so rotten that I could have torn it apart with my bare hands. Edgar was +dancing on the edge of the pit, incidentally kicking sand into my mouth and +nostrils. +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>promised</i> me!” he roared. “You <i>promised</i> to obey me!” +</p> + +<p> +“You ass!” I shouted. “Haven’t I done all the work? Don’t I get——” +</p> + +<p> +“You get out!” roared Edgar. +</p> + +<p> +Slowly, disgustedly, with what dignity one can display in crawling out of a +sand-pit, I scrambled to the top. +</p> + +<p> +“Go over there,” commanded Edgar pointing, “and sit down.” +</p> + +<p> +In furious silence I seated myself beside Rupert. He was still slumbering and +snoring happily. From where I sat I could see nothing of what was going forward +in the pit, save once, when the head of Edgar, his eyes aflame and his hair and +eye-glasses sprinkled with sand, appeared above it. Apparently he was fearful +lest I had moved from the spot where he had placed me. I had not; but had he +known my inmost feelings he would have taken the axe into the pit with him. +</p> + +<p> +I must have sat so for half an hour. In the sky above me a fish-hawk drifted +lazily. From the beach sounded the steady beat of the waves, and from the town +across the marshes came the puffing of a locomotive and the clanging bells of +the freight trains. The breeze from the sea cooled the sweat on my aching body; +but it could not cool the rage in my heart. If I had the courage of my +feelings, I would have cracked Edgar over head with the spade, buried him in +the pit, bribed Rupert, and forever after lived happily on my ill-gotten gains. +That was how Kidd, or Morgan, or Blackbeard would have acted. I cursed the +effete civilization which had taught me to want many pleasures but had left me +with a conscience that would not let me take human life to obtain them, not +even Edgar’s life. +</p> + +<p> +In half an hour a suit-case was lifted into view and dropped on the edge of the +pit. It was followed by the other, and then by Edgar. Without asking me to help +him, because he probably knew I would not, he shovelled the sand into the hole, +and then placed the suitcases in the carriage. With increasing anger I observed +that the contents of each were so heavy that to lift it he used both hands. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no use your asking any questions,” he announced, “because I won’t +answer them.” +</p> + +<p> +I gave him minute directions as to where he could go; but instead we drove in +black silence to the station. There Edgar rewarded Rupert with a dime, and +while we waited for the train to New York placed the two suit-cases against the +wall of the ticket office and sat upon them. When the train arrived he warned +me in a hoarse whisper that I had promised to help him guard the treasure, and +gave me one of the suit-cases. It weighed a ton. Just to spite Edgar, I had a +plan to kick it open, so that every one on the platform might scramble for the +contents. But again my infernal New England conscience restrained me. +</p> + +<p> +Edgar had secured the drawing-room in the parlor-car, and when we were safely +inside and the door bolted my curiosity became stronger than my pride. +</p> + +<p> +“Edgar,” I said, “your ingratitude is contemptible. Your suspicions are +ridiculous; but, under these most unusual conditions, I don’t blame you. But we +are quite safe now. The door is fastened,” I pointed out ingratiatingly, “it +and this train doesn’t stop for another forty minutes. I think this would be an +excellent time to look at the treasure.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t!” said Edgar. +</p> + +<p> +I sank back into my chair. With intense enjoyment I imagined the train in which +we were seated hurling itself into another train; and everybody, including +Edgar, or, rather, especially Edgar, being instantly but painlessly killed. By +such an act of an all-wise Providence I would at once become heir to one +million dollars. It was a beautiful, satisfying dream. Even MY conscience +accepted it with a smug smile. It was so vivid a dream that I sat guiltily +expectant, waiting for the crash to come, for the shrieks and screams, for the +rush of escaping steam and breaking window-panes. +</p> + +<p> +But it was far too good to be true. Without a jar the train carried us and its +precious burden in safety to the Jersey City terminal. And each, with half a +million dollars in his hand, hurried to the ferry, assailed by porters, +news-boys, hackmen. To them we were a couple of commuters saving a dime by +carrying our own hand-bags. +</p> + +<p> +It was now six o’clock, and I pointed out to Edgar that at that hour the only +vaults open were those of the Night and Day Bank. And to that institution in a +taxicab we at once made our way. I paid the chauffeur, and two minutes later, +with a gasp of relief and rejoicing, I dropped the suit-case I had carried on a +table in the steel-walled fastnesses of the vaults. Gathered excitedly around +us were the officials of the bank, summoned hastily from above, and watchmen in +plain clothes, and watchmen in uniforms of gray. Great bars as thick as my leg +protected us. Walls of chilled steel rising from solid rock stood between our +treasure and the outer world. Until then I had not known how tremendous the +nervous strain had been; but now it came home to me. I mopped the perspiration +from my forehead, I drew a deep breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Edgar,” I exclaimed happily, “I congratulate you!” I found Edgar extending +toward me a two-dollar bill. “You gave the chauffeur two dollars,”’ he said. +“The fare was really one dollar eighty; so you owe me twenty cents.” +</p> + +<p> +Mechanically I laid two dimes upon the table. +</p> + +<p> +“All the other expenses,” continued Edgar, “which I agreed to pay, I have +paid.” He made a peremptory gesture. “I won’t detain you any longer,” he said. +“Good-night!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night!” I cried. “Don’t I see the treasure?” Against the walls of chilled +steel my voice rose like that of a tortured soul. “Don’t I touch it!” I yelled. +“Don’t I even get a squint?” +</p> + +<p> +Even the watchmen looked sorry for me. +</p> + +<p> +“You do not!” said Edgar calmly. “You have fulfilled your part of the +agreement. I have fulfilled mine. A year from now you can write the story.” As +I moved in a dazed state toward the steel door, his voice halted me. +</p> + +<p> +“And you can say in your story,” called Edgar, “that there is only one way to +get a buried treasure. That is to go, and get it!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY BURIED TREASURE ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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