At night a
picked crew of daring fellows set off for her in a whale boat. They
approached with muffled oars, as she lay rocking idly with the
undulations of the sea and her sails flapping against the masts. They
were close under her stern before the guard on deck was aware of their
approach. The alarm was given; the pirates threw hand grenades on deck
and sprang up the main chains sword in hand.
The crew flew to arms, but in great confusion some were shot down,
others took refuge in the tops; others were driven overboard and
drowned, while others fought hand to hand from the main deck to the
quarter deck, disputing gallantly every inch of ground. There were
three Spanish gentlemen on board with their ladies, who made the most
desperate resistance; they defended the companion-way, cut down several
of their assailants, and fought like very devils, for they were
maddened by the shrieks of the ladies from the cabin. One of the Dons
was old and soon despatched. The other two kept their ground
vigorously, even though the captain of the pirates was among their
assailants. Just then there was a shout of victory from the main deck.
"The ship is ours!" cried the pirates.
One of the Dons immediately dropped his sword and surrendered; the
other, who was a hot-headed youngster, and just married, gave the
captain a slash in the face that laid all open. The captain just made
out to articulate the words "no quarter."
"And what did they do with their prisoners?" said Peechy Prauw,
eagerly.
"Threw them all overboard!" said the merman.
A dead pause followed this reply. Peechy Prauw shrunk quietly back like
a man who had unwarily stolen upon the lair of a sleeping lion. The
honest burghers cast fearful glances at the deep scar slashed across
the visage of the stranger, and moved their chairs a little farther
off. The seaman, however, smoked on without moving a muscle, as though
he either did not perceive or did not regard the unfavorable effect he
had produced upon his hearers.
The half-pay officer was the first to break the silence; for he was
Continually tempted to make ineffectual head against this tyrant of the
seas, and to regain his lost consequence in the eyes of his ancient
companions. He now tried to match the gunpowder tales of the stranger
by others equally tremendous. Kidd, as usual, was his hero, concerning
whom he had picked up many of the floating traditions of the province.
The seaman had always evinced a settled pique against the red-faced
warrior. On this occasion he listened with peculiar impatience. He sat
with one arm a-kimbo, the other elbow on a table, the hand holding on
to the small pipe he was pettishly puffing; his legs crossed, drumming
with one foot on the ground and casting every now and then the side
glance of a basilisk at the prosing captain. At length the latter spoke
of Kidd's having ascended the Hudson with some of his crew, to land his
plunder in secrecy.
"Kidd up the Hudson!" burst forth the seaman, with a tremendous oath;
"Kidd never was up the Hudson!"
"I tell you he was," said the other. "Aye, and they say he buried a
quantity of treasure on the little flat that runs out into the river,
called the Devil's Dans Kammer."
"The Devil's Dans Kammer in your teeth!" cried the seaman. "I tell you
Kidd never was up the Hudson - what the plague do you know of Kidd and
his haunts?"
"What do I know?" echoed the half-pay officer; "why, I was in London at
the time of his trial, aye, and I had the pleasure of seeing him hanged
at Execution Dock."
"Then, sir, let me tell you that you saw as pretty a fellow hanged as
ever trod shoe leather. Aye!" putting his face nearer to that of the
officer, "and there was many a coward looked on, that might much better
have swung in his stead."
The half-pay officer was silenced; but the indignation thus pent up in
his bosom glowed with intense vehemence in his single eye, which
kindled like a coal.
Peechy Prauw, who never could remain silent, now took up the word, and
in a pacifying tone observed that the gentleman certainly was in the
right. Kidd never did bury money up the Hudson, nor indeed in any of
those parts, though many affirm the fact. It was Bradish and others of
the buccaneers who had buried money, some said in Turtle Bay, others on
Long-Island, others in the neighborhood of Hell Gate. Indeed, added he,
I recollect an adventure of Mud Sam, the negro fisherman, many years
ago, which some think had something to do with the buccaneers. As we
are all friends here, and as it will go no farther, I'll tell it to
you.
"Upon a dark night many years ago, as Sam was returning from fishing in
Hell Gate - "
Here the story was nipped in the bud by a sudden movement from the
unknown, who, laying his iron fist on the table, knuckles downward,
with a quiet force that indented the very boards, and looking grimly
over his shoulder, with the grin of an angry bear. "Heark'ee,
neighbor," said he, with significant nodding of the head, "you'd better
let the buccaneers and their money alone - they're not for old men and
old women to meddle with. They fought hard for their money, they gave
body and soul for it, and wherever it lies buried, depend upon it he
must have a tug with the devil who gets it."
This sudden explosion was succeeded by a blank silence throughout the
room.
