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    Long read!!! Lot's of treasure leads from this E-Book Project Gutenberg

    The Project Gutenberg EBook Myths And Legends Of Our Own Land, v9
    #9 in our series by Charles M. Skinner

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    Title: Myths And Legends Of Our Own Land (As To Buried Treasure)

    Author: Charles M. Skinner

    Release Date: October, 2004 [EBook #6614]
    [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
    [This file was first posted on December 31, 2003]

    Edition: 10

    Language: English

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    This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>


    Charles M. Skinner

    Vol. 9.






    Kidd's Treasure
    Other Buried Wealth


    Monsters and Sea-Serpents
    Stone-Throwing Devils
    Storied Springs
    Lovers' Leaps
    God on the Mountains



    Captain Kidd is the most ubiquitous gentleman in history. If his
    earnings in the gentle craft of piracy were frugally husbanded, he has
    possibly left some pots of money in holes in the ground between Key West
    and Halifax. The belief that large deposits of gold were made at
    Gardiner's Island, Dunderberg, Cro' Nest, New York City, Coney Island,
    Ipswich, the marshes back of Boston, Cape Cod, Nantucket, Isles of
    Shoals, Money Island, Ocean Beach, the Bahamas, the Florida Keys, and
    elsewhere has caused reckless expenditure of actual wealth in recovering
    doubloons and guineas that disappointed backers of these enterprises are
    beginning to look upon--no, not to look upon, but to think about--as
    visionary. A hope of getting something for nothing has been the impetus
    to these industries, and interest in the subject is now and then revived
    by reports of the discovery--usually by a farmer ploughing near the
    shore--of an iron kettle with a handful of gold and silver coins in it,
    the same having doubtless been buried for purposes of concealment during
    the wars of 1776 and 1812.

    Gardiner's Island, a famous rendezvous for pirates, is the only place
    known to have been used as a bank of deposit, for in 1699 the Earl of
    Bellomont recovered from it seven hundred and eighty-three ounces of
    gold, six hundred and thirty-three ounces of silver, cloth of gold,
    silks, satins, and jewels. In the old Gardiner mansion, on this island,
    was formerly preserved a costly shawl given to Mrs. Gardiner by Captain
    Kidd himself. This illustrious Kidd--or Kydd--was born in New York,
    began his naval career as a chaser of pirates, became a robber himself,
    was captured in Boston, where he was ruffling boldly about the streets,
    and was hanged in London in 1701. In sea superstitions the apparition
    of his ship is sometimes confused with that of the Flying Dutchman.

    At Lion's Rock, near Lyme, Connecticut, a part of his treasure is under
    guard of a demon that springs upon intruders unless they recite
    Scripture while digging for the money.

    Charles Island, near Milford, Connecticut, was dug into, one night, by a
    company from that town that had learned of Kidd's visit to it--and what
    could Kidd be doing ashore unless he was burying money? The lid of an
    iron chest had been uncovered when the figure of a headless man came
    bounding out of the air, and the work was discontinued right then. The
    figure leaped into the pit that had been dug, and blue flames poured out
    of it. When the diggers returned, their spades and picks were gone and
    the ground was smooth.

    Monhegan Island, off the Maine coast, contains a cave, opening to the
    sea, where it was whispered that treasure had been stored in care of
    spirits. Searchers found within it a heavy chest, which they were about
    to lift when one of the party--contrary to orders--spoke. The spell was
    broken, for the watchful spirits heard and snatched away the treasure.
    Some years ago the cave was enlarged by blasting, in a hope of finding
    that chest, for an old saying has been handed down among the people of
    the island--from whom it came they have forgotten--that was to this
    effect: "Dig six feet and you will find iron; dig six more and you will
    find money."

    On Damariscotta Island, near Kennebec, Maine, is a lake of salt water,
    which, like dozens of shallow ones in this country, is locally reputed
    to be bottomless. Yet Kidd was believed to have sunk some of his
    valuables there, and to have guarded against the entrance of boats by
    means of a chain hung from rock to rock at the narrow entrance, bolts on
    either side showing the points of attachment, while ring bolts were
    thought to have been driven for the purpose of tying buoys, thus marking
    the spots where the chests went down. This island, too, has been held
    in fear as haunted ground.

    Appledore, in the Isles of Shoals, was another such a hiding-place, and
    Kidd put one of his crew to death that he might haunt the place and
    frighten searchers from their quest. For years no fisherman could be
    induced to land there after nightfall, for did not an islander once
    encounter "Old Bab" on his rounds, with a red ring around his neck, a
    frock hanging about him, phosphorescence gleaming from his body, who
    peered at the intruder with a white and dreadful face, and nearly scared
    him to death?

    A spot near the Piscataqua River was another hiding-place, and early in
    this century the ground was dug over, two of the seekers plying pick and
    spade, while another stood within the circle they had drawn about the
    spot and loudly read the Bible. Presently their implements clicked on
    an iron chest, but it slid sideway into the ground as they tried to
    uncover it, and at last an interruption occurred that caused them to
    stop work so long that when they went to look for it again it had
    entirely disappeared. This diversion was the appearance of a monster
    horse that flew toward them from a distance without a sound, but stopped
    short at the circle where the process of banning fiends was still going
    on, and, after grazing and walking around them for a time, it dissolved
    into air.

    Kidd's plug is a part of the craggy steep known as Cro' Nest, on the
    Hudson. It is a projecting knob, like a bung closing an orifice, which
    is believed to conceal a cavern where the redoubtable captain placed a
    few barrels of his wealth. Though it is two hundred feet up the cliff,
    inaccessible either from above or below, and weighs many tons, still, as
    pirates and devils have always been friendly, it may be that the corking
    of the cave was accomplished with supernatural help, and that if blasts
    or prayers ever shake the stone from its place a shower of doubloons and
    diamonds may come rattling after it.

    The shore for several hundred feet around Dighton Rock, Massachusetts,
    has been examined, for it was once believed that the inscriptions on it
    were cut by Kidd to mark the place of burial for part of his hoard.

    The Rock Hill estate, Medford, Massachusetts, was plagued by a spectre
    that some thought to be that of a New Hampshire farmer who was robbed
    and murdered there, but others say it is the shade of Kidd, for iron
    treasure chests were found in the cellar that behaved like that on the
    Piscataqua River, sinking out of sight whenever they were touched by

    Misery Islands, near Salem, Massachusetts, were dug over, and under
    spiritual guidance, too, for other instalments of Mr. Kidd's
    acquisitions, but without avail.

    It takes no less than half a dozen ghosts to guard what is hidden in
    Money Hill, on Shark River, New Jersey, so there must be a good deal of
    it. Some of these guardians are in sailor togs, some in their mouldy
    bones, some peaceable, some noisy with threats and screams and groans--
    a "rum lot," as an ancient mariner remarked, who lives near their graves
    and daytime hiding-places. Many heirlooms are owned by Jerseymen
    hereabout that were received from Kidd's sailors in exchange for apple-
    jack and provisions, and two sailor-looking men are alleged to have
    taken a strong-box out of Money Hill some years ago, from which they
    abstracted two bags of gold. After that event the hill was dug over
    with great earnestness, but without other result to the prospectors than
    the cultivation of their patience.

    Sandy Hook, New Jersey, near "Kidd's tree," and the clay banks of the
    Atlantic highlands back of that point, are suspected hiding-places; but
    the cairn or knoll called Old Woman's Hill, at the highlands, is not
    haunted by Kidd's men, as used to be said, but by the spirit of a
    discontented squaw. This spirit the Indians themselves drove away with

    At Oyster Point, Maryland, lived Paddy Dabney, who recognized Kidd from
    an old portrait on meeting him one evening in 1836. He was going home
    late from the tavern when a light in a pine thicket caused him to turn
    from the road. In a clearing among the trees, pervaded by a pale shine
    which seemed to emanate from its occupants, a strange company was
    playing at bowls. A fierce-looking reprobate who was superintending the
    game glanced up, and, seeing Paddy's pale face, gave such a leap in his
    direction that the Irishman fled with a howl of terror and never stopped
    till he reached his door, when, on turning about, he found that the
    phantom of the pirate chief had vanished. The others, he conceived,
    were devils, for many a sea rover had sold himself to Satan. Captain
    Teach, or Blackbeard, proved as much to his crew by shutting himself in
    the hold of his ship, where he was burning sulphur to destroy rats, and
    withstanding suffocation for several hours; while one day a dark man
    appeared on board who was not one of the crew at the sailing, and who
    had gone as mysteriously as he came on the day before the ship was
    wrecked. It was known that Kidd had buried his Bible in order to
    ingratiate the evil one.

    A flat rock on the north shore of Liberty Island, in New York harbor,
    was also thought to mark the place of this pervasive wealth of the
    pirates. As late as 1830, Sergeant Gibbs, one of the garrison at the
    island, tried to unearth it, with the aid of a fortune-teller and a
    recruit, but they had no sooner reached a box about four feet in length
    than a being with wings, horns, tail, and a breath, the latter palpable
    in blue flames, burst from the coffer. Gibbs fell unconscious into the
    water and narrowly escaped drowning, while his companions ran away, and
    the treasure may still be there for aught we know.

    Back in the days before the Revolution, a negro called Mud Sam, who
    lived in a cabin at the Battery, New York City, was benighted at about
    the place where One Hundredth Street now touches East River while
    waiting there for the tide to take him up the Sound. He beguiled the
    time by a nap, and, on waking, he started to leave his sleeping place
    under the trees to regain his boat, when the gleam of a lantern and the
    sound of voices coming up the bank caused him to shrink back into the
    shadow. At first he thought that he might be dreaming, for Hell Gate
    was a place of such repute that one might readily have bad dreams there,
    and the legends of the spot passed quickly through his mind: the
    skeletons that lived in the wreck on Hen and Chickens and looked out at
    passing ships with blue lights in the eye-sockets of their skulls; the
    brown fellow, known as "the pirate's spuke," that used to cruise up and
    down the wrathful torrent, and was snuffed out of sight for some hours
    by old Peter Stuyvesant with a silver bullet; a black-looking scoundrel
    with a split lip, who used to brattle about the tavern at Corlaer's
    Hook, and who tumbled into East River while trying to lug an iron chest
    aboard of a suspicious craft that had stolen in to shore in a fog. This
    latter bogy was often seen riding up Hell Gate a-straddle of that very
    chest, snapping his fingers at the stars and roaring Bacchanalian odes,
    just as skipper Onderdonk's boatswain, who had been buried at sea
    without prayers, chased the ship for days, sitting on the waves, with
    his shroud for a sail, and shoving hills of water after the vessel with
    the plash of his hands.

    These grewsome memories sent a quake through Mud Sam's heart, but when
    the bushes cracked under the strangers' tread, he knew that they were of
    flesh and bone, and, following them for a quarter-mile into the wood, he
    saw them dig a hole, plant a strong-box there, and cover it. A
    threatening remark from one of the company forced an exclamation from
    the negro that drew a pistol-shot upon him, and he took to his heels.
    Such a fright did he receive that he could not for several years be
    persuaded to return, but when that persuasion came in the form of a
    promise of wealth from Wolfert Webber, a cabbage-grower of the town, and
    promises of protection from Dr. Knipperhausen, who was skilled in
    incantations, he was not proof against it, and guided the seekers to the

    After the doctor had performed the proper ceremonies they fell to work,
    but no sooner had their spades touched the lid of an iron-bound chest
    than a sturdy rogue with a red flannel cap leaped out of the bushes.
    They said afterward that he had the face of the brawler who was drowned
    at Corlaer's Hook, but, in truth, they hardly looked at him in their
    flight; nor, when the place was revisited, could any mark of digging be
    found, nor any trace of treasure, so that part of Kidd's wealth may be
    at this moment snugly stowed in the cellar of a tenement. Webber had
    engaged in so many crazy enterprises of this nature that he had
    neglected cabbage culture, and had grown so poor that the last
    disappointment nearly broke his heart. He retired to his chamber and
    made his will, but on learning that a new street had been run across his
    farm and that it would presently be worth ten times as much for
    building-lots as it ever had been for cabbages, he leaped out of bed,
    dressed himself, and prospered for many a day after.


    The wealth of the Astors hardly exceeds the treasure that is supposed to
    be secreted here and there about the country, and thousands of dollars
    have been expended in dredging rivers and shallow seas, and in blasting
    caves and cellars. Certain promoters of these schemes have enjoyed
    salaries as officers in the stock companies organized for their
    furtherance, and they have seen the only tangible results from such

    One summer evening, in the middle of the seventeenth century, a bark
    dropped anchor at the mouth of Saugus River, Massachusetts, and four of
    the crew rowed to the woods that skirt its banks and made a landing.
    The vessel had disappeared on the following morning, but in the forge at
    the settlement was found a paper stating that if a certain number of
    shackles and handcuffs were made and secretly deposited at a specified
    place in the forest, a sum of money equal to their value would be found
    in their stead on the next day. The order was filled and the silver was
    found, as promised, but, though a watch was set, nothing further was
    seen of men or ship for several months.

    The four men did return, however, and lived by themselves amid the woods
    of Saugus, the gossips reporting that a beautiful woman had been seen in
    their company--the mistress of the pirate chief, for, of course, the
    mysterious quartette had followed the trade of robbery on the high seas.
    Three of these men were captured, taken to England, and hanged, but the
    fourth-Thomas Veale--escaped to a cavern in the wood, where, it was
    reputed, great treasures were concealed, and there he lived until the
    earthquake of 1658, when a rock fell from the roof of the cave, closing
    the entrance and burying the guilty man in a tomb where, it is presumed,
    he perished of thirst and hunger. Dungeon Rock, of Lynn, is the name
    that the place has borne ever since.

    In 1852 Hiram Marble announced that he had been visited by spirits, who
    not only told him that the pirates' spoils were still in their olden
    hiding-place, but pointed out the spot where the work of excavation
    should begin. Aided by his son he tunnelled the solid granite for a
    distance of one hundred and thirty-five feet, the passage being seven
    feet high and seven wide. Whenever he was wearied the "mediums" that he
    consulted would tell him to make cuttings to the right or left, and for
    every fresh discouragement they found fresh work. For thirty years this
    task was carried on, both father and son dying without gaining any
    practical result, other than the discovery of an ancient scabbard in a
    rift. The heiress of the house of Marble alone reaped benefit from
    their labors, for-resuming on a petty scale the levies of the first
    dwellers in the rock--she boldly placarded the entrance to the workings
    "Ye who enter here leave twenty-five cents behind."

    In several cases the chasms that have been caused by wear of water or
    convulsions of nature (their opposite sides being matched) were believed
    to have been hiding-places, but, in the old days in New England, it was
    believed that all such fractures were caused by the earthquake at the
    time of the crucifixion--a testimony of the power of God to shake

    The Heart of Greylock is the name given to the crater-like recess, a
    thousand feet deep, in the tallest of the Berkshire peaks, but it was
    formerly best known as Money Hole, and the stream that courses through
    it as Money Brook, for a gang of counterfeiters worked in that recess,
    and there some spurious coinage may still be concealed. The stream is
    also known as Spectre Brook, for late wandering hunters and scouting
    soldiers, seeing the forgers moving to and fro about their furnaces,
    took them for ghosts.

    Province Island, in Lake Memphremagog, Vermont, is believed to contain
    some of the profits of an extensive smuggling enterprise that was
    carried on near the lake for several years.

    A little company of Spanish adventurers passed along the base of the
    Green Mountains early in the last century, expecting to return after
    having some dealings with the trading stations on the St. Lawrence; so
    they deposited a part of their gold on Ludlow Mountain, Vermont, and
    another pot of it on Camel's Hump. They agreed that none should return
    without his companions, but they were detained in the north and
    separated, some of them going home to Spain. Late in life the sole
    survivor of the company went to Camel's Hump and tried to recall where
    the treasure had been hidden, but in vain.

    While flying from the people whose declaration of independence had
    already been written in the blood of the king's troops at Concord, the
    royal governor--Wentworth--was embarrassed by a wife and a treasure-
    chest. He had left his mansion, at Smith's Pond, New Hampshire, and was
    making toward Portsmouth, where he was to enjoy the protection of the
    British fleet, but the country was up in arms, time was important, and
    as his wearied horses could not go on without a lightening of the
    burden, he was forced to leave behind either Lady Wentworth or his other
    riches. As the lady properly objected to any risk of her own safety,
    the chest was buried at an unknown spot in the forest, and for a century
    and more the whereabouts of the Wentworth plate and money-bags have been
    a matter of search and conjecture.

    When the Hessian troops marched from Saratoga to Boston, to take ship
    after Burgoyne's surrender, they were in wretched condition-war-worn,
    ragged, and ill fed,--and having much with them in the form of plate and
    jewels that had been spared by their conquerors, together with some of
    the money sent from England for their hire, they were in constant fear
    of attack from the farmers, who, though they had been beaten, continued
    to regard them with an unfavorable eye. On reaching Dalton,
    Massachusetts, the Hessians agreed among themselves to put their
    valuables into a howitzer, which they buried in the woods, intending
    that some of their number should come back at the close of the war and
    recover it. An Indian had silently followed them for a long distance,
    to gather up any unconsidered trifles that might be left in their
    bivouacs, and he marked the route by blazes on the trees; but if he saw
    the burial of this novel treasury it meant nothing to him, and the
    knowledge of the hiding-place was lost. For years the populace kept
    watch of all strangers that came to town, and shadowed them if they went
    to the woods, but without result. In about the year 1800 the supposed
    hiding-place was examined closely and excavations were made, but, as
    before, nothing rewarded the search.

    A tree of unknown age--the Old Elm--stood on Boston Common until within
    a few years. This veteran, torn and broken by many a gale and
    lightning-stroke, was a gallows in the last century, and Goody Glover
    had swung from it in witch-times. On tempestuous nights, when the
    boughs creaked together, it was said that dark shapes might be seen
    writhing on the branches and capering about the sward below in hellish
    glee. On a gusty autumn evening in 1776 a muffled form presented
    itself, unannounced, at the chamber of Mike Wild, and, after that
    notorious miser had enough recovered from the fear created by the
    presence to understand what it said to him, he realized that it was
    telling him of something that in life it had buried at the foot of the
    Old Elm. After much hesitancy Mike set forth with his ghostly guide,
    for he would have risked his soul for money, but on arriving at his
    destination he was startled to find himself alone. Nothing daunted, he
    set down his lantern and began to dig. Though he turned up many a rood
    of soil and sounded with his spade for bags and chests of gold, he found
    nothing. Strange noises overhead--for the wind was high and the twigs
    seemed to snicker eerily as they crossed each other-sent thrills along
    his back from time to time, and he was about to return, half in anger,
    half in fear, when his spirit visitor emerged from behind the tree and
    stood before him. The mien was threatening, the nose had reddened and
    extended, the hair was rumpled, and the brow was scowling. The frown of
    the gold monster grew more awful, the stare of his eye in the starlight
    more unbearable, and he was crouching and creeping as if for a spring.
    Mike could endure no more. He fainted, and awakened in the morning in
    his own chamber, where, to a neighbor who made an early call, he told--
    with embellishments--the story of the encounter; but before he had come
    to the end of the narrative the visitor burst into a roar of laughter
    and confessed that he had personated the supernatural visitant, having
    wagered a dozen bottles of wine with the landlord of the Boar's Head
    that he could get the better of Mike Wild. For all this the old tree
    bore, for many years, an evil reputation.

    A Spanish galleon, the Saints Joseph and Helena, making from Havana to
    Cadiz in 1753 was carried from her course by adverse winds and tossed
    against a reef, near New London, Connecticut, receiving injuries that
    compelled her to run into that port for repairs. To reach her broken
    ribs more easily her freight was put on shore in charge of the collector
    of the port, but when it was desired to ship the cargo again, behold!
    the quarter part of it had disappeared, none could say how. New London
    got a bad name from this robbery, and the governor, though besought by
    the assembly to make good the shortage, failed to do so, and lost his
    place at the next election. It was reputed that some of the treasure
    was buried on the shore by the robbers. In 1827 a woman who was
    understood to have the power of seership published a vision to a couple
    of young blades, who had paid for it, to the effect that hidden under
    one of the grass-grown wharves was a box of dollars. By the aid of a
    crystal pebble she received this really valuable information, but the
    pebble was not clear enough to reveal the exact place of the box. She
    could see, however, that the dollars were packed edgewise. When New
    London was sound asleep the young men stole out and by lantern-light
    began their work. They had dug to water-level when they reached an iron
    chest, and they stooped to lift it-but, to their amazement, the iron was
    too hot to handle! Now they heard deep growls, and a giant dog peered
    at them from the pit-mouth; red eyes flashed at them from the darkness;
    a wild-goose, with eyes of blazing green, hovered and screamed above
    them. Though the witch had promised them safety, nothing appeared to
    ward off the fantastic shapes that began to crowd about them. Too
    terrified to work longer they sprang out and made away, and when-taking
    courage from the sunshine--they renewed the search, next day, the iron
    chest had vanished.

    On Crown Point, Lake Champlain, is the ruin of a fort erected by Lord
    Amherst above the site of a French work that had been thrown up in 1731
    to guard a now vanished capital of fifteen hundred people. It was
    declared that when the French evacuated the region they buried money and
    bullion in a well, in the northwest corner of the bastion, ninety feet
    deep, in the full expectancy of regaining it, and half a century ago
    this belief had grown to such proportions that fifty men undertook to
    clear the well, pushing their investigations into various parts of the
    enclosure and over surrounding fields. They found quantities of lead
    and iron and no gold.

    Follingsby's Pond, in the Adirondacks, was named for a recluse, who, in
    the early part of this century, occupied a lonely but strongly guarded
    cabin there. It was believed afterward that he was an English army
    officer, of noble birth, who had left his own country in disgust at
    having discovered an attachment between his wife and one of his fellow-
    officers. He died in a fever, and while raving in a delirium spoke of
    a concealed chest. A trapper, who was his only attendant in his last
    moments, dug over the ground floor of the hut and found a box containing
    a jewelled sword, costly trinkets, and letters that bore out the
    presumption of Follingsby's aristocratic origin. What became of these
    valuables after their exhumation is not known, and the existence of more
    has been suspected.

    Coney Island is declared to have been used by a band of pirates as the
    first national sand bank, and, as these rascals were caught and swung
    off with short shrift, they do say that the plunder is still to be had--
    by the man who finds it. But the hotel-keepers and three-card-monte men
    are not waiting for that discovery to grow rich.

    In Shandaken Valley, in the Catskills, it was affirmed that a party of
    British officers buried money somewhere, when they were beset by the
    farmers and hunters of that region, and never got it out of the earth

    On Tea Island, Lake George, the buried treasures of Lord Abercrombie
    have remained successfully hidden until this day.

    The oldest house at Fort Neck, Long Island, was known for years as the
    haunted house, and the grave of its owner--Captain Jones--was called the
    pirate's grave, for, in the last century, Jones was accused of piracy
    and smuggling, and there have been those who suspected worse. A hope of
    finding gold and silver about the premises has been yearly growing
    fainter. Just before the death of Jones, which occurred here in an
    orderly manner, a crow, so big that everybody believed it to be a demon,
    flew in at the window and hovered over the bed of the dying man until he
    had drawn his last breath, when, with a triumphant cry, it flew through
    the west end of the house. The hole that it broke through the masonry
    could never be stopped, for, no matter how often it was repaired, the
    stone and cement fell out again, and the wind came through with such a
    chill and such shriekings that the house had to be abandoned.

    The owner of an estate on Lloyd's Neck, Long Island, had more wealth
    than he thought it was safe or easy to transport when he found the
    colonies rising against Britain in 1775, and flight was imperative, for
    he was known by his neighbors to be a Tory. Massing his plate, coin,
    and other movables into three barrels, he caused his three slaves to
    bury them in pits that they had dug beneath his house. Then, as they
    were shovelling back the earth, he shot them dead, all three, and buried
    them, one on each barrel. His motive for the crime may have been a fear
    that the slaves would aid the Americans in the approaching struggle, or
    that they might return and dig up the wealth or reveal the hiding-place
    to the enemies of the king. Then he made his escape to Nova Scotia,
    though he might as well have stayed at home, for the British possessed
    themselves of Long Island, and his house became a place of resort for
    red-coats and loyalists. It was after the turn of the century when a
    boat put in, one evening, at Cold Spring Bay, and next morning the
    inhabitants found footprints leading to and from a spot where some
    children had discovered a knotted rope projecting from the soil.
    Something had been removed, for the mould of a large box was visible at
    the bottom of a pit. Acres of the neighborhood were then dug over by
    treasure hunters, who found a box of cob dollars and a number of casks.
    The contents of the latter, though rich and old, were not solid, and
    when diffused through the systems of several Long Islanders imparted to
    them a spirituous and patriotic glow--for in thus destroying the
    secreted stores of a royalist were they not asserting the triumph of
    democratic principles?

    The clay bluffs at Pottery Beach, Brooklyn, were pierced with artificial
    caves where lawless men found shelter in the unsettled first years of
    the republic. A wreck lay rotting here for many years, and it was said
    to be the skeleton of a ship that these fellows had beached by false
    beacons. She had costly freight aboard, and on the morning after she
    went ashore crew and freight had vanished. It was believed that much of
    the plunder was buried in the clay near the water's edge. In the early
    colonial days, Grand Island, in Niagara River, was the home of a
    Frenchman, Clairieux, an exile or refugee who was attended by a negro
    servant. During one summer a sloop visited the island frequently, laden
    on each trip with chests that never were taken away in the sight of men,
    and that are now supposed to be buried near the site of the Frenchman's
    cabin. Report had it that these boxes were filled with money, but if
    well or ill procured none could say, unless it were the Frenchman, and
    he had no remarks to offer on the subject. In the fall, after these
    visits of the sloop, Clairieux disappeared, and when some hunters landed
    on the island they found that his cabin had been burned and that a large
    skeleton, evidently that of the negro, was chained to the earth in the
    centre of the place where the house had stood. The slave had been
    killed, it was surmised, that his spirit might watch the hoard and drive
    away intruders; but the Frenchman met his fate elsewhere, and his
    secret, like that of many another miser, perished with him. In 1888,
    when a northeast gale had blown back the water of the river, a farmer
    living on the island discovered, just under the surface, a stone
    foundation built in circular form, as if it had once supported a tower.
    In the mud within this circle he found a number of French gold and
    silver coins, one of them minted in 1537. Close by, other coins of
    later date were found, and a systematic examination of the whole channel
    has been proposed, as it was also said that two French frigates,
    scuttled to keep them out of the hands of the English, lie bedded in
    sand below the island, one of them with a naval paymaster's chest on

    On the shore of Oneida Lake is an Indian's grave, where a ball of light
    is wont to swing and dance. A farmer named Belknap dreamed several
    times of a buried treasure at this point, and he was told, in his
    vision, that if he would dig there at midnight he could make it his own.
    He made the attempt, and his pick struck a crock that gave a chink, as
    of gold. He should, at that moment, have turned around three times, as
    his dream directed, but he was so excited that he forgot to. A flash of
    lightning rent the air and stretched him senseless on the grass. When
    he recovered the crock was gone, the hole filled in, and ever since then
    the light has hovered about the place. Some say that this is but the
    will-o'-the-wisp: the soul of a bad fellow who is doomed to wander in
    desolate regions because, after dying, Peter would not allow him to
    enter heaven, and the devil would not let him go into the other place,
    lest he should make the little devils unmanageable; but he is allowed to
    carry a light in his wanderings.

    In Indian Gap, near Wernersville, Pennsylvania, the Doane band of Tories
    and terrorists hid a chest of gold, the proceeds of many robberies. It
    is guarded by witches, and, although it has been seen, no one has been
    able to lay hands on it. The seekers are always blinded by blue flame,
    and frightened away by roaring noises. The Dutch farmers of the
    vicinity are going to dig for it, all the same, for it is said that the
    watch of evil spirits will be given over at midnight, but they do not
    know of what date. They will be on hand at the spot revealed to them
    through the vision of a "hex layer" (a vision that cost them fifty
    cents), until the night arrives when there are no blue flames.

    In the southern part of Chester County, Pennsylvania, is money, too, but
    just where nobody knows. A lonely, crabbed man, who died there in a
    poor hut after the Revolution, owned that he had served the British as a
    spy, but said that he had spent none of the gold that he had taken from
    them. He was either too sorry for his deeds, or too mean to do so. He
    had put it in a crock and buried it, and, on his death-bed, where he
    made his statement, he asked that it might be exhumed and spent for some
    good purpose. He was about to tell where it was when the death-rattle
    choked his words.

    The Isle of the Yellow Sands, in Lake Superior, was supposed by Indians
    to be made of the dust of gold, but it was protected by vultures that
    beat back those who approached, or tore them to pieces if they insisted
    on landing. An Indian girl who stole away from her camp to procure a
    quantity of this treasure was pursued by her lover, who, frightened at
    the risk she was about to run from the vultures, stopped her flight by
    staving in the side of her canoe, so that she was compelled to take
    refuge in his, and he rowed home with her before the birds had come to
    the attack.

    Old Francois Fontenoy, an Indian trader, buried a brass kettle full of
    gold at Presque Isle, near Detroit, that is still in the earth.

    On the banks of the Cumberland, in Tennessee, is a height where a
    searcher for gold was seized by invisible defenders and hurled to the
    bottom of the cliff, receiving a mortal hurt.

    The Spaniards were said to have entombed three hundred thousand dollars
    in gold near Natchez. A man to whom the secret had descended offered to
    reveal it, but, as he was a prisoner, his offer was laughed at.
    Afterward an empty vault was found where he said it would be.
    Somebody had accidentally opened it and had removed the treasure.

    Caverns have frequently been used as hiding-places for things of more or
    less value--generally less. Saltpetre Cave, in Georgia, for instance,
    was a factory and magazine for saltpetre, gunpowder, and other military
    stores during the Civil War. The Northern soldiers wrecked the potash
    works and broke away tons of rock, so as to make it dangerous to return.
    Human bones have been found here, too, but they are thought to be those
    of soldiers that entered the cave in pursuit of an Indian chief who had
    defied the State in the '40's. He escaped through a hole in the roof,
    doubled on his pursuers, fired a pile of dead leaves and wood at the
    mouth, and suffocated the white men with the smoke.

    Spaniards worked the mines in the Ozark Hills of Missouri two hundred
    years ago. One of the mines containing lead and silver, eighteen miles
    southwest of Galena, was worked by seven men, who could not agree as to
    a division of the yield. One by one they were killed in quarrels until
    but a single man was left, and he, in turn, was set upon by the
    resurrected victims and choked to death by their cold fingers. In 1873
    a Vermonter named Johnson went there and said he would find what it was
    the Spaniards had been hiding, in spite of the devil and his imps. He
    did work there for one day, and was then found dead at the mouth of the
    old shaft with marks of bony fingers on his throat.

    The seven cities of Cibola, that Coronado and other Spanish adventurers
    sought in the vast deserts of the Southwest, were pueblos. A
    treacherous guide who had hoped to take Coronado into the waterless
    plain and lose him, but who first lost his own head, had told him a tale
    of the Quivira, a tribe that had much gold. So far from having gold
    these Indians did not know the stuff, but the myth that they had hoarded
    quantities of it has survived to this day and has caused waste of lives
    and money. Towns in New Mexico that have lain in ruins since 1670, when
    the Apaches butchered their people--towns that were well built and were
    lorded by solid old churches and monasteries erected by the Spanish
    missionaries--these towns have often been dug over, and the ruinous
    state of Abo, Curari, and Tabira is due, in part, to their foolish
    tunnelling and blasting.

    A Spanish bark, one day in 1841, put in for water off the spot where
    Columbia City, Oregon, now stands. She had a rough crew on board, and
    it had been necessary for her officers to watch the men closely from the
    time the latter discovered that she was carrying a costly cargo. Hardly
    had the anchorchains run out before the sailors fell upon the captain,
    killed him, seized all of value that they could gather, and took it to
    the shore. What happened after is not clear, but it is probable that in
    a quarrel, arising over the demands of each man to have most of the
    plunder, several of the claimants were slain. Indians were troublesome,
    likewise, so that it was thought best to put most of the goods into the
    ground, and this was done on the tract known as Hez Copier's farm.
    Hardly was the task completed before the Indians appeared in large
    numbers and set up their tepees, showing that they meant to remain. The
    mutineers rowed back to the ship, and, after vainly waiting for several
    days for a chance to go on shore again, they sailed away. Two years of
    wandering, fighting, and carousal ensued before the remnant of the crew
    returned to Oregon. The Indians were gone, and an earnest search was
    made for the money--but in vain. It was as if the ground had never been
    disturbed. The man who had supervised its burial was present until the
    mutineers went back to their boats, when it was discovered that he was
    mysteriously missing.

    More than forty years after these events a meeting of Spiritualists was
    held in Columbia City, and a "medium" announced that she had received a
    revelation of the exact spot where the goods had been concealed. A
    company went to the place, and, after a search of several days, found,
    under a foot of soil, a quantity of broken stone. While throwing out
    these fragments one of the party fell dead. The spirit of the defrauded
    and murdered captain had claimed him, the medium explained. So great
    was the fright caused by this accident that the search was again
    abandoned until March, 1890, when another party resumed the digging, and
    after taking out the remainder of the stone they came on a number of
    human skeletons. During the examination of these relics--possibly the
    bones of mutineers who had been killed in the fight on shore--a man fell
    into a fit of raving madness, and again the search was abandoned, for it
    is now said that an immutable curse rests on the treasure.



    It is hardly to be wondered at that two prominent scientists should have
    declared on behalf of the sea-serpent, for that remarkable creature has
    been reported at so many points, and by so many witnesses not addicted
    to fish tales nor liquor, that there ought to be some reason for him.
    He has been especially numerous off the New England coast. He was
    sighted off Cape Ann in 1817, and several times off Nahant. Though
    alarming in appearance--for he has a hundred feet of body, a shaggy
    head, and goggle eyes--he is of lamb-like disposition, and has never
    justified the attempts that have been made to kill or capture him.
    Rewards were at one time offered to the seafaring men who might catch
    him, and revenue cutters cruising about Massachusetts Bay were ordered
    to keep a lookout for him and have a gun double shotted for action. One
    fisherman emptied the contents of a ducking gun into the serpent's head,
    as he supposed, but the creature playfully wriggled a few fathoms of its
    tail and made off. John Josselyn, gentleman, reports that when he
    stirred about this neighborhood in 1638 an enormous reptile was seen
    "quoiled up on a rock at Cape Ann." He would have fired at him but for
    the earnest dissuasion of his Indian guide, who declared that ill luck
    would come of the attempt. The sea-serpent sometimes shows amphibious
    tendencies and occasionally leaves the sea for fresh water. Two of him
    were seen in Devil's Lake, Wisconsin, in 1892, by four men. They
    confess, however, that they were fishing at the time. The snakes had
    fins and were a matter of fifty feet long.

    When one of these reptiles found the other in his vicinage he raised his
    head six feet above water and fell upon him tooth and nail--if he had
    nails. In their struggles these unpleasant neighbors made such waves
    that the fishermen's boat was nearly upset.

    Even the humble Wabash has its terror, for at Huntington, Indiana,
    three truthful damsels of the town saw its waters churned by a tail that
    splashed from side to side, while far ahead was the prow of the animal--
    a leonine skull, with whiskers, and as large as the head of a boy of a
    dozen years. As if realizing what kind of a report was going to be made
    about him, the monster was overcome with bashfulness at the sight of the
    maidens and sank from view.

    In April, 1890, a water-snake was reported in one of the Twin Lakes, in
    the Berkshire Hills, but the eye-witnesses of his sports let him off
    with a length of twenty-five feet.

    Sysladobosis Lake, in Maine, has a snake with a head like a dog's, but
    it is hardly worth mentioning because it is only eight feet long-hardly
    longer than the name of the lake. More enterprise is shown across the
    border, for Skiff Lake, New Brunswick, has a similar snake thirty feet

    In Cotton Mather's time a double-headed snake was found at Newbury,
    Massachusetts,--it had a head at each end,--and before it was killed it
    showed its evil disposition by chasing and striking at the lad who first
    met it.

    A snake haunts Wolf Pond, Pennsylvania, that is an alleged relic of the
    Silurian age. It was last seen in September, 1887, when it unrolled
    thirty feet of itself before the eyes of an alarmed spectator--again a
    fisherman. The beholder struck him with a pole, and in revenge the
    serpent capsized his boat; but he forbore to eat his enemy, and, diving
    to the bottom, disappeared. The creature had a black body, about six
    inches thick, ringed with dingy-yellow bands, and a mottled-green head,
    long and pointed, like a pike's.

    Silver Lake, near Gainesville, New York, was in 1855 reported to be the
    lair of a great serpent, and old settlers declare that he still comes to
    the surface now and then.

    A tradition among the poor whites of the South Jruns to the effect that
    the sea-monster that swallowed Jonah--not a whale, because the throat of
    that animal is hardly large enough to admit a herring--crossed the
    Atlantic and brought up at the Carolinas. His passenger was supplied
    with tobacco and beguiled the tedium of the voyage by smoking a pipe.
    The monster, being unused to that sort of thing, suffered as all
    beginners in nicotine poisoning do, and expelled the unhappy man with
    emphasis. On being safely landed, Jonah attached himself to one of the
    tribes that peopled the barrens, and left a white progeny which
    antedated Columbus's arrival by several centuries. God pitied the
    helplessness of these ignorant and uncourageous whites and led them to
    Looking-Glass Mountain, North Carolina, where He caused corn and game to
    be created, and while this race endured it lived in plenty.

    Santa Barbara Island, off the California coast, was, for a long time,
    the supposed head-quarters of swimming and flying monsters and sirens,
    and no Mexican would pass in hearing of the yells and screams and
    strange songs without crossing himself and begging the captain to give
    the rock a wide berth. But the noise is all the noise of cats. A
    shipwrecked tabby peopled the place many years ago, and her numerous
    progeny live there on dead fish and on the eggs and chicks of sea-fowl.

    Spirit Canon, a rocky gorge that extends for three miles along Big Sioux
    River, Iowa, was hewn through the stone by a spirit that took the form
    of a dragon. Such were its size and ferocity that the Indians avoided
    the place, lest they should fall victims to its ire.

    The Hurons believed in a monster serpent--Okniont--who wore a horn on
    his head that could pierce trees, rocks, and hills. A piece of this
    horn was an amulet of great value, for it insured good luck.

    The Zunis tell of a plumed serpent that lives in the water of sacred
    springs, and they dare not destroy the venomous creatures that infest
    the plains of Arizona because, to them, the killing of a snake means a
    reduction in their slender water-supply. The gods were not so kind to
    the snakes as men were, for the agatized trees of Chalcedony Park, in
    Arizona, are held to be arrows shot by the angry deities at the monsters
    who vexed this region.

    Indians living on the shore of Canandaigua Lake, New York, tamed a
    pretty spotted snake, and fed and petted it until it took a deer at a
    meal. It grew so large that it eventually encircled the camp and began
    to prey on its keepers. Vainly they tried to kill the creature, until a
    small boy took an arrow of red willow, anointed it with the blood of a
    young woman, and shot it from a basswood bow at the creature's heart.
    It did not enter at once; it merely stuck to the scales. But presently
    it began to bore and twist its way into the serpent's body. The serpent
    rolled into the lake and made it foam in its agony. It swallowed water
    and vomited it up again, with men dead and alive, before it died.

    The monster Amhuluk, whose home is a lake near Forked Mountain, Oregon,
    had but one passion-to catch and drown all things; and when you look
    into the lake you see that he has even drowned the sky in it, and has
    made the trees stand upside down in the water. Wherever he set his feet
    the ground would soften. As three children were digging roots at the
    edge of the water he fell on them and impaled two of them on his horns,
    the eldest only contriving to escape. When this boy reached home his
    body was full of blotches, and the father suspected how it was, yet he
    went to the lake at once. The bodies of the children came out of the
    mud at his feet to meet him, but went down again and emerged later
    across the water. They led him on in this way until he came to the
    place where they were drowned. A fog now began to steam up from the
    water, but through it he could see the little ones lifted on the
    monster's horns, and hear them cry, "We have changed our bodies." Five
    times they came up and spoke to him, and five times he raised a dismal
    cry and begged them to return, but they could not. Next morning he saw
    them rise through the fog again, and, building a camp, he stayed there
    and mourned for several days. For five days they showed themselves, but
    after that they went down and he saw and heard no more of them. Ambuluk
    had taken the children and they would live with him for ever after.

    Crater Lake, Oregon, was a haunt of water-devils who dragged into it and
    drowned all who ventured near. Only within a few years could Indians be
    persuaded to go to it as guides. Its discoverers saw in it the work of
    the Great Spirit, but could not guess its meaning. All but one of these
    Klamaths stole away after they had looked into its circular basin and
    sheer walls. He fancied that if it was a home of gods they might have
    some message for men, so camping on the brink of the lofty cliffs he
    waited. In his sleep a vision came to him, and he heard voices, but
    could neither make out appearances nor distinguish a word. Every night
    this dream was repeated. He finally went down to the lake and bathed,
    and instantly found his strength increased and saw that the people of
    his dreams were the genii of the waters--whether good or bad he could
    not guess. One day he caught a fish for food. A thousand water-devils
    came to the surface, on the instant, and seized him. They carried him
    to a rock on the north side of the lake, that stands two thousand feet
    above the water, and from that they dashed him down, gathering the
    remains of his shattered body below and devouring them. Since that
    taste they have been eager for men's blood. The rock on the south side
    of the lake, called the Phantom Ship, is believed by the Indians to be a
    destructive monster, innocent as it looks in the daytime.

    So with Rock Lake, in Washington. A hideous reptile sports about its
    waters and gulps down everything that it finds in or on them. Only in
    1853 a band of Indians, who had fled hither for security against the
    soldiers, were overtaken by this creature, lashed to death, and eaten.

    The Indians of Louisiana, Mississippi, and Texas believed that the King
    Snake, or God Snake, lived in the Gulf of Mexico. It slept in a cavern
    of pure crystal at the bottom, and its head, being shaped from a solid
    emerald, lighted the ocean for leagues when it arose near the surface.

    Similar to this is the belief of the Cherokees in the kings of
    rattlesnakes, "bright old inhabitants" of the mountains that grew to a
    mighty size, and drew to themselves every creature that they looked
    upon. Each wore a crown of carbuncle of dazzling brightness.

    The Indians avoided Klamath Lake because it was haunted by a monster
    that was half dragon, half hippopotamus.

    Hutton Lake, Wyoming, is the home of a serpent queen, whose breathing
    may be seen. in the bubbles that well up in the centre. She is
    constantly watching for her lover, but takes all men who come in her way
    to her grotto beneath the water, when she finds that they are not the
    one she has expected, and there they become her slaves. To lure victims
    into the lake she sets there a decoy of a beautiful red swan, and should
    the hunter kill this bird he will become possessed of divine power.
    Should he see "the woman," as the serpent queen is called, he will never
    live to tell of it, unless he has seen her from a hiding-place near the
    shore--for so surely as he is noticed by this Diana of the depths, so
    surely will her spies, the land snakes, sting him to death. In
    appearance she is a lovely girl in all but her face, and that is shaped
    like the head of a monster snake. Her name is never spoken by the
    Indians, for fear that it will cost them their lives.

    Michael Pauw, brave fisherman of Paterson, New Jersey, hero of the fight
    with the biggest snapping-turtle in Dover Slank, wearer of a scar on his
    seat of honor as memento of the conflict, member of the Kersey Reds--he
    whose presence of mind was shown in holding out a chip of St.
    Nicholas's staff when he met the nine witches of the rocks capering in
    the mists of Passaic Falls--gave battle from a boat to a monster that
    had ascended to the cataract. One of the Kersey Reds, leaning out too
    far, fell astride of the horny beast, and was carried at express speed,
    roaring with fright, until unhorsed by a projecting rock, up which he
    scrambled to safety. Falling to work with bayonets and staves, the
    company despatched the creature and dragged it to shore. One Dutchman--
    who was quite a traveller, having been as far from home as Albany--said
    that the thing was what the Van Rensselaers cut up for beef, and that he
    believed they called it a sturgeon.


    There is an odd recurrence among American legends of tales relating to
    assaults of people or their houses by imps of darkness. The shadowy
    leaguers of Gloucester, Massachusetts, kept the garrison of that place
    in a state of fright until they were expelled from the neighborhood by a
    silver bullet and a chaplain's prayers. Witchcraft was sometimes
    manifested in Salem by the hurling of missiles from unseen hands. The
    "stone-throwing devil" of Portsmouth is the subject of a tradition more
    than two centuries of age, but, as the stone-thrower appears rather as
    an avenger than as a gratuitously malignant spirit, he is ill treated in
    having the name of devil applied to him. In this New Hampshire port
    lived a widow who had a cabin and a bit of land of her own. George
    Walton, a neighbor, wanted her land, for its situation pleased him, and
    as the old woman had neither money nor influential friends he charged
    her with witchcraft, and, whether by legal chicanery or mere force is
    not recorded, he got his hands upon her property.

    The charge of witchcraft was not pressed, because the man had obtained
    what he wanted, but the poor, houseless creature laid a ban on the place
    and told the thief that he would never have pleasure nor profit out of
    it. Walton laughed at her, bade her go her way, and moved his family
    into the widow's house. It was Sunday night, and the family had gone to
    bed, when at ten o'clock there came a fierce shock of stones against the
    roof and doors. All were awake in a moment. A first thought was that
    Indians were making an assault, but when the occupants peered cautiously
    into the moonlight the fields were seen to be deserted. Yet, even as
    they looked, a gate was lifted from its hinges and thrown through the

    Walton ventured out, but a volley of stones, seemingly from a hundred
    hands, was delivered at his head, and he ran back to shelter. Doors and
    windows were barred and shuttered, but it made no difference. Stones,
    too hot to hold a hand upon, were hurled through glass and down the
    chimney, objects in the rooms themselves were picked up and flung at
    Walton, candles were blown out, a hand without a body tapped at the
    window, locks and bars and keys were bent as if by hammer-blows,
    a cheese-press was smashed against the wall and the cheese spoiled, hay-
    stacks in the field were broken up and the hay tossed into branches of
    trees. For a long time Walton could not go out at night without being
    assailed with stones. Bell, book, candle, and witch-broth availed
    nothing, and it was many a day before peace came to the Walton

    In 1802 an epidemic of assault went through the Berkshire Hills. The
    performance began in a tailor's shop in Salisbury, Connecticut, at
    eleven of the clock on the night of November 2, when a stick and lumps
    of stone, charcoal, and mortar were flung through a window. The moon
    was up, but nothing could be seen, and the bombardment was continued
    until after daylight. After doing some damage here the assailants went
    to the house of Ezekiel Landon and rapped away there for a week.
    Persons were struck by the missiles, and quantities of glass were
    destroyed. Nothing could be seen coming toward the windows until the
    glass broke, and it was seldom that anything passed far into a room. No
    matter how hard it was thrown, it dropped softly and surely on the sill,
    inside, as if a hand had put it there. Windows were broken on both
    sides of buildings at the same time, and many sticks and stones came
    through the same holes in the panes, as if aimed carefully by a gunner.

    A hamlet that stood in Sage's ravine, on the east side of the Dome of
    the Taconics, was assailed in the same way after nightfall. One house
    was considerably injured. No causes for the performance were ever
    discovered, and nobody in the place was known to have an enemy--
    at least, a malicious one.

    At Whitmire Hill, Georgia, the spot where two murders were committed
    before the war, is a headless phantom that comes thundering down on the
    wayfarer on the back of a giant horse and vanishes at the moment when
    the heart of his prospective victim is bumping against his palate. At
    times, however, this spook prefers to remain invisible, and then it is a
    little worse, for it showers stones and sods on the pedestrian until his
    legs have carried him well beyond the phantom's jurisdiction.

    The legends of buried treasure, instanced in another place, frequently
    include assaults by the ghosts of pirates and misers on the daring ones
    who try to resurrect their wealth.

    Forty-seven years ago, in the township of St. Mary's, Illinois, two
    lads named Groves and a companion named Kirk were pelted with snowballs
    while on their way home from a barn where they had been to care for the
    stock for the night. The evening had shut in dark, and the accuracy of
    the thrower's aim was the more remarkable because it was hardly possible
    to see more than a rod away. The snowballs were packed so tightly that
    they did not break on striking, though they were thrown with force, and
    Kirk was considerably bruised by them. Mr. Groves went out with a
    lantern, but its rays lit up a field of untrodden snow, and there was no
    sound except that made by the wind as it whistled past the barn and
    fences. Toward dawn another inspection was made, and in the dim light
    the snowballs were seen rising from the middle of a field that had not a
    footprint on it, and flying toward the spectators like bullets. They
    ran into the field and laid about them with pitchforks, but nothing came
    of that, and not until the sun arose was the pelting stopped. Young
    Kirk, who was badly hurt, died within a year.

    The men of Sharon, Connecticut, having wheedled their town-site from the
    Indians in 1754, were plagued thereafter by whoops and whistlings and
    the throwing of stones. Men were seen in the starlight and were fired
    upon, but without effect, and the disturbances were not ended until the
    Indians had received a sum of money.

    Without presuming to doubt the veracity of tradition in these matters,
    an incident from the writer's boyhood in New England may be instanced.
    The house of an unpopular gentleman was assailed--not in the
    ostentatious manner just described, yet in a way that gave him a good
    deal of trouble. Dead cats appeared mysteriously in his neighborhood;
    weird noises arose under his windows; he tried to pick up letters from
    his doorstep that became mere chalk-marks at his touch, so that he took
    up only splinters under his nails. One night, as a seance was about
    beginning in his yard, he emerged from a clump of bushes, flew in the
    direction of the disturbance, laid violent hands on the writer's collar,
    and bumped his nose on a paving-stone. Then the manifestations were
    discontinued, for several nights, for repairs.


    Like the Greeks, the red men endowed the woods and waters with tutelary
    sprites, and many of the springs that are now resorted to as fountains
    of healing were known long before the settlement of Europeans here, the
    gains from drinking of them being ascribed to the beneficence of spirit
    guardians. The earliest comers to these shores--or, rather, the
    earliest of those who entertained such beliefs--fancied that the fabled
    fountain of eternal youth would be found among the other blessings of
    the land. To the Spaniards Florida was a land of promise and mystery.
    Somewhere in its interior was fabled to stand a golden city ruled by a
    king whose robes sparkled with precious dust, and this city was named
    for the adventurer--El Dorado, or the Place of the Gilded One. Here,
    they said, would be found the elixir of life. The beautiful Silver
    Spring, near the head of the Ocklawaha, with its sandy bottom plainly
    visible at the depth of eighty feet, was thought to be the source of the
    lifegiving waters, but, though Ponce de Leon heard of this, he never
    succeeded in fighting his way to it through the jungle.

    In Georgia, in the reputed land of Chicora, were a sacred stream that
    made all young again who bathed there, and a spring so delectable that a
    band of red men, chancing on it in a journey, could not leave it, and
    are there forever.

    In the island of "Bimini," one of the Lucayos (Bahamas), was another
    such a fountain.

    Between the Flint and Ocmulgee Rivers the Creeks declared was a spring
    of life, on an island in a marsh, defended from approach by almost
    impenetrable labyrinths,--a heaven where the women were fairer than
    any other on earth.

    The romantic and superstitious Spaniards believed these legends, and
    spent years and treasure in searching for these springs. And, surely,
    if the new and striking scenes of this Western world caused Columbus
    to "boast that he had found the seat of paradise, it will not appear
    strange that Ponce de Leon should dream of discovering the fountain
    of youth."

    The Yuma Apaches had been warned by one of their oracles never to enter
    a certain canon in Castle Dome range, Arizona, but a company of them
    forgot this caution while in chase of deer, and found themselves between
    walls of pink and white fluorite with a spring bubbling at the head of
    the ravine. Tired and heated, they fell on their faces to drink, when
    they found that the crumbling quartz that formed the basin of the spring
    was filled with golden nuggets. Eagerly gathering up this precious
    substance, for they knew what treasure of beads, knives, arrows, and
    blankets the Mexicans would exchange for it, they attempted to make
    their way out of the canon; but a cloudburst came, and on the swiftly
    rising tide all were swept away but one, who survived to tell the story.
    White men have frequently but vainly tried to find that spring.

    In Southwestern Kansas, on a hill a quarter-mile from Solomon River, is
    the Sacred Water, pooled in a basin thirty feet across. When many stand
    about the brink it slowly rises. Here two Panis stopped on their return
    from a buffalo hunt, and one of them unwittingly stepped on a turtle a
    yard long. Instantly he felt his feet glued to the monster's back, for,
    try as he might, he could not disengage himself, and the creature
    lumbered away to the pool, where it sank with him. There the turtle god
    remains, and beads, arrows, ear-rings, and pipes that are dropped in, it
    swallows greedily. The Indians use the water to mix their paint with,
    but never for drinking.

    The mail rider, crossing the hot desert of Arizona, through the cacti
    and over holes where scorpions hide, makes for Devil's Well, under El
    Diablo--a dark pool surrounded with gaunt rocks. Here, coming when the
    night is on, he lies down, and the wind swishing in the sage--brush puts
    him to sleep. At dawn he wakens with the frightened whinny of his horse
    in his ears and, all awake, looks about him. A stranger, wrapped in a
    tattered blanket, is huddled in a recess of the stones, arrived there,
    like himself, at night, perhaps. Poising his rifle on his knee, the
    rider challenges him, but never a sign the other makes. Then, striding
    over to him, he pulls away the blanket and sees a shrivelled corpse with
    a face that he knows--his brother. Hardly is this meeting made when a
    hail of arrows falls around. His horse is gone. The Apaches, who know
    no gentleness and have no mercy, have manned every gap and sheltering
    rock. With his rifle he picks them off, as they rise in sight with
    arrows at the string, and sends them tumbling into the dust; but, when
    his last bullet has sped into a red man's heart, they rise in a body and
    with knives and hatchets hew him to death. And that is why the Devil's
    Well still tastes of blood.

    Among the Balsam Mountains of Western North Carolina is a large spring
    that promises refreshment, but, directly that the wayfarer bends over
    the water, a grinning face appears at the bottom and as he stoops it
    rises to meet his. So hideous is this demon that few of the
    mountaineers have courage to drink here, and they refuse to believe that
    the apparition is caused by the shape of the basin, or aberrated
    reflection of their own faces. They say it is the visage of a "haunt,"
    for a Cherokee girl, who had uncommon beauty, once lived hard by, and
    took delight in luring lovers from less favored maidens. The braves
    were jealous of each other, and the women were jealous of her, while
    she--the flirt!--rejoiced in the trouble that she made. A day fell for
    a wedding--that of a hunter with a damsel of his tribe, but at the hour
    appointed the man was missing. Mortified and hurt, the bride stole away
    from the village and began a search of the wood, and she carried bow and
    arrows in her hand. Presently she came on the hunter, lying at the feet
    of the coquette, who was listening to his words with encouraging smiles.
    Without warning the deserted girl drew an arrow to the head and shot her
    lover through the heart--then, beside his lifeless body, she begged
    Manitou to make her rival's face so hideous that all would be frightened
    who looked at it. At the words the beautiful creature felt her face
    convulse and shrivel, and, rushing to the mirror of the spring, she
    looked in, only to start back in loathing. When she realized that the
    frightful visage that glared up at her was her own, she uttered a cry of
    despair and flung herself into the water, where she drowned.

    It is her face--so altered as to disclose the evil once hid behind it--
    that peers up at the hardy one who passes there and knows it as the
    Haunted Spring.

    The medicinal properties of the mineral springs at Ballston and Saratoga
    were familiar to the Indians, and High Rock Spring, to which Sir William
    Johnson was carried by the Mohawks in 1767 to be cured of a wound, was
    called "the medicine spring of the Great Spirit," for it was believed
    that the leaping and bubbling of the water came from its agitation by
    hands not human, and red men regarded it with reverence.

    The springs at Manitou, Colorado (see "Division of Two Tribes"), were
    always approached with gifts for the manitou that lived in them.

    The lithia springs of Londonderry, New Hampshire, used to be visited by
    Indians from the Merrimack region, who performed incantations and dances
    to ingratiate themselves with the healing spirit that lived in the
    water. Their stone implements and arrow-heads are often found in
    adjacent fields.

    The curative properties of Milford Springs, New Hampshire, were revealed
    in the dream of a dying boy.

    A miracle spring flowed in the old days near the statue of the Virgin at
    White Marsh, Maryland.

    Biddeford Pool, Maine, was a miracle pond once a year, for whoso bathed
    there on the 26th of June would be restored to health if he were ill,
    because that day was the joint festival of Saints Anthelm and Maxentius.

    There was a wise and peaceable chief of the Ute tribe who always
    counselled his people to refrain from war, but when he grew old the
    fiery spirits deposed him and went down to the plains to give battle to
    the Arapahoe. News came that they had been defeated in consequence of
    their rashness. Then the old man's sorrow was so keen that his heart
    broke. But even in death he was beneficent, for his spirit entered the
    earth and forthwith came a gush of water that has never ceased to flow--
    the Hot Sulphur Springs of Colorado. The Utes often used to go to those
    springs to bathe--and be cured of rheumatism--before they were driven

    Spring River, Arkansas, is nearly as large at its source as at its
    mouth, for Mammoth Spring, in the Ozark Mountains, where it has its
    rise, has a yield of ninety thousand gallons a minute, so that it is,
    perhaps, the largest in the world. Here, three hundred years ago, the
    Indians had gathered for a month's feast, for chief Wampahseesah's
    daughter--Nitilita--was to wed a brave of many ponies, a hundred of
    which he had given in earnest of his love. For weeks no rain had
    fallen, and, while the revel was at its height, news came that all the
    rivers had gone dry. Several young men set off with jars, to fill them
    at the Mississippi, and, confident that relief would come, the song and
    dance went on until the men and women faltered from exhaustion. At
    last, Nitilita died, and, in the wildness of his grief, the husband
    smote his head upon a rock and perished too. Next day the hunters came
    with water, but, incensed by their delay, the chief ordered them to be
    slain in sacrifice to the manes of the dead. A large grave was dug and
    the last solemnities were begun when there was a roaring and a shaking
    in the earth--it parted, and the corpses disappeared in the abyss. Then
    from the pit arose a flood of water that went foaming down the valley.
    Crazed with grief, remorse, and fear, Wampahseesah flung himself into
    the torrent and was borne to his death. The red men built a dam there
    later, and often used to sit before it in the twilight, watching, as
    they declared, the faces of the dead peering at them through the foam.

    During the rush for the California gold-fields in the '50's a party took
    the route by Gila River, and set across the desert. The noon
    temperature was 120, the way was strewn with skeletons of wagons,
    horses, and men, and on the second night after crossing the Colorado the
    water had given out. The party had gathered on the sands below Yuma,
    the men discussing the advisability of returning, the women full of
    apprehension, the young ones crying, the horses panting; but presently
    the talk fell low, for in one of the wagons a child's voice was heard in
    prayer: "Oh, good heavenly Father, I know I have been a naughty girl,
    but I am so thirsty, and mamma and papa and baby all want a drink so
    much! Do, good God, give us water, and I never will be naughty again."
    One of the men said, earnestly, "May God grant it!" In a few moments
    the child cried, "Mother, get me water. Get some for baby and me. I
    can hear it running." The horses and mules nearly broke from the
    traces, for almost at their feet a spring had burst from the sand-warm,
    but pure. Their sufferings were over. The water continued to flow,
    running north for twenty miles, and at one point spreading into a lake
    two miles wide and twenty feet deep. When emigration was diverted, two
    years later, to the northern route and to the isthmus, New River Spring
    dried up. Its mission was over.


    So few States in this country--and so few countries, if it comes to
    that--are without a lover's leap that the very name has come to be a
    by-word. In most of these places the disappointed ones seem to have
    gone to elaborate and unusual pains to commit suicide, neglecting many
    easy and equally appropriate methods. But while in some cases the
    legend has been made to fit the place, there is no doubt that in many
    instances the story antedated the arrival of the white men. The best
    known lovers' leaps are those on the upper Mississippi, on the French
    Broad, Jump Mountain, in Virginia, Jenny Jump Mountain, New Jersey,
    Mackinac, Michigan, Monument Mountain, Massachusetts, on the
    Wissahickon, near Philadelphia, Muscatine, Iowa, and Lefferts Height.
    There are many other declivities,--also, that are scenes of leaps and
    adventures, such as the Fawn's Leap, in Kaaterskill Clove; Rogers's
    Rock, on Lake George; the rocks in Long Narrows, on the Juniata, where
    the ghost of Captain Jack, "the wild hunter" of colonial days, still
    ranges; Campbell's Ledge, Pittston, Pennsylvania, where its name-giver
    jumped off to escape Indians; and Peabody's leap, of thirty feet, on
    Lake Champlain, where Tim Peabody, a scout, escaped after killing a
    number of savages.

    At Jump Mountain, near Lexington, Virginia, an Indian couple sprang off
    because there were insuperable bars to their marriage.

    At the rock on the Wissahickon a girl sought death because her lover was
    untrue to her.

    At Muscatine the cause of a maid's demise and that of her lover was the
    severity of her father, who forbade the match because there was no war
    in which the young man could prove his courage.

    At Lefferts Height a girl stopped her recreant lover as he was on his
    way to see her rival, and urging his horse to the edge of the bluff she
    leaped with him into the air.

    Monument Mountain, a picturesque height in the Berkshires, is faced on
    its western side by a tall precipice, from which a girl flung herself
    because the laws of her tribe forbade her marriage with a cousin to whom
    she had plighted troth. She was buried where her body was found, and
    each Indian as he passed the spot laid a stone on her grave--thus, in
    time, forming a monument.

    "Purgatory," the chasm at Newport, Rhode Island, through which the sea
    booms loudly after a storm, was a scene of self-sacrifice to a hopeless
    love on the part of an Indian pair in a later century, though there is
    an older tradition of the seizure of a guilty squaw, by no less a person
    than the devil himself, who flung her from the cliff and dragged her
    soul away as it left her body. His hoof-marks were formerly visible on
    the rocks.

    At Hot Springs, North Carolina, two conspicuous cliffs are pointed out
    on the right bank of the French Broad River: Paint Rock--where the
    aborigines used to get ochre to smear their faces, and which they
    decorated with hieroglyphics--and Lover's Leap. It is claimed that the
    latter is the first in this country known to bear this sentimental and
    tragically suggestive title. There are two traditions concerning it,
    one being that an Indian girl was discovered at its top by hostiles who
    drove her into the gulf below, the other relating to the wish of an
    Indian to marry a girl of a tribe with which his own had been
    immemorially at war. The match was opposed on both sides, so, instead
    of doing as most Indians and some white men would do nowadays--marry the
    girl and let reconciliation come in time,--he scaled the rock in her
    company and leaped with her into the stream. They awoke as man and wife
    in the happy hunting-ground.

    In 1700 there lived in the village of Keoxa, below Frontenac, Minnesota,
    on the Mississippi River, a Dakota girl named Winona (the First Born),
    who was loved by a hunter in her tribe, and loved him in return. Her
    friends commended to her affections a young chief who had valiantly
    defended the village against an attack of hostiles, but Juliet would
    none of this dusky Count de Paris, adhering faithfully to her Romeo.
    Unable to move her by argument, her family at length drove her lover
    away, and used other harsh measures to force her into a repugnant union,
    but she replied, "You are driving me to despair. I do not love this
    chief, and cannot live with him. You are my father, my brothers, my
    relatives, yet you drive from me the only man with whom I wish to be
    united. Alone he ranges through the forest, with no one to build his
    lodge, none to spread his blanket, none to wait on him. Soon you will
    have neither daughter, sister, nor relative to torment with false
    professions." Blazing with anger at this unsubmissive speech, her
    father declared that she should marry the chief on that very day, but
    while the festival was in preparation she stole to the top of the crag
    that has since been known as Maiden's Rock, and there, four hundred feet
    above the heads of the people, upbraided those who had formerly
    professed regard for her. Then she began her death-song. Some of the
    men tried to scale the cliff and avert the tragedy that it was evident
    would shortly be enacted, and her father, his displeasure forgotten in
    an agony of apprehension, called to her that he would no longer oppose
    her choice. She gave no heed to their appeals, but, when the song was
    finished, walked to the edge of the rock, leaped out, and rolled
    lifeless at the feet of her people.

    When we say that the real name of Lover's Leap in Mackinac is
    Mechenemockenungoqua, we trust that it will not be repeated. It has its
    legend, however, as well as its name, for an Ojibway girl stood on this
    spire of rock, watching for her lover after a battle had been fought and
    her people were returning. Eagerly she scanned the faces of the braves
    as their war-canoes swept by, but the face she looked for was not among
    them. Her lover was at that moment tied to a tree, with an arrow in his
    heart. As she looked at the boats a vision of his fate revealed itself,
    and the dead man, floating toward her, beckoned. Her death-song sounded
    in the ears of the men, but before they could reach her she had gone
    swiftly to the verge, her hands extended, her eyes on vacancy, and her
    spirit had met her lover's.

    From this very rock, in olden time, leaped the red Eve when the red Adam
    had been driven away by a devil who had fallen in love with her. Adam,
    who was paddling by the shore, saw she was about to fall, rushed
    forward, caught her, and saved her life. The law of gravitation in
    those days did not act with such distressing promptitude as now.
    Manitou, hearing of these doings, restored them to the island and
    banished the devil, who fell to a world of evil spirits underground,
    where he became the father of the white race, and has ever since
    persecuted the Indians by proxy.

    On the same island of Mackinac the English had a fort, the garrison of
    which was massacred in 1763. A sole survivor--a young officer named
    Robinson--owed his life to a pretty half-breed who gave him hiding in a
    secluded wigwam. As the spot assured him of safety, and the girl was
    his only companion, they lived together as man and wife, rather happily,
    for several years. When the fort had been built again, Robinson re-
    entered the service, and appeared at head-quarters with a wife of his
    own color. His Indian consort showed no jealousy. On the contrary, she
    consented to live apart in a little house belonging to the station, on
    the cliff, called Robinson's Folly. She did ask her lover to go there
    and sit with her for an hour before they separated forever, and he
    granted this request. While they stood at the edge of the rock she
    embraced him; then, stepping back, with her arms still around his neck,
    she fell from the cliff, dragging him with her, and both were killed.
    The edge of the rock fell shortly after, carrying the house with it.

    Matiwana, daughter of the chief of the Omahas, whose village was near
    the mouth of Omaha Creek, married a faithless trader from St. Louis, who
    had one wife already, and who returned to her, after an absence among
    his own people, with a third, a woman of his own color. He coldly
    repelled the Indian woman, though he promised to send her boy--and his
    --to the settlements to be educated. She turned away with only a look,
    and a few days later was found dead at the foot of a bluff near her

    White Rocks, one hundred and fifty feet above Cheat River, in Fayette
    County, Pennsylvania, were the favorite tryst of a handsome girl, the
    daughter of a well-to-do farmer of that region, and a dashing fellow who
    had gone into that country to hunt. They had many happy days there on
    the hill together, but after making arrangements for the wedding they
    quarrelled, nobody knew for what. One evening they met by accident on
    the rocks, and appeared to be in formal talk when night came on and they
    could no longer be seen. The girl did not return, and her father set
    off with a search party to look for her. They found her, dead and
    mangled, at the foot of the rocks. Her lover, in a fit of impatience,
    had pushed her and she had staggered and fallen over. He fled at once,
    and, under a changed name and changed appearance, eluded pursuit. When
    the War of the Rebellion broke out, he entered the army and fought
    recklessly, for by that time he had tired of life and hoped to die. But
    it was of no use. He was only made captain for a bravery that he was
    not conscious of showing, and the old remorse still preyed on him. It
    was after the war that something took him back to Fayette County, and on
    a pleasant day he climbed the rocks to take a last look at the scenes
    that had been brightened by love and saddened by regret. He had not
    been long on its summit when an irresistible impulse came upon him to
    leap down where the girl had fallen, and atone with his own blood for
    the shedding of hers. He gave way to this prompting, and the fall was

    Some years before the outbreak of the Civil War a man with his wife and
    daughter took up their residence in a log cabin at the foot of Sunrise
    Rock, near Chattanooga, Tennessee. It seemed probable that they had
    known better days, for the head of the household was notoriously useless
    in the eyes of his neighbors, and was believed to get his living through
    "writin' or book-larnin'," but he was so quiet and gentle that they
    never upbraided him, and would sometimes, after making a call, wander
    into his garden and casually weed it for him for an hour or so. The
    girl, Stella, was a well-schooled, quick-witted, rosy-cheeked lass, whom
    all the shaggy, big-jointed farmer lads of the neighborhood regarded
    with hopeless admiration. A year or two after the settlement of the
    family it began to be noticed that she was losing color and had an
    anxious look, and when a friendly old farmer saw her talking in the lane
    with a lawyer from Chattanooga, who wore broadcloth and had a gold
    watch, he was puzzled that the "city chap" did not go home with her, but
    kissed his hand to her as he turned away. Afterward the farmer met the
    pair again, and while the girl smiled and said, "Howdy, Uncle Joe?" the
    lawyer turned away and looked down the river. It was the last time that
    a smile was seen on Stella's face. A few evenings later she was seen
    standing on Sunrise Rock, with her look bent on Chattanooga. The shadow
    of night crept up the cliff until only her figure stood in sunlight,
    with her hair like a golden halo about her face. At that moment came on
    the wind the sound of bells-wedding-bells. Pressing her hands to her
    ears, the girl walked to the edge of the rock, and a few seconds later
    her lifeless form rolled through the bushes at its foot into the road.
    At her funeral the people came from far and near to offer sympathy to
    the mother, garbed in black, and the father, with his hair turned white,
    but the lawyer from Chattanooga was not there.

    The name of Indian Maiden's Cliff--applied to a precipice that hangs
    above the wild ravine of Stony Clove, in the Catskills--commemorates the
    sequel to an elopement from her tribe of an Indian girl and her lover.
    The parents and relatives had opposed the match with that fatal fatuity
    that appears to be characteristic of story-book Indians, and as soon as
    word of her flight came to the village they set off in chase. While
    hurrying through the tangled wood the young couple were separated and
    the girl found herself on the edge of the cliff. Farther advance was
    impossible. Her pursuers were close behind. She must yield or die.
    She chose not to yield, and, with a despairing cry, flung herself into
    the shadows.

    Similar to this is the tale of Lover's Leap in the dells of the Sioux,
    among the Black Hills of South Dakota.

    At New Milford, Connecticut, they show you Falls Mountain, with the
    cairn erected by his tribe in 1735 to chief Waramaug, who wished to be
    buried there, so that, when he was cold and lonely in the other life,
    he could return to his body and muse on the lovely landscape that he
    so enjoyed. The will-o'-the-wisp flickered on the mountain's edge at
    night, and flecks of dew-vapor that floated from the wood by day were
    sometimes thought to be the spirit of the chief. He had a daughter,
    Lillinonah, whose story is related to Lover's Leap, on the riverward
    side of the mountain. She had led to the camp a white man, who had been
    wandering beside the Housatonic, ill and weak, vainly seeking a way out
    of the wilderness, and, in spite of the dark looks that were cast at him
    and her, she succeeded in making him, for that summer, a member of the
    tribe. As the man grew strong with her care he grew happy and he fell
    in love. In the autumn he said to her, "I wish to see my people, and
    when I have done so I will come back to you and we shall be man and
    wife." They parted regretfully and the winter passed for the girl on
    leaden feet. With spring came hope. The trails were open, and daily
    she watched for her white lover. The summer came and went, and the
    autumn was there again. She had grown pale and sad, and old Waramaug
    said to young Eagle Feather, who had looked softly on her for many
    years, "The girl sickens in loneliness. You shall wed her." This is
    repeated to her, and that evening she slips away to the river, enters a
    canoe, casts away the paddle, and drifts down the stream. Slowly, at
    first, but faster and faster, as the rapids begin to draw it, skims the
    boat, but above the hoarse brawling of the waters she hears a song in a
    voice that she knows--the merry troll of a light heart. The branches
    part at Lover's Leap and her lover looks down upon her. The joyous
    glance of recognition changes to a look of horror, for the boat is
    caught. The girl rises and holds her arms toward him in agonized
    appeal. Life, at any cost! He, with a cry, leaps into the flood as the
    canoe is passing. It lurches against a rock and Lillinonah is thrown
    out. He reaches her. The falls bellow in their ears. They take a last
    embrace, and two lives go out in the growing darkness.


    From the oldest time men have associated the mountains with visitations
    of God. Their height, their vastness, their majesty made them seem
    worthy to be stairs by which the Deity might descend to earth, and they
    stand in religious and poetic literature to this day as symbols of the
    largest mental conceptions. Scriptural history is intimately associated
    with them, and the giving of the law on Sinai, amid thunder and
    darkness, is one of the most tremendous pictures that imagination can
    paint. Ararat, Hermon, Horeb, Pisgah, Calvary, Adam's Peak, Parnassus,
    Olympus! How full of suggestion are these names! And poetic figures in
    sacred writings are full of allusion to the beauty, nobility, and
    endurance of the hills.

    It is little known that many of our own mountains are associated with
    aboriginal legends of the Great Spirit. According to the Indians of
    California, Mount Shasta was the first part of the earth to be made.
    The Great Spirit broke a hole through the floor of heaven with a rock,
    and on the spot where this rock had stopped he flung down more rocks,
    with earth and snow and ice, until the mass had gained such a height
    that he could step from the sky to its summit. Running his hands over
    its sides he caused forests to spring up. The leaves that he plucked he
    breathed upon, tossed into the air, and, lo! they were birds. Out of
    his own staff he made beasts and fishes, to live on the hills and in the
    streams, that began to appear as the work of worldbuilding went on. The
    earth became so joyous and so fair that he resolved at last to live on
    it, and he hollowed Shasta into a wigwam, where he dwelt for centuries,
    the smoke of his lodge-fire (Shasta is a volcano) being often seen
    pouring from the cone before the white man came.

    According to the Oregon Indians the first man was created at the base of
    the Cascade Range, near Wood River, by Kmukamtchiksh, "the old man of
    the ancients," who had already made the world. The Klamaths believe
    Kmukamtchiksh a treacherous spirit, "a typical beast god," yet that he
    punishes the wicked by turning them into rocks on the mountain-sides or
    by putting them into volcanic fires.

    Sinsinawa Mound, Wisconsin, was the home of strange beings who occupied
    caverns that few dared to enter. Enchanted rivers flowed through these
    caves to heaven. The Catskills and Adirondacks were abodes of powerful
    beings, and the Highlands of the Hudson were a wall within which Manitou
    confined a host of rebellious spirits. When the river burst through
    this bulwark and poured into the sea, fifty miles below, these spirits
    took flight, and many succeeded in escaping. But others still haunt the
    ravines and bristling woods, and when Manitou careers through the Hudson
    canon on his car of cloud, crying with thunder voice, and hurling his
    lightnings to right and left as he passes, the demons scream and howl in
    rage and fear lest they be recaptured and shut up forever beneath the

    The White Mountains were held in awe by Indians, to whom they were homes
    of great and blessed spirits. Mount Washington was their Olympus and
    Ararat in one, for there dwelt God, and there, when the earth was
    covered with a flood, lived the chief and his wife, whom God had saved,
    sending forth a hare, after the waters had subsided, to learn if it were
    safe to descend. From them the whole country was peopled with red men.
    Yet woe betid the intruder on this high and holy ground, for an angered
    deity condemned him to wander for ages over the desolate peaks and
    through the shadowy chasms rifted down their sides. The despairing
    cries of these condemned ones, in winter storms, even frightened the
    early white settlers in this region, and in 1784 the women of Conway
    petitioned three clergymen "to lay the spirits."

    Other ark and deluge legends relate to the Superstition Mountains, in
    Arizona, Caddoes village, on Red River, Cerro Naztarny, on the Rio
    Grande, the peak of Old Zuni, in Mexico, Colhuacan, on the Pacific
    coast, Mount Apaola, in upper Mixteca, and Mount Neba, in Guaymi. The
    Northwestern Indians tell of a flood in which all perished save one man,
    who fled to Mount Tacoma. To prevent him from being swept away a spirit
    turned him into stone. When the flood had fallen the deity took one of
    his ribs and made a woman of it. Then he touched the stone man back to

    There were descendants of Manitou on the mountains, too, of North
    Carolina, but the Cherokees believe that those heights are bare because
    the devil strode over them on his way to the Devil's Court House
    (Transylvania County, North Carolina), where he sat in judgment and
    claimed his own. Monsters were found in the White Mountains. Devil's
    Den, on the face of Mount Willard, was the lair of one of them--a
    strange, winged creature that strewed the floor of its cave with brute
    and human skeletons, after preying on their flesh.

    The ideas of supernatural occurrences in these New Hampshire hills
    obtained until a recent date, and Sunday Mountain is a monument to the
    dire effects of Sabbath-breaking that was pointed out to several
    generations of New Hampshire youth for their moral betterment. The
    story goes that a man of the adjacent town of Oxford took a walk one
    Sunday, when he should have taken himself to church; and, straying into
    the woods here, he was delivered into the claws and maws of an
    assemblage of bears that made an immediate and exemplary conclusion of

    The grand portrait in rock in Profile Notch was regarded with reverence
    by the few red men who ventured into that lonely defile. When white men
    saw it they said it resembled Washington, and a Yankee orator is quoted
    as saying, "Men put out signs representing their different trades.
    Jewellers hang out a monster watch, shoemakers a huge boot, and, up in
    Franconia, God Almighty has hung out a sign that in New England He makes

    To Echo Lake, close by, the deity was wont to repair that he might
    contemplate the beauties of nature, and the clear, repeated echoes were
    his voice, speaking in gentleness or anger. Moosilauke--meaning a bald
    place, and wrongly called Moose Hillock--was declared by Waternomee,
    chief of the Pemigewassets, to be the home of the Great Spirit, and the
    first time that red men tried to gain the summit they returned in fear,
    crying that Gitche Manitou was riding home in anger on a storm--which
    presently, indeed, burst over the whole country. Few Indians dared to
    climb the mountain after that, and the first fruits of the harvest and
    first victims of the chase were offered in propitiation to the deity.
    At Seven Cascades, on its eastern slope, one of Rogers's Rangers,
    retreating after the Canadian foray, fell to the ground, too tired for
    further motion, when a distant music of harps mingled with the cascade's
    plash, and directly the waters were peopled with forms glowing with
    silverwhite, like the moonstone, that rose and circled, hand in hand,
    singing gayly as they did so. The air then seemed to be flooded with
    rosy light and thousands of sylvan genii ascended altars of rock, by
    steps of rainbow, to offer incense and greet the sun with song. A dark
    cloud passed, daylight faded, and a vision arose of the massacre at St.
    Francis, a retreat through untried wilderness, a feast on human heads,
    torture, and death; then his senses left the worn and starving man. But
    a trapper who had seen his trail soon reached him and led him to a
    friendly settlement, where he was told that only to those who were about
    to take their leave of earth was it given to know those spirits of
    fountain and forest that offered their voices, on behalf of nature, in
    praise of the Great Spirit. To those of grosser sense, on whom the
    weight of worldliness still rested, this halcyon was never revealed.

    It was to Mount Washington that the Great Spirit summoned Passaconaway,
    when his work was done, and there was his apotheosis.

    The Indians account in this manner for the birth of the White Mountains:
    A red hunter who had wandered for days through the forest without
    finding game dropped exhausted on the snow, one night, and awaited
    death. But he fell asleep and dreamed. In his vision he saw a
    beautiful mountain country where birds and beasts and fruits were
    plenty, and, awaking from his sleep, he found that day had come.
    Looking about the frozen wilderness in despair, he cried, "Great Master
    of Life, where is this country that I have seen?" And even as he spoke
    the Master appeared and gave to him a spear and a coal. The hunter
    dropped the coal on the ground, when a fire spread from it, the rocks
    burning with dense smoke, out of which came the Master's voice, in
    thunder tones, bidding the mountains rise. The earth heaved and through
    the reek the terrified man saw hills and crags lifting--lifting--until
    their tops reached above the clouds, and from the far summits sounded
    the promise, "Here shall the Great Spirit live and watch over his
    children." Water now burst from the rocks and came laughing down the
    hollows in a thousand brooks and rills, the valleys unfolded in leaf and
    bloom, birds sang in the branches, butterflies-like winged flowers
    flitted to and fro, the faint and cheerful noise of insect life came
    from the herbage, the smoke rolled away, a genial sun blazed out, and,
    as the hunter looked in rapture on the mighty peaks of the Agiochooks,
    God stood upon their crest.


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    Republic of Vietnam 10/69 - 3/71, Cambodia April 27, 1970 on a mountain top with HUGE scorpions

    "'He jests at scars who never felt a wound'" c.s.lewis - 1940

    The Ten Commandments: http://www.godstenlaws.com/ten-comma.../#.UdAz65yynZg

    The Bill of Rights: http://billofrightsinstitute.org/fou...ill-of-rights/

    The Constitution: http://www.archives.gov/exhibits/cha...ranscript.html

  2. #2
    Sep 2013
    Garrett ACE 250 Pro Pointer
    793 times

    Long read!!! Lot's of treasure leads from this E-Book Project Gutenberg

    Thanks for the post DeepseekerADS!

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  3. #3
    Charter Member
    Mar 2013
    SW, VA - Bull Mountain
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    19711 times
    Digging in the dirt & scooping in the water!
    Great information there, good advice. I don't get a cell signal here! So, I be thinking in terms of text... Backwards I guess. Farm living is the life for me, up the holler is far from everyone

    Here's the link:

    Last edited by DeepseekerADS; Jan 06, 2016 at 07:50 PM.
    Oroblanco and J.A.A. like this.
    Republic of Vietnam 10/69 - 3/71, Cambodia April 27, 1970 on a mountain top with HUGE scorpions

    "'He jests at scars who never felt a wound'" c.s.lewis - 1940

    The Ten Commandments: http://www.godstenlaws.com/ten-comma.../#.UdAz65yynZg

    The Bill of Rights: http://billofrightsinstitute.org/fou...ill-of-rights/

    The Constitution: http://www.archives.gov/exhibits/cha...ranscript.html



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