“Wal, not to say jest like this; but they’re fine islands, many of them, an curous, too. Thar’s some that’s only islands at high tide, bein connected with the main land by narrer beaches an shoals at low tide; an then, agin, thar’s others that’s only islands at low tide, bein completely kivered up by the water at high tide; and so it goes; an some’s cleared an inhabited, like this; an some’s wild, an kivered with woods; an some has only one family on it; an some’s cultivated, but has no one livin on them; an so we’ve got all sorts, you see, an they’re all well wuth visitin. Thar’s Dead Man’s Island, an Quaker Island, an Oak Island, an Maple Island, an Ironbound;” and the old man went on to enumerate dozens of names in addition to these, out of which no individual one made any impression on the minds of his hearers.
Thus far Bruce had been questioning the old man chiefly with the hope that he might drop some remark which might be of use to them in their search after the treasure island. But no such remark was forthcoming, and the string of names which was enumerated conveyed no information whatever. So Bruce made one more effort, and ventured to come a little more to the point.
“This bay,” said he, “has been a great place for buccaneers—so I’ve heard. Do you know anything about them? Can you tell me of any island in particular that people talk of as being visited by them? There’s one, I think, that the buccaneers used to visit. Perhaps you’ve heard about them, and can tell us the name of the island, and where it is.”
Now, this was pretty direct; indeed, all the other boys thought that it was altogether too direct, especially since they had all concluded that it was best not to ask any questions, except those of a general character. Bart and Tom both nudged Bruce very violently, to rebuke his rashness; but their nudges had no effect.
The old man stared, then frowned, then looked blank, and then frowned again. Then he looked at Bruce, and said, in an uncertain, hesitating way,—
“Bucker nears?”
“Yes,” said Bruce. “Buccaneers. They used to come here, you know. Lots of them.”
The old man wagged his old head up and down several times.
“O, yas; I dar say. Buccar nears—an lots of other fish, that’s left us. They used to come here in shoals—likewise mackerel; but them days is over. Sometimes shad an her’n comes here now; but things ain’t as they used to be, an it’s gittin harder an harder every year for us fishermen. It’s as much as a man can do, with farmin and fishin together, to find bread an butter for himself an his children. As to them—buck—buck—buckfish, I don’t know. I don’t mind ever hearin of them, leastways not under that thar name. P’raps they’re a kine’ o’ mackerel; an I only wish they’d come now, as they used to when I was young.”
At this extraordinary misapprehension of his meaning, Bruce stared, and seemed, for a moment, about to explain himself; but the other boys checked him, and the old man himself seemed to become suddenly lost in his remembrances of those days of youth, which might never be equalled now.
“Won’t you jump in, an take a ride?” said he, at length. “Air you goin my way? Ef so, you may as well git a lift as not.”
The boys thanked him, and excused themselves. They were not going his way, but in another direction. A few more words passed, and at length the old man bade them good by, whistled up his oxen, and moved forward. As for the boys, they did not feel inclined to pursue their investigations any further just then.
“The next time we ask,” said Tom, “we’ll have to talk about Captain Kidd, plump and plain, and then perhaps they’ll understand.”
“Well,” said Bart, “I don’t see what use there is in proclaiming to the whole world our business. We’d better cruise about for a while, and examine for ourselves.”
“O, well,” said Bruce, “there’s nothing like dropping a quiet hint, interrogatively. It may bear fruit in the shape of useful information.”
“Like the old man’s information about the buccaneer mackerel,” said Tom, with a laugh.
Bruce deigned no reply. They waited here a little longer, and, after strolling about some distance farther, they went back to the boat, and returned to the Antelope.
That evening Solomon addressed himself to Bart, secretly and in confidence, as the latter happened to be sitting on the windlass, trying to concoct some plan by which they might find the mysterious island that contained the buried treasure of the buccaneers,—the wonderful, the stupendous, the incalculable plunder of the Spanish Main. To him, thus meditating, cogitating, and reflecting, the aged Solomon thus addressed himself:—
“What’s all dis yar new ’posal, Mas’r Bart, ’bout buried treasures, an tings? ’Pears to me youn all goin mad, an rushin head fo’most into de jaws ob ’structium. Better look out, I say. Dars no knowin whar dis yar’s goin to end. Dem dar pirates’ ghosts keep allus a flyin an a flittin roun de place whar dey bury de treasure, and it’ll take more’n you boys to tar dat ar plunder out of deir keepin. Dis yar scursion ’bout dis yar bay ain’t goin to end in no good. Dar ain’t a succumstance dat kin favor you; eberyting’s clean agin you; an if you fine’ de hole whar de treasure’s buried, it’ll only bring roonatium an ’structium.”
“Solomon,” said Bart, “my aged, venerable, and revered friend, I am deeply pained at this exhibition of superstition in one who ought to have a soul above ghosts. A man like you, Solomon, who has real evils to suffer, who is afflicted by such real calamities as rheumatism, and what you call “broomatism,” ought to have a soul above ghosts. Isn’t it enough for you to live in perpetual terror about the reappearance of that Gorgon who calls you husband, and beats you over the head with a poker, that you must take the trouble to get up a new set of afflictions, and trot out your superstitious fancies.”
“Mas’r Bart,” said Solomon, earnestly, “look heah; dis yar ain’t no common ’currence. Dar’s death an roonatium afore us all. You’re goin to ’sturb de ’pose ob de dead—an de worst sort ob dead. Dem’s de sort dat won’t stand no nonsense. I’ve had ’nough ob money-holes, an diggin in em, for my time. De ghost ob a dead pirate ain’t to be laughed at. Dey’ll hab vengeance—sure’s you’re born. Dar’s no sort ob use in temptin fate. Sure’s you go down into dat ar money-hole, so sure you hab down on your shoulders de ghosts ob all de pirates dat eber was hung, an dem dat was unhung, too. So, Mas’r Bart, don’t you go foolin round here dis yar way. I’se a ole man, Mas’r Bart, an I’se seen much ob de world, an I ’vise you to clar out, an not temp de ghosts ob de pirates in dis yar fashium.”
Solomon’s warning was sincere, and was spoken with the utmost earnestness; but Bart was quite inaccessible to sincerity and earnestness. He laughed at Solomon’s fears, reminded him of his foolish behavior on former occasions, brought to his memory the time when he had fled from the braying of an ass, and the other occasion when he had fled from the hoot of an owl. But, though Solomon could not help owning that he had acted on those occasions with shameful cowardice and folly, yet the consciousness of this could not lessen in the slightest degree the superstitious terrors that now filled his breast; and so, as Bart found him incorrigible, he had to give up the effort to calm his mind.
That night all on board slept more soundly than they had for weeks. The Antelope was anchored in smooth water, in a secure and sheltered harbor, near a friendly land, and no care whatever was in the minds of the boys, or of the captain. Such perfect freedom from anxiety had not been their lot for a long time; and in proportion to this peace of mind was the profoundness of their sleep.
On the following day they cruised all about the bay, keeping ever on the lookout for the Island of the Buccaneers. But they soon found that the search was hopeless under the conditions which they had imposed upon themselves. To seek for what is unknown, and not ask for directions, is surely one of the most impracticable of tasks. The experience which they had thus far had was enough, and they found themselves compelled either to give up the search altogether, or else to break through the secrecy