Chapter II: Part 2

“We have moved them all,” was the reply, “and are now waiting for you to tell us what shall be done with our Madonna tonight. We might leave her there, if we were sure Sir Wolf would wed her before daybreak; but, then, she is a woman, and will be certain sure to do as she is not wanted to.”

“Hold your peace, Don Jose!” thundered Harris, “or we will know the reason. I would have you to know that my _wife_ is your _queen_;” and there was a slight, mocking emphasis on the words, which brought back the courage of the abashed Don Jose. “Remember you are seven in number and one in thought,” added Harris, as he turned to leave them; “and now go on with your work.”

Then he retraced his steps to the deserted Glen, and knelt by the couch where Arabel had thrown herself. Her eyes were closed; one white hand lay above her head, half shaded by the rich fold, of her satin dress, that looked, with its glittering ornaments, better fitted for a bridal or a banquet, than for that lonely forest home.

“Mother,” she moaned, faintly, “I am not dying; I shall not die.”

“Arabel,” said Harris, softly.

“I did obey you, mother. I spoke my marriage vows, kneeling by the altar side,” she went on; “the priest’s white robes swept by us, and the holy prayers went softly up to God in the twilight.”

“Yes, Bel, we were married in proper order; but don’t stop to talk of that,” Harris said again. “I want to ask you how much misery you can bear?”

Slowly she opened her large dark eyes, and fixed them on his face. “I can bear all things, for I am strong,” she replied, quoting his own words on a former occasion.

Harris paused; a momentary shudder passed over him, and he asked, “Would you not like to be back to Italy?”

“Not yet,” she answered, for she feared the idea of being known and recognized as the pirate’s bride, and felt that she was not strong enough to carry out her two parts.

Then he told her how and why they must leave the Glen, pointed out the slight but perfect trail they had formed, and took his own pocket compass to show her how she could tell in what direction they each lay from each other.

The next morning there was no trace of human life at the Glen; but away across thick, densely-growing wood, and low, slimy swamps, where the high cliff rose in bold relief against the fiery eastern sky, two living beings could be seen upon the firm land, where a natural road wound round the brow of the rocky hill. They were Harris and Carl, the rest having left some time before, and they were now going to join them, leaving Arabel alone there in the large chamber which the earth’s convulsions had formed in the solid rock.

Noon came; the sun was pouring its fiercest rays upon the high hill, and Arabel wandered to the thick vines with which the open door of the entrance had been concealed, to catch, if she might, a single breath of air to cool her throbbing brow. Suddenly, away where the tiny, trembling needle told her to look for her former abiding place, she saw a light smoke curling up. Instinctively she trembled with fear, forgetting that the whole wood might be consumed, and still the sheltering rock remain uninjured. “I must see what it is,” she said; and, climbing slowly up the rocks, she reached the top, and proudly, fearlessly looked down below. Scarcely discernible in the thick shadows she saw a party of men, armed with flaming torches, creeping cautiously on toward the Glen. She laughed a wild, ringing laugh, that echoed far and wide; and for many years the weird-like story of the phantom lady, decked in silks and jewels, and laughing at those who tried to discover the pirates’ treasures, was told beside the fire, in the long winter evenings, until at last it was thrown aside as a superstitious falsehood, and now is only remembered in a few families as a quaint legend of former years.

It was only two short days from then that Harris returned, but Bel was a spirit. The excitement of those fearful hours had been too much for her. She drew the downy, silken couch to the side of the spring in the rock, where the clear water fell from the crevices above, with a musical tinkle, into a large open basin below, and there, in that silent room,

“She rested her fair pale face alone
By the cool bright spring in the hallowed stone;”

her jewelled hand supporting her head, crowned with its tiara of velvet and pearls, her long brown hair floating like a veil over her richly-wrought dress, and her slippered feet resting on a smooth slab of Italian marble, which had been brought there to confine the waters in the spring.

And thus they found her, sleeping calmly, peacefully, her eyes closed tightly, and her teeth set firmly together. There was a strange calmness in Harris’ manner, as he pressed his hand upon her cold, damp brow, and swept back her long spiral curls. Then, with a quick, excited glance at her firmly closed eyes, he gave rapid orders for a burial case, such as they always carried with them, to be brought up, that her body might be placed in it and carried to Italy. As he raised the inanimate form in his arms, and laid her head upon a cushion of velvet and eider-down, a paper floated out from the heavy folds of her dress, and rested on the stones at his feet. He took it up; it was a few verses of poetry, traced in the delicate Italian penmanship of Arabel’s own hand. Tears sprang to the almost girlish eyes of the boy, Carl, as he saw them.

“She was like a sister to you, was she not, Carl?” Harris said, kindly, laying his hand upon the boy’s head. A deep sigh was his only answer, and the boy turned away. Then drawing a richly-chased knife from a wrought case by his side, he lifted one of the long ringlets from her dress, and turned a beseeching look upon Harris. “You may have it, Carl,” he answered to the boy’s look; and the bright, polished steel glanced in among the waving hair, until only the gold tipped haft was visible.

“What will you do with that, signor?” Carl said, pointing to the paper. Harris glanced over it, and then read aloud:

“Bury me not by the water’s edge,
Away in my dear old home,
Nor in the shade of the pure white cliff,
Where the screaming sea-gulls come.

But away, away, on the high hill’s brow,
Where the dark trees darker wave,
Ye have found for me a stranger home,--
O, give me a stranger grave!”

“I have no one but you to advise me, Carl; now tell me what to do,” Harris said.

Carl looked out at the glowing western sky, and said: “She will be better pleased if we will comply with her last request; we will bury her here.”

Harris only smiled at the boy’s reply and he went on: “Will you give her to the cold earth decked so showily? That brilliant, silken, flattering dress, and those richly-gleaming pearls, are too earthly for death’s bridal, are they not?”

“It makes very little difference what the poor frail body wears, Carl,” Harris answered, mournfully. “We will bury her as she is.”

He did not stop to count the cost of the dress she wore. There were plenty more of the same kind in the cases. Then he placed her in the delicately-wrought coffin, only unclasping a single bracelet from her rigid arm, to be kept as a remembrance of that dark day.

After that the men saw, or imagined, that Harris grew more stern and changeless in his work, and more thoughtful in his life, than before. One night, when they were preparing to leave, he said, “The suspicion of the colony is aroused; we must keep it up.” Then taking a slip of paper from his portmanteau, he wrote an order upon it and read it aloud. It was for a certain amount of handcuffs, hatchets and chains, to be left at a specified place in the wood, where a quantity of silver, to their full value, would be found in their stead.

“Which of you will lay this beside the central forge in the foundery tonight?” he asked, carelessly.

The men drew back, and an involuntary shudder appeared to pass from one to the other. Is was the first time such a subject had been broached. Force had never been used with them, and they apparently dreaded the thought of it.

“Stand up, my brave men,” said Harris, bitterly; “let me see how many cowards our crew numbers.”

Instantly, as though struck by an electric shock, the eight powerful men rose to their feet, and eight strong right hands grasped the sword-hilts by their sides.

Carl’s dark blue eyes looked trustfully into his commander’s face, and he said, “Signor, the Madonna looks at you from the bright skies; think you she would not mourn to hear you call the men, that have served you so long and well, cowards?”

“True, Carl; I was angry and unreasonable. Your girlish manliness makes me ashamed of myself,” answered Harris; “but I do not like to give up the idea of frightening the colonists. They saw our little sailer last night and yester morn, and will be on the lookout for her again. Here, Roland, I know you are not afraid; take the order, and, to reward you for going, I promise that the manacles shall never be used on you.”

Then three cheers for little Carl rung out upon the air, and he lifted the velvet cap from his dark flowing hair, and bowed low to acknowledge the compliment.

Soon after this, Harris returned to Italy, and Don Jose became commander of a clipper of his own, Carl accompanying him. After Harris had arranged his affairs in Italy, so that they no longer needed his presence, he entirely abandoned the idea of a home on the firm land, and roamed about wherever fancy dictated or news called him. Upon going to their hiding-place in Wales, at one time, he saw a girl, habited in the common dress of Welsh peasants, half sitting, half kneeling, by the roadside, making wreathes and bouquets from a collection of flowers beside her, and placing them in a basket on fresh green leaves.

“Buy flowers, sir? buy flowers?” she asked, as he came up.

“Yes,” was the reply, “take all you have; and come with me. I have no way to carry them without your basket,--come.”

“Pay, sir?” she said, looking into his face with a roguish, merry smile, making her black eyes dance, and showing her white even teeth.

Harris laughed, threw a bit of money towards her, and walked on. She gathered up her treasures and followed. They entered the castle, and every man drank to the health of the pretty flower-girl. She drew back, trembling, and tried to run away. Harris stopped her, and led her to a low seat where the sunlight looked in, bidding her go on with her work, and when that was finished he had plenty more for her to do. She laughed and pouted, and at last went to work again.

After that she was often at the castle, and at last she too embarked on the waters, to find a home in the new country. There was a dark rumor afloat, at the time, of force used to make the wild Cathrin go with the pirate band; but it was soon forgotton.

After this there were more regular rules observed; only the seven regular members staying at the Glen and rock, and sometimes only five. Cathrin was given over to Veale, but why it was that she never saw any more of Harris she did not know.

One morning the Arabel shot out of the snug little harbor of Lynn, with all sail set, the whole crew on board, and all their hidden treasures left in the sole care of Cathrin and the magic rattlesnake. But there was trouble brewing. Even then one of the king’s cruiser’s was out upon the watch for the little outlandish craft. They were well matched as to sailing, but the Britisher’s broadside soon swept away the fore-topmast of the Arabel. Then she was boarded, a hand-to-hand encounter ensued, and the pirates, instead of being subdued, triumphed, and took the others prisoners. This of course, was a flagrant, never-to-be-forgotton offence; but they kept on their way rejoicing, and at last met Harris at Wales.

“Where is the little flower-girl?” he asked, as they sat discussing their business over the flowing wine.

The men looked surprised, and Veale answered, “She is in the cave, your honor.”

“At the cave!” repeated Harris. “Why! was she willing to go?”

“I don’t know--that is--I didn’t ask her,” answered Veale, stammering at the thought of Harris’ displeasure.

“Well,” Harris began, “this is worse than I thought would be laid at our door just yet. You _mean, low, detestable, contemptible wretch_!” he added, almost fiercely, turning to Veale, “do you know what you have done? actually stolen the only child of fondly-doting parents, and now trying to excuse yourself. I carried my mistress there, did I? But we were married first--married by the rites of a church she loved and revered; besides which, she left neither parents nor friends to mourn for her, and went because she wished to. I will return with you, Veale,” he continued, after a pause, “and bring the birdling back.”

It was long before the Arabel again reached America, and when, at dead of night, the pirates landed and made their way to the Glen, they were unnoticed, for the colonists had grown weary with watching, and given up in despair.

“Will you go home with me, Katy?” Harris said kindly, the next morning, as they reached the rock and commenced partaking of the provisions which the nimble fingers set before them.

Tears came to her dancing black eyes, and she answered, firmly, “I am afraid to go, sir. Can you not bring my mother here?”

Harris smiled, as he asked, “How old are you, Cathrin?”

“Eighteen summers and nineteen winters, sir,” she replied, looking at him from under her long lashes.

“Indeed!” said Harris, in surprise; “you look less than that.”

A frightened, half-angry look passed her face, as she heard from the furthest end of the cave the heavy voice of Veale swearing at one of the men.

“You are not used to profanity, poor child!” he continued, but she did not reply.

Soon after that another scene came up. Veale had been drinking hard all day, and at night was fairly intoxicated. As Cathrin came into the cave, her head crowned with evergreen, and her hands full of flowers, she heard the merry, musical laugh, which she well knew came from none but Harris, immediately followed by a volley of oaths, such as she seldom heard.

“I can drink wine and not suffer for it in that style,” he said, “and why cannot you? Come, get up, now, or by the powers, I will run you through--do you hear?” and he brandished his glittering sword in true buccaneer style.

Veale was lying upon the floor of the cave, apparently not too insensible to carry on the joke. Cathrin shrunk trembling away, and commenced clearing the tea-table. Her presence did not act as a controlling influence, as Arabel’s had. The men are willing to do anything in reason for the merry girl, however, and the life she led at the cave was not altogether intolerable.

Months passed, and a little stranger opened his eyes and claimed protection.

“Who will be thy mother, darling?” Cathrin said, pleasantly, for she thought she would soon be a spirit. But things were differently ordered. It was not long before she was out again, at night-fall, watching for the arrivals.

And now again pictures, darker and more gloomy, arise before our parti-colored glass.

It was early one bright, autumn morn that Cathrin was kneeling by the spring, splashing the cool water over the flowers she had gathered, to keep them fresh, when she heard a low, stifled, wailing cry from the beautiful couch, where she had left the child. When she reached it, Veale was walking slowly down the mountain path, and the babe lay gasping for breath in the sunlight. All the long day did Cathrin chafe the marble brow and tiny hands of the insensible child, and at night, when the men returned, she was still holding it in her arms. Harris looked pityingly upon her, and she laid the little form beside him on the silken couch. But the bright-eyed stranger’s life had fled. Cathrin was childless.

Again we leave them for a short time, but their crime is not forgotten. They are watched constantly. At last three of them were out at sea, the remaining four were traced to the Glen, and there were taken. Before they reached the vessel that was to convey them to England one escaped. Of course it was the daring Veale, who spurned law and order, and defied pursuit. Harris had been in Italy some time then, and had, therefore, no means of knowing what was going on. Veale fled to the rock, but he was not pursued again. Cathrin lost her merry, life-loving heart and pined in solitude. Veale used to light signal fires upon rocks to wreck vessels along the coast, and only when she saw him lighting his dark lantern, and preparing his flaming pine knots, could she be won from her silent mournfulness. Then she would talk hours in her thrilling childish way, and sing to him until her clear voice filled every part of the cavern, and woke the echoes among the gray old rocks; for she dreaded the idea of feeling that her very life was in the keeping of one who would so heedlessly destroy others.

“You will not light the treacherous coys this fearful stormy eve?” she said, pleadingly. “O, I will sing you all the legends of my Welsh home, and all the songs Roland has taught me, if you will not go now.”

Sometimes she would prevail, and he would sit by the heavy chest that served them for a table, and laugh at the brilliant fairy tales she wove from her memories of the dear old home in Wales.

But Cathrin was dying. Day by day her strength was wasting itself away, her cheek grew paler and thinner, and now a hectic flush burned in lieu of her former health. Her eyes grew dull and expressionless, and, at last, she died, her last song just echoing its burden of victory, and her last glance fixed upon the blue sky and the gorgeous sunset.

Veale mourned for her as deeply as it was in his power to mourn for any one, but he dared not bury her; he lived in constant fear that he, or rather the treasures there, would be molested; so he raised her in his strong arms and bore her to the inner room of the cave, then gently laid her on the shelving rocks, flung the soft folds of her India muslin over her pale face and staring black eyes, and went out from the cave alone, a sterner and more merciless man.

All this time Wallace had been more or less interested in the pirates and their work. His noble black horse was often urged over the uneven road by Harris or himself; but now he took himself away and denied all further knowledge of the procedure. Veale’s provisions were exhausted. He dared not take the glittering golden coins to exchange for bread, so he obtained some cheap work, and determined, for the sake of occupying his mind, to earn his own food. How long he lived thus, we do not care to tell, but he gave up his business as wrecker, now that Wallace refused to assist him, and delivered him half the profits of their eight months treachery.

Now we have told the history of Dungeon Rock up to the year one thousand six hundred and fifty-eight, at which time the mortal pilgrimage of Veale was unceremoniously ended by a terrible earthquake, which closed the ancient entrance to the cavern, and thus shut him off from light and life with his dearly-loved treasure, and the superstition-guarded charm and rattlesnake.

From this time forth Dungeon Rock loses its interest and only a weird-like fascination hanging round it prevented its being entirely forgotten. It was years before anything more was done there, until, about forty years ago, a man residing in the town adjoining the one where the rock stands became impressed, or, as he styled it, dreamed, that, by going to a certain place in Dungeon Pasture, he could discover treasures formerly buried by the pirates. He went, as directed, exhumed the treasure, and the probability is, had he been left to follow his own impressions, would have used it to open the rock.

As it was, his nearest relatives took the matter up, hushed the stories that were getting afloat about the money, accused the man of insanity, and took the _trash_ into their own hands. This seemed to have an undue effect upon the mind of the man, whose name was Brown.

He had always been singularly nervous and impressible. When young he could commit a lesson almost at a glance, and recite it with perfect accuracy. As he grew older, he became morbid and sensitive; would sit for hours talking or singing, his face lighted up with a strange smile, which, when he was aroused from his half trance, would pass away, and he become cross and peevish as before.

After finding the money in Dungeon Pasture, he dwelt more upon such things than before, and often expressed a determination to run away,--a threat which he afterward put into execution, finding there was no way for him to recover his rightful property. He wandered away down east, where he spent several years, and occasionally told his strange story. It was by that that he was again discovered and brought back to his home, where, by bribes and threats, he was induced to leave off telling the story. He never could be induced to work; for he constantly averred that he had enough to make him independent, and, if they would let him alone, he knew where he could find plenty more. He has always been supported, however, by those who were said to have the management of what he found; and, upon the death of his last near relative, a half brother, he was placed in the Ipswich asylum for incurable insane people, where he will probably remain until his death.

The next movement of consequence was years afterward, when the city of Lynn was said to have footed the bills for any quantity of ammunition, to be used for the purpose of making a grand attack upon the obstinate rock, and forcing it to give up its trust. It proved a failure, and the city never paid the bills either; but, many a quiet night after that, sober, respectable men laughed at each other about their fast-day blow. Their object was to fill the principal crevices with powder, and have them explode in such a manner as would shatter the rock into a countless number of pieces, and thus lay open the inside of it, and the cave, if there were any there.

Some went away satisfied that all had been done that could be, and there was no treasure there; others, that the original cave and its contents remained undisturbed but all agreed that they had ventured their share upon the sea of speculation, and should not try again right away.

Soon after this, mesmeric clairvoyance became one of the reigning topics of the day, and almost immediately the interest of Dungeon Rock was again agitated. This time, one of the world-renowned singing brothers, Jesse Hutchinson, was the chief actor, directed by a mesmerized lady, who steadily affirmed the truth of the disconnected history that had been handed down to them, and added her declarations to those who had the firmest faith in the old saying of wealth in Dungeon Cave.

The operations flagged not for days and weeks; and, when at last Jesse gave it up, not as a delusion, but as a task too hard for him, others kept on, and made the hole still deeper and broader. But they too failed, and, for a long time, the hill was undisturbed save by occasional picnic parties, or Sunday groups of young people, who went there to enjoy themselves.

Now our scene changes from the quiet, unfrequented, hilly woodland, to the limitless plains of the great West, where the waters of America’s broadest and deepest lake ceaselessly lave its shores. It is the hour of a boat landing, and any number of men, women, and children, could be seen hurrying to the wharf, with the first whole dish they could reach, be it wash-bowl, ewer, or skillet, teapot, pan, or pail; and one general cry of “whiskey, whiskey,” was heard throughout the ranks.

In a small building, that served for kitchen, parlor, and bedroom, to quadruped and biped, two men, apparently near the same age, and both past the years of youth, sat, or rather reclined, talking busily with each other.

“Rum is a great curse, Marble.”

“Granted.”

“And, if a great deal ruins a man, a little, be it ever so little, injures him.”

“Granted also, Long; but now look here. In our crew there are only men; but I warrant that up yonder, when the boat landed, you might have seen people of all kinds and colors flocking to the wharf. You well know what they are after. Now answer me this one question. Would it not be better for us to set the example by keeping whiskey for our own gang, and thus prevent their going to the boat, than it is to apparently countenance beastly drunkenness, by their drinking all they can obtain at irregular intervals?”

Long hesitated, and Marble went on.

“I know your principles. I know you consider rum-drinking as the one unpardonable sin; but, if you stop to think about it, you may bring your orthodoxy to agree with my infidelity.”

“It may be so,” Long added, after a pause. “I have thought a great deal on this subject, and am not yet decided. You have sold rum, have you not?”

Marble nodded.

“Well, do you think what you have sold has done most--which?--good, or bad?”

“Bad,” was the prompt reply.

“I thought as much,” answered Long; “but that is not what I was going to speak of just now. I want to know how you would like the idea of keeping a boarding-house.”

“First rate,” answered Marble. “We could drive four stakes into the ground, stretch a bit of cloth over them, and name it the Marquet Eating Saloon, where shall be kept all manner of provisions, viz., whiskey, to be had at the shortest notice.” And a droll smile rested in the corners of Marbles mouth, and twinkled in his small eyes, as he ceased speaking; while Long, as the picture came vividly before his active imagination, threw back his head and laughed loud and long.

“That is not what I wanted, Hiram,” he said, soon stopping his mirth and growing sober again. “There are a great plenty of such establishments going up in all parts of the country. We need a real framed house; and, if you would plan such a one as you think you could keep properly, why, all is, we would find means to build it, and have it done right away. You shall bring your wife on to manage, and your children to inhabit it. You shall keep on being overseer. I will be a wealthy land-holder. Jointly and severally we shall be honored for inventing, or rather, for starting the great Marquet Iron Works, and, by my faith, we shall live fat.”

Then the two men separated, each to his own place; and here it may not be inapropos to describe them.

Long, who appeared to be chief director there, was tall, but rather slightly built, with a long face, intelligent-looking, dark eyes, a high, but not full brow, and thin lips, that partially disclosed a regular set of teeth.

Marble, who seemed like Long’s very right hand, was also tall, but strong and robust, with sharp, bright blue eyes, light waving brown hair, and a full white brow.

On the night after their conversation, which we have recorded, Marble, who always, as Long said, if he put his hands to the plough, not only did not look back, but did not look forward either, and only attended to holding the plough, started from the settlement to reach a small hill at a little distance, partly to select trees from the lot for their house, and partly to think over the practicability of the scheme they had been discussing. He was walking slowly along, with his eyes fixed upon the ground, when, suddenly looking up, he found himself back to the place whence he started.

“Can’t you go as far as you can see?” he muttered to himself, starting again for the wood: but again he became lost in thought, and again he found himself at the same place.

“Well if you can’t go as far as you can see you may go home,” he said, casting a regretful look at the woodland, and turning away. It was a habit he always had of talking to himself, and it saved him many hours of trouble.

Soon after this, he started for his home away in old Massachusetts, which, upon reaching, he found was not entirely exempt from the joint hands of time and sorrow. He had been at home from the West but a short time, when his youngest child, a boy of thirteen, was taken sick; and thus his plans were frustrated. His sickness was short and painful; and his burning cheeks and glassy bright eyes told but too plainly to the father’s heart that George’s days were numbered.

About this time he, too, became interested in clairvoyance. Before going West, he had, at the request of a friend, consulted a phrenological subject who predicted his departure, and also his misfortune--for such she termed the death in the family. After finishing her talk, she informed him that she sometimes told fortunes; and asked if she might tell his.

He did not care about it; had little faith in such things, etc.; but, if she would like to, he had no objections.

She run the cards over, and told him essentially what she had said before; adding that, in the course of a specified time, she thought he would be in steady business.

He was, at that time, all ready to go West with a party of men to establish the Marquet Iron Works.

He went and returned. George died; but, as yet, no steady employment presented itself.

While staying in Marquet, a young man, an entire stranger in Massachusetts, had described Dungeon Rock to him as his place to work, but told no names, even of the town or state where it lay. He was, at that time, careless, or even skeptical about the matter; but, after George’s death, he aroused himself, and concluded to investigate, and, if he could, to understand the subject.

He came to Lynn, and, subsequently, to a distant relative in a neighboring town. Here he staid some time; and upon one occasion, feeling unwell, he determined to consult a clairvoyant in the place, who was entirely unacquainted with him or his business. Accordingly, he expressed a desire to have him consulted, and Mr. Wheeler, who was going to a neighboring town, offered to stop and see him, and, perhaps, invite him to his house, as Mr. Marble was there staying.

He went, and, as he entered the room and made known his errand, the clairvoyant, whose name was Emerson, commenced talking, and finally seated himself at the table and began to write with great rapidity, speaking now and then to ask or answer questions, and taking very little notice of his work.

He was young, apparently less than twenty years of age; but his dark complexion and keen black eyes gave a look of maturity, which his slight, almost petite figure, and long curling hair, instantly contradicted. When he stopped writing, he folded and directed the letter, and gave it to Mr. W. without a word of comment, having first signed his own name to it as a medium.

“But the gentleman thought he might want to see you on some other business,” Wheeler said, doubtfully, holding the document between his thumb and finger.

“I presume it is there, sir,” was the reply; and the medium turned away.

Mr. Wheeler left the house, and, instead of keeping on his way, concluded to return with the letter. He did so; and, entering the room where Mr. Marble was, gave him the letter, and told him to read it aloud.

Marble did so; and, before he reached the end, Wheeler threw his hat on the floor, and asked what he would take for half the rock, as he, Wheeler, would like to go into company with him.

Marble did not answer until he had devoured the whole contents of the letter, which really contained a great many mysterious and some unaccountable statements concerning the business in which he then was engaged. Among others, it stated that he would call there the next day and go with them to the rock; which he did, accompanied by a friend who generally mesmerised or put him to sleep. He threw himself upon the ground beside the rock, when he reached it, and, after becoming entranced, told how and where they must work, etc.

And, now that we have got them fairly started, we will go back a single year, and try if we can tell a reasonable story. Soon after George’s death, as we have said before, Mr. M. aroused himself, and determined to investigate the subject of mesmerism. Opportunities soon presented themselves. When staying at a public house, one night, the porter came to him and said, “Madame Y. is here, and wishes to see you.”

“Who is Madame Y.?” he asked, thoughtfully.

“I don’t know,” was the reply; “but she sent her name, and bade me say she had told your fortune.”

An indistinct recollection seemed to cross his mind, but he only said, “I will go,” and was accordingly conducted into her presence.

She recalled their former meeting, inquired as to the veracity of what she had then said, and ended by telling him there was a very good clairvoyant, Madame Maine, with her at that time, and, if he liked, she would put her to sleep and have him examined.

He was at the time suffering from a recent attack of the Asiatic cholera, which was accurately described by Madame M., even to the time and place of his sickness, for which she wrote a prescription, which he took in all faith.

She then went on to tell what he was to do for the future. “You will dig for a pirate’s money,” she said, “and you will find”--here she hesitated.

“A bugbear,” he said, laughing.

“The pirate, himself, sir,” she added, “or, rather what there is left of what was once a pirate, and a treasure with him.”

“That is encouraging,” he said, concealing his unbelief “Can you tell me where this money lies that I am to dig for?”

“It is somewhere by the sea-side, I think,” she answered; “less than twenty miles from Boston.”

Well, he left with his confidence in mesmerism so much lessened that he never used his prescription. A short time after that he met two or three young men conversing upon that subject. They had heard something of Mr. M.’s experience, and wanted to hear more.

“What is the most likely thing they ever told you?” one asked.

“That I should go digging for money,” he replied.

A burst of laughter followed this grave assertion, and they asked to have it explained.

“Well the truth is this. Madame Maine told me that I was soon to be engaged in searching, or rather digging, for a pirate and his money.”

“Do you know where it is?” asked one, whose name was Olds.

Marble laughed at the thoughtful look which had settled on their faces, and answered, “No; she gave out when she had got about so far, and could not tell the rest.”

“I’ll warrant it was down in Lynn!” exclaimed Olds.

“What do you know about Lynn?” Marble asked.

“I have been there, myself,” he answered, earnestly; “and I have no doubt that there is money there. At any rate I advise you to try it.”

Soon after this Marble consulted a physician, who told him that he needed a change; the salt air would be good for him; he had better pay the sea-shore a visit. This decided him, for, as he afterward expressed it, everybody and everything he met seemed to be pointing him away, away.

“I will go and work a fortnight,” he said; and nobly well has his word been kept.

Upon this he went and took a survey of the rock. It contained a huge chasm, which he thought would lead to a cave, _if there was one_, with a very little trouble. He commenced work in company with two other men, and made slow work of it, too, as the rock was very hard, and they had nothing to direct their motions, and nothing but hope to live upon as far as the work in the rock was concerned.

It was about a year that they worked thus; then first one man, and soon the other, became weary and discouraged, and left. The cave was still as far distant as ever; faith had grown weak, and hope, which formed so tempting a breakfast, seemed about to prepare a very poor supper.

It is about this time that we find how great is the power of perseverance. Mr. Marble, after the other men had left, continued the work for some time with his only son, a young man about twenty years of age. And thus, it was after working a year by the guidance of mesmerism, that we find him consulting the first _clairvoyant medium_, and this led him into the mystic labyrinths of spiritualism, or spiritual philosophy.

The grounds which the medium took were substantially these: that when, by the action of his friend’s mind, he was rendered unconscious, some disembodied spirit took possession of him, and told what living people did or did not know. He told Mr. Marble how to work in the hole he had excavated, and, at one time, foretold a circumstance which was of considerable importance. It was that within a certain number of hours he would find a something to encourage him. It did not tell what, and the number of hours included a week’s time. Four days after that, an ancient-looking, rusty sword, with a leather-wound haft and a brass-bound scabbard, was found in a large seam inside the rock. Soon after being exposed to the air, the leather upon the handle crumbled away, and the thick, blue mould on the brass began to wear off. The chasm in the rock is still shown to visitors, and the prints where the sword lay in the clayey soil were once to be seen, but have since been removed, in the hopes of finding more relics.

This was a great event to build a hope upon, and it had its full effect on the spirits of those interested. Dungeon Rock soon became a place of particular interest to mediums. The well-known Mrs. Pike paid it a visit; also Mrs. Freeman, who had, on a former occasion, directed Mr. Marble to go to a certain street and number, in the city of Boston, where he would find an aged, bed-ridden woman, who would be of use to him.

He went, and discovered Madame Lamphier, to whom he made known his errand as one who had come to have his fortune told.

“Fortin’! who says I tell fortins’?” was the spiteful ejaculation that greeted him.

“Well, what do you tell?” he asked, convinced that she was the one he sought.

“Why, I have a stone that I look in, and if any one has any business, it generally comes up here,” she replied, doggedly.

“Well, I should like to have you look into it for me,” he said, in a conciliatory manner.

Accordingly she drew out her stone, adjusted her glasses, and commenced by seeing him in a deep dark hole, with something hung up between himself and a pile of gold which he was trying to reach. She then kept on, and described a young girl, as she saw her, about twelve years of age, who was to be of future service to him or his work. “And you will not get through with the partner you have now, either!” she said, decidedly.

“Well I was told that same thing about my last partner,” he muttered, half to himself and half aloud.

“What was his name?” she asked.

“What do you think?” he answered, Yankee fashion.

“I see a large W.,” she said musingly.

“Well that is right; his name was Wheeler,” he replied. “What do you think of him?”

“I don’t know nothing about him,” said the old woman, cautiously; “but I see one very mean thing that he did.”

“You mean to say he is a dishonest man, then?” Mr. Marble said, for the sake of getting along faster.

“No I don’t,” she said fearfully; “he is not dishonest, but he took the advantage.”

“Well, never mind that, tell me about my present partner; do you know _his_ name?” Marble said again, to turn the theme.

“I see the same large W.,” she said, “but it looks finer and handsomer.”

“Really, quite a compliment; anything more?”

“Yes; I see a great deal of wood.”

“Well, that it is the land that I work on,--is it not?”

“No; it is something in connection with your partner. I see him now. He is young--light-complected for a black-eyed person. There is something strange about his eyes; they glare at me like coals of fire. He is not very handsome, but there is a taking way with him that makes the gentlefolks like him at first sight. Splendid young fellow, ah!”

“Yes,” said Marble, “fine man; is he not?”

An Indian-like grunt escaped her, and she said, “You have not told me what that wood means.”

“Wood--why, it is his name--is it not?”

“Yes,--I think so. It is gone now,” she said, and prepared to lay aside her stone.

“You spoke about his being young; is he not old enough for that work?” Marble asked.

“In years he is,” she answered, moodily.

“Not old enough in business, then, you meant,” he continued.

“In iniquity, did you say?” she asked.

Mr. M. saw he could get nothing more from her that day, and soon took his leave.

Time passed. Mr. Marble’s confidence was betrayed, and his plans frustrated. Mr. Wood took the whole responsibility upon himself, and tried to buy the rock. Finding he was foiled in this, he hired a man to go to work against Mr. Marble. In this he failed also, and, instead of getting the other half of the business, he lost the half he already had. After this, Mr. Marble had no more partners. The man Mr. Wood had hired kept on working there in his own employ. Marble had built a small house for his own accommodation some time before, and one or another of his or Mr. Wheeler’s family had done the work there, and kept them comfortable. Now the hired man offered to bring his wife there to reside, which he did a short time before Mr. Wood left. Mr. Marble’s family had been staying in the vicinity a while, but long before the cold weather they returned to their home in the interior, and nothing now remained to cheer the unbroken monotony of his way. The long, and chilling winter of the year eighteen hundred and fifty-five will be remembered a great while by the man whose work was to find a way to Dungeon Rock.

With the summer came plenty and warmth again; the little garden was planted, the carriage road laid out and built, where before there was scarcely a path; a friend gave him two hundred dollars, to be refunded when he found himself able. With this he laid the foundation for a large stone building, to be erected in the octagon form, somewhat after the fashion of the gray and sombre Oriad. Then another person seemingly still more of a friend, was directed (also by the spirits) to forward two or three thousand dollars to have the work go on. This was a brilliant proposal; but owing to some mismanagement or mistake it was never carried into effect. A short time before this a spring was discovered upon the low land near the rock, which proved to be a great curiosity. Then a small wooden house was erected, in addition to the one already there, into which the remainder of Mr. Marble’s family, consisting of a wife and daughter, removed.

Soon after this, a party of people from Charlestown and Boston, who had lately become interested in the place, were there on a visit, when a medium being entranced, purported to speak from the spirit of Sir Walter Scott, and requested a lady who was present to make Mr. Marble a present, such as he (the spirit) would dictate. It afterwards came in the shape of a flag-staff, eighty feet in length, which was firmly planted in the place formerly excavated by the Hutchinsons. Then a flag with the appropriate inscription, “Thy faith is founded on a rock,” was raised upon it by the lady’s own hands. There was no fear of starvation that winter, but the snow was wondrously deep, and the hollows were piled softly up, almost even with the hill-tops.

When the spring opened, company came thronging again to the rock, to see and hear all that was wonderful and strange; for the popularity of the place had been steadily increasing, and the world is ever on the lookout for something new. All that spring and summer company and visitors, picnic parties and relatives, were coming in rapid succession, and no material change was made, either in the work or their way of life.

Fresh, dreamy September, like a maiden just passing from childhood to her teens, came softly on. There is but one more incident of interest to note; _that_ is, when the great philanthropist, and remarkable medium, John M. Spear, paid it a passing visit, in company with two or three other mediums.

And now our history is finished.

There is a small room, away in the very top of a block of buildings, where the sun beats scorchingly down, and the dust whirls in clouds through the narrow street. And there, where affluence is unknown, and elegance unconsulted,--where no rich tapestry shields the artist’s easel from the light,--is a work of magic art and mystic mystery, which has been seen by hundreds, and will be by thousands. It is a rare bright picture--a childish, dimpled face, with deep, wondrous blue eyes, and thick clustering curls; one round arm is flung over the shaggy neck of a large black dog, as if to show how perfectly the spiritual part of nature can overcome the animal; and the whole picture represents some half-embodied ideal, which is in future years to become a reality. There are, undoubtedly, the touches of the old artists, Ben West, Raphael, and Angelo, about the work, and their power may not be yet extinct; but the world is not ready for such ideas as yet; it must receive the truth gradually.

But, the picture of “Natty, a spirit,” has nothing to do with our present work. It is its executor of whom we would speak. He is an artist of some celebrity, and his painting of the spirit child has made him famous. He professes to have distinct visions of spirits in human form; snatches of landscapes, birds, flowers, and, indeed, almost every thing that can be seen in the natural world. He is a reflective, and rather a peculiar man; there are silvery threads in his hair, and furrows on his brow, as though he thought a great deal. And he it is that has been chosen to do the work of planning and directing the laying out of Dungeon Pasture, which is to be called “Iowah;” a name which the red man gave it long ago, and which signifies “I have found it.”

The legend of that name is as follows: “Several hundred years ago the united forces of pestilence, famine, and war, had so reduced a large tribe of Indians, that only a very few remained, and, after calling a council of their wisest men, these few determined to leave the home of their fathers and found a new settlement; accordingly, they started through the trackless wild on their vague expedition; they passed

“Through tangled Juniper, beds of reeds,
Through many a fen where the serpent feeds,
And man never trod before;”

and at last came to the foot of a large hill, with an enormous ledge upon the top. Upon climbing this, they saw spread out before them a panoramic view of what they knew would prove a good hunting-ground, for it had forests for game and water for fish. Then a loud cry of “Iowah! Iowah!” made the welkin ring, and the whole party encamped that night in the large, open cave, before commencing their work. They called the river Saugus, which means broad or extended, and when the tribe grew large and strong, and reached away down to the great “Father of Waters,” they called the two beaches Nahaunte, which means, the brothers, or the twins.

All this is to be revived again; the woodland to be laid out in groves, and parks and forests; the spring in the cave to be cleared again, and its brink bordered by marble slabs; the ancient, scattered treasures will be gathered up, bright flashing diamonds, clear white seed pearls, with heavy gold settings, and antique jewelry and ornaments, that have been a long time lying useless. The heavy iron-bound box, that was left there, has been disturbed and broken by the action of the earth, and its contents are now duly mixed up with equal quantities of dirt, loose stones, and rubbish, which the water from the spring, all choked up as it is, has for the space of two hundred consecutive years been laying. There was once a case of silks left there, but, as the cave is not perfectly air and water tight, the probability is that, although they look the same as ever, there is not much durability to them. The grave of Arabel, Veale levelled down, but the spot is still pointed out by mediums, and, although the tree under which Harris laid her has long since decayed, another has grown up very near where that was supposed to stand, which is now in the centre of a thriving garden.

Cathrin’s sepulchre is the “rock of ages,” and traces of her remains will be found upon one of the shelving places in the cave. The child was buried, but

“The string of pearls and the lock of hair,
And the ring of gold that it used to wear,”

will be found by Cathrin’s side, where Veale, with his superstitious reverence, placed them.

The cave will be found in two separate apartments, beside the entrance, which clairvoyant mediums see as another room. Veale himself, or rather his bones, will be found in the outer, or largest room, together with the remains of his shoemaking tools. The other contents of the rock we leave for time to discover, and the sagacity of the “Excavator” to make known.

The medium that Madame Lamphier saw four years ago, at the age of twelve, has been employed more or less, for five or six weeks past, in writing this little work, which we now send on its way, without a fear that its mission will ever be unaccomplished. The time for all things to be done is ordered; and when we have said all that can be known about such a place as Dungeon Rock, there still remains one question unanswered--one doubt unremoved. Time alone can verify what hundreds have told, either by impression, clairvoyance, or entrancement, that there still remains a cave there, and that the present laborer, Mr. Hiram Marble, otherwise known as the Excavator, shall be the one to discover it.

LINES COMMUNICATED TO A CIRCLE AT DUNGEON ROCK, FEBRUARY 22d, 1856.