THE WITHERED MAN, by William Leete Stone

(1834)

“It is impossible to sail while the wind tears at this rate—it’s a fearful night, sir,” said an elderly, weather-beaten man, addressing himself to one who appeared to be in the prime of life, and who by his impatience showed that he had been unaccustomed to having his wishes thwarted.

“Try it, Hazard,” he replied, casting an anxious look at the troubled sky, and pacing backward and forward on the beach, alternately gazing on the broad Hudson, tossed by the hurricane which now roared along its surface, and then on his faithful attendant, who by his looks evinced that he thought it a desperate undertaking. “Try it, man,” he repeated, “we may as well drown as—”

“Try a fool’s errand and be drowned for your pains,” exclaimed a rough voice, in a jeering tone, and at the same moment a man, evidently in a state of partial intoxication, emerged from the wood which stretches itself to the very brink of the river.

“You think it unsafe, then,” said the stranger, in a conciliatory tone.

“Think it unsafe!” retorted the man, with a sneer; “I guess I do. But if you have a fancy for a dip in the Hudson tonight, I’m not the man that’s going to say nay to it;” and bursting into a fit of obstreperous laughter, he reeled back to his companions, whose revelry was now heard by the visitants in the distance.

The gusts of wind became more and more frequent, sweeping up through the Horse Race, and howling over the mountains with indescribable fury, while the rain, which had been some time gathering in dark clouds overhead, poured down in torrents. “There is no remedy,” said the stranger to his companion, who waited with considerable anxiety for his orders. “It would be madness to attempt a departure. Pull up the boat into yonder cove, and fasten her where she will be sheltered from the storm, and let us see what kind of a reception we shall meet with from those fellows.” So saying, he turned towards the wood which covered a wild, rocky glen, and soon discovered by the light of a blazing fire the solitary cottage in which these revelers were carousing. As he approached, the din of human voices rung in his ear, until some kind of silence being obtained, one of the parties commenced a bacchanalian song. The location of the hut, and the appearance of the company within, had both a suspicious aspect. And as the stranger had approached unperceived, availing himself of the partial shelter from the tempest afforded by the rock which formed one side of the rural habitation, and against which rested the ends of the un-hewn timbers of which the front was constructed, he stood for a few moments to reconnoiter, and overheard the following song:

“I’ll sing you a song that you’ll wonder to hear,

Of a freebooter lucky and bold,

Of old Captain Kid—of the man without fear—

How himself to the devil he sold.

His ship was a trim one as ever did swim,

His comrades were hearty and brave—

Twelve pistols he carried, that freebooter grim,

And he fearlessly ploughed the wild wave.

He ploughed for rich harvests, for silver and gold,

He gathered them all in the deep;

And he hollowed his granaries far in the mould,

Where they lay for the devil to keep.

Yet never was rover more open of hand

To the woodsmen so merry and free;

For he scattered his coin ’mong the sons of the land,

Whene’er he returned from the sea.

Yet pay-day at last, though unwished and unbid,

Comes alike to the rude and the civil;

And bold Captain Kid, for the things that he did,

Was sent by Jack Ketch to the devil.”

“Avast there!” exclaimed an old weather-beaten man, with curled gray hair, and a thick beard which had not met a razor for weeks. “Robert Kidd was no more hanged than I was, but spun out his yarn, like a gentleman as he was, and died of old age and for want of breath, as an honest man should.”

“Nay, Wilfrid, blast my eyes if he wa’nt hanged at Execution Dock; for don’t the song say so, that the boys are singing, ‘When I sailed, when I sailed,’ and so on?”

“No, Rollin,” replied the other; “I tell you he was no more hanged than I am hanged, and what’s more, they dar’nt hang him, although parliament folks raised such a breeze about it, when old Bellmont nabbed Rann there away in Boston.”

“That’s a likely story, Wilfred,” exclaimed, with an oath, a dark, brawny-looking fellow, with bushy hair and black shaggy whiskers. “How do you know anything about it?”

“Know! Why I know all about it. Didn’t I live at Governor Fletcher’s, seeing as how I was born without any parents? And didn’t the governor ship me as a cabin boy for Kidd? And didn’t I sail from New York to the Bahamas with him, and from the Bahamas to Madacascar, and a place which I could never see, called El Dorado? And a fine time we’d had on’t for one cruise—though we took a fine haul of doubloons from the Dons for all that—if that New Englander, Phipps, with the Algier-Rose, armed, they said, by the Duke of Albemarle, hadn’t got the start of us, and fished up the old sows of silver from the Spanish wreck down by Hispaniola there. And didn’t I see the Captain at Wapping once, long after the land-pirates said he was hanged at Execution Dock?”

“And so he was hanged,” said another, “or I’ll make my supper of snakes and milk.”

“’Tis no such thing,” replied Wilfrid; “for though I was a boy then, I’ve got everything logged in my memory as though ’twas but yesterday. I overheard some of the secrets one day in Fletcher’s cellar, and if it hadn’t been for Kidd, I guess some folks would have had less manors up along the river there. I guess, too, he’d have made some of their dry bones rattle if he’d told half he knew about Fletcher, and Bellmont, and old Somers, and the Duke of Shrewsbury, and some other big wigs that I could mention. No, you have Jack Wilfred’s word for it, that the king himself would not have dared to hurt a hair of the bold rover’s head, without stopping his mouth first.”

“Well, whether he was twitched up by the neck or not,” croaked out another hoarse voice, “I think we’ve his match cruising about the coast now, in old Vandrick.”

“That I’ll swear you have,” replied Wilfred, “and you may throw in the devil to boot, for that matter. But—”

At this moment the conversation was arrested by the entrance of the stranger, who chose no longer to abide the pelting of the storm. In an instant all was hushed, and every eye fixed on him with that rude stare, with which vulgar people generally receive new faces. The stranger moved towards the fire without seeming disconcerted by his reception, and merely remarking that the night was very tempestuous, seated himself in a retired part of the room. One of the company, who seemed more inebriated than his companions, with a vacant grin between a smile and a laugh, staggered towards him with a cup of spirits, probably intending it as a mark of hospitality, and told him to drink. The offer was declined, upon which the fellow’s brow darkened and, raising his arm with an air of menace, he swore a deep oath that he should fill the cup instantly, or—

At this moment the drunkard was appealed to by several voices at once, on a subject which seemed to be exciting considerable contention among the party, and the intruder, left unmolested, was now enabled to survey the strange society into which he had been so unexpectedly and unwillingly thrown. The company consisted of about twenty men, mostly in the prime of life, inhabiting the Highlands, just above the confined channel now called the Horse Race, and in the neighborhood of what was afterwards the site of Fort Montgomery. Their professed occupation was that of woodsmen; but their most profitable employment was that of assisting in the secretion of goods and valuable property brought to this retired spot by freebooters, who levied contributions at sea under the black flag and pennant. The neighboring country was exactly suited to purposes of this kind, abounding in places of concealment, where many a deed of blood had been executed without fear of detection, and many a treasure secreted without danger of discovery.

It may seem strange that mingling with desperadoes of this kind, the inhabitants should not have participated more in that ferocity of disposition which distinguishes such wretches. But this was not the case. While they assisted the pirates, they feared and hated them; and while they concealed their atrocities, never partook in them. They were bound together only by the ties of interest. Each party had become necessary to the other. The pirates having once confided in them, felt the danger of seeming to distrust them; and the Highlanders, although frequently disgusted with their visitors, did not think it safe to betray them, because they knew that the law might reckon with them for offences long past, while they would be perpetually exposed to the piratical vengeance of any who should escape. Under these feelings they drowned disagreeable reflections in revelry, and, during the absence of the freebooters, squandered away the share of spoil they received as a recompense of their silence.

Such were the people among whom the stranger now found himself, and it may easily be supposed that his sensations were not of the most agreeable kind. But he wisely judged that his best way would be to affect unconcern; and throwing out his legs before the fire, and breathing hard, as if, overcome with fatigue, he had fallen asleep, he listened to the conversation which was carried on, in an undertone of voice, by two or three of the party, who, having drunk less freely than the others, had not yielded to the same soporific influences.

“I tell you, Tom, I heard it and saw it all,” said a young man, who seemed less schooled in debauchery than the rest, to an aged sailor who appeared to listen with surprise, and occasionally shuddered with horror; “I tell you, Tom, I saw it and heard it all; and since that moment it has never been out of my sight, night or day. And it’s only last night I went by that very spot, and heard a groan which I shall never forget.”

“Curse him,” replied the old man, “and cursed be the day I ever entered into his villainous secrets. So long as he chooses to hide his gold here, it’s not for me to ask anything about how he came by it. But murder in cold blood’s another thing, and Tom Cleveland’s not the man to help in such work.”

“Hush,” replied his comrade—for the old man’s voice had been unconsciously raised, as his spirit boiled at the idea of being connected with the murderer—“hush, Tom, and don’t plague yourself now about the difference between hiding blood and helping to spill it. In my mind both’s bad enough. But let’s see what’s to be done, for Vandrick will be sure to be here again in a week.”

“I’ll leave,” said the old man, “if it costs me my life.”

“And so will I,” said the younger one, “for no man can prosper with blood-spots on him. But let’s turn out now; the rain’s almost over, and all these fellows are asleep.”

“A good thing if they slept their last,” muttered his companion. “Some of them know more than I thought they did, or I’d never have been here now. But come along, and let’s have this tale of yours fairly out. It makes me feel as if hot water was trickling down my back to think on’t.”

So saying they crossed the threshold, and disappeared into the gloom. The stranger’s curiosity had been strongly excited, and, rising, after they gone out, he watched the direction they took, and then striding across two or three of the revelers, who lay snoring on the floor, he silently took the same path, and, guided by their voices, was easily enabled to fix himself in a situation where he could hear all that was said without being observed.

“After I had shown him this spot,” said the one who had commenced the conversation, “to which he could bring his boat in the dark narrow channel of the creek, he bade me begone, with a look that seemed to say, ‘Stay at your peril.’ So I thought, ‘sure enough there’s something he wants to keep secret, is there? But if I know half, I’ll know it all.’ So, after turning round the little clump of cedars, I easily crawled up and hid myself among yon pile of rocks—a place he knows nothing of—and saw as well as heard all that passed. After he and his men had dug the hole, they went back to the schooner, and never shall I forget the sight I then saw. They all came back together, and who should they have with ’em but an old man, trembling with age, who seemed as if his whole heart was fixed on the gold they had in the pot.

“‘What! Will ye not leave a poor old man sixpence, ye wretches, but bring him here to see you bury it? Many a weary night’s calculations has it cost me, and many a tempest I have encountered, in earning it, ye thieves,’ said the old man, looking wistfully at the gold. ‘Many’s the time it’s been through my fingers; and am I come to this, after all my toil, to see it wasted here, when a good nine per cent might be made of any doubloon of it? Twenty thousand pounds sterling at nine PER CENT for only six years, would be—’

“‘Hold your prating, you old fool,’ cried Vandrick, as he went on muttering his calculations of usury. ‘You have had pleasure enough in gathering up your gold, and I hope to have the pleasure of spending it. ‘Thieves’ and ‘wretches’ call you us? And did it never occur to you, during the long years that you have been employed in stealing people in Africa as good as yourself, to sell them in Hispaniola, to look into your mirror, and see what sort of man you are yourself? For these ten years I have kept my eye on you, old boy, resolved to pick you up, whenever you might leave your El Dorado for the old country, and I’ve overhauled you at last. I have caught you, as you have caught thousands in Africa, and thus far I am a thousand times the better man. You never loved anything else but your gold, and cheer up, old man! you shan’t be parted from it. Harkee, old fellow! will you do a message for me to the devil?’

“‘You are the devil yourself, I think,’ said the old man, ‘or you’d never be so wasteful of money, which cost—’

“‘How many negroes, my old Croesus?’ demanded Vandrick, with a sneer.

“‘So much labor to get it,’ continued the old man, without regarding the interruption, ‘and might be let out, on good security, for nine per cent, which, on twenty thousand pounds, would yield—’

“‘Just eighteen hundred pounds a year, old Gripus,’ retorted Vandrick. ‘You shall go and see what the devil will give you for it. Come along,’ continued the pirate captain to the men who now deposited the pot of gold in the hole which had been prepared for its reception; ‘I’ll be parson.’ Then taking the old man by the collar, who looking wildly about him, seemed quite unconscious of their purpose, he walked three times round the pit, and turned and advanced directly to its brink. With the quickness of a flash he drew a knife from his leathern girdle, from which hung a number of pistols, and plunged it to the hilt in the bosom of the prisoner. A deep groan was the only sound he uttered, as a few drops of blood trickled from the wound, and, falling forward into the pit, he expired. The pirates then joined hands, forming a circle round the hole, while the captain repeated some strange mummery, which I cannot recollect.

“‘After all this was over, they hastily covered up the hole, took such observations, and made such memoranda as would enable them to find the spot again, and returned to their vessel. But the last groan of that poor old man I cannot forget; and it’s only last night, as I was walking by that spot, I heard it as plain as I did the very moment Vandrick stabbed him.’”

“It’s a horrible story, indeed,” responded Cleveland. “Mercy on us sinful men! To have any dealings with Vandrick and his crew! But I’ll never believe the devil cares for him or his money, and I know what I’ll do—”

“Not touch the gold?” said his companion, trembling at the thought.

“Never,” responded his companion; “I am not going to touch what has been blasted by the black mummery of Vandrick. Preserve me from connection with the devil or his crew! But meet me here tomorrow night—” The rest was spoken so low as to be inaudible. But they agreed to meet again, and parted.

The stranger, who had heard all that passed, now left the retreat, and bent his way back to the cottage, or rude cabin rather, which was by this time cleared of its visitants. The gray tints of the morning were beginning to appear, and the sots, one by one, had strolled away from the scene of their recent and frequent carousals. He immediately walked towards the shore, where he found his attendant anxiously awaiting him, and glided down the Hudson. For reasons which are altogether unknown, he never allowed what he had heard or seen to pass his lips, and his account of it in manuscript was not discovered until many years after his death.

In the mean time the Revolutionary War had broken out, and various fortifications were planted among the fastnesses of the Highlands. Fort Montgomery had been erected on a little plain immediately north of the deep, narrow creek of which we have already had occasion to speak, and picquets of observation were posted in various directions. Among other stations the one we have just described was selected, and a sentinel paced every night fifty yards of the spot where Vandrick had concealed his treasure. On the first night of duty at this point, during the middle watch, the sentinel heard the noise of approaching footsteps among the bushes skirting the margin of the creek, with low, sepulchral voices, mingled with harsh, shrill, and unearthly sounds, as of people in half-suppressed conversation. Having hailed without answer, he fired his piece, and retreated instantly to the guardhouse. A sergeant with a squadron of men was dispatched to the spot, but no enemy could be discovered, although the sentinel stoutly persisted that he heard noises which were ample cause of alarm. The second night a similar alarm was given by another sentinel when upon the middle watch, with the additional assurance that he had seen a mysterious shadow, like a boat with persons therein, skimming along under the deep shade cast upon the water by the opposite mountain, until it came over against the mouth of the creek, when it shot across the river in a twinkling, and disappeared amid the foliage which overhung the cove. Presently afterwards he heard the noise; but it was not until he had actually seen figures moving among the trees, that he discharged his piece. These alarms were repeated several times, and always with the same unsatisfactory results. At length a resolute fellow by the name of Bishop, of the Connecticut line, volunteered to mount guard upon this startling post during the hours of alarm, vowing with many bitter oaths, that he would not yield an inch until he encountered some overpowering force, and given them three rounds of lead and twelve inches of cold iron.

He was a man of great personal bravery, and was resolved not to be trifled with; and his comrades well knew that what he said was no idle boasting. They knew that whether encountered by “a spirit of health or goblin damned,” bringing with it “airs from heaven or blasts from hell,” it would be all the same to Thal Bishop; he would “speak to it,” and have a brush with it, too, if he could. Bishop had no superstition about him; but still he had heard of the utility of silver bullets in certain exigencies, and he thought it was no harm to cut a few Spanish dollars into pieces to be used as slugs with his balls; and his cartridges had accordingly been made up with a leaden bullet and three silver slugs each. Thus provided, with a heart that never quailed, and limbs that never shook, he repaired to his station.

It was a clear night, and the moon rose so late in the evening, that the lofty mountains on the east side of the river, now called Anthony’s Nose, cast its dark shadow far across the water. Bishop had not occupied his post until midnight, before his vigilant eye discovered what seemed to be the shadow of a boat, with a sail set, issuing from a little cove at the foot of the mountain before mentioned, some three-quarters of a mile down the stream. The shadow seemed to glide along near the bold shore on that side of the river, until opposite the mouth of the creek, when it darted across and disappeared in its estuary. Bishop soon heard a rustling among the trees. He cocked and pointed his piece, and stood firm. Very soon he saw figures gliding among the bushes, and presenting his musket in that direction, he commanded them to “Stand.” No attention being given to the caution, he fired and immediately reloaded. While he was thus occupied, a figure considerably below the common size, wrinkled and deformed, made its appearance, and approached him. He immediately fired with a precision that he judged would have winged a duck at a hundred yards. But regardless alike of lead and silver, the figure, unmoved, kept his way. As he approached, and came crowding steadily on, Bishop involuntarily retreated, but not without loading and firing at every step. Still the strange figure pressed on. At one moment by the light of the moon he caught a full view of this mysterious visitant, but could distinguish nothing about him peculiar, excepting the piercing keenness of his sunken eye, and the air of magisterial authority with which the little withered semblance of humanity waved him to retire. On the first report of Bishop’s musket, the guard, which was to a man upon the “qui vive,” was mustered, and marched, or rather ran towards the spot. Their curiosity, however, was not satisfied; for after he had passed a certain boundary, the figure always disappeared, and the foremost only of the guard now arrived in season to catch a glimpse of him as he vanished into thin air.

These circumstances soon became noised abroad, the tale, as usual, losing nothing in its progress; and the officers of the garrison, becoming satisfied that no sentinel could be kept upon the post, after due consultation abandoned it. Every inquiry was of course made about this unaccountable appearance; but nothing satisfactory could be obtained. All the inhabitants from Haverstraw and the shores of the Tappen Sea to Buttermilk Falls had a dread of that spot. An old man, who kept the ferry at the entrance of the Horse Race, and who was the patriarch of that region, was the only being able to give any account of it. He said that groans had been heard there, and figures seen about it, for fifty years; and that when he was a child, the inhabitants were greatly alarmed by the appearance of a mysterious bark, which, gliding down the river, shot into the cove formed by the mouth of the creek with the swiftness of an arrow. No human being could be seen in it excepting the helmsman, who was a little deformed man with withered cheek and sunken blue eye. He never left the helm, and wherever he turned the vessel, blow the wind as it would, or not at all, she darted forward with the swiftness of lightning. Her sails were black, and her sides were painted of the same color; and a black flag with a death’s head and cross-bones, floated from the top of her mast. After remaining there about an hour, when last seen by the inhabitants, she departed, and had not been heard of since. A few hours after her last visit, there was found at the head of the cove a freshly dug pit, in the bottom of which the shape of a large pot was distinctly defined in the earth, and a skull, with a few human bones, were scattered about the ground. Groans are still said to issue from the wood, at the hour of midnight, and a figure similar to that which has been described, is reported to flit restlessly through the glade. Certain it is, that old and young alike are careful to avoid getting benighted near the Haunt of The Withered Man.