The Gold-Bug

Many years ago, I became friends with a Mr. William Legrand. He came from an old French Protestant family and had once been wealthy, but a series of misfortunes had left him poor. To escape the shame of his ruin, he left New Orleans, where his family had lived, and moved to Sullivan's Island, near Charleston, South Carolina.

This island is a strange place. It is made up almost entirely of sea sand and is about three miles long, never more than a quarter of a mile wide. A narrow creek, hardly noticeable, separates it from the mainland, winding through reeds and mud—a favorite spot for marsh hens. The plants are sparse and stunted. There are no big trees. Near the western end, where Fort Moultrie stands, there are a few shabby wooden houses where people come in the summer to escape the heat and fevers of Charleston. There, you can find the bristly palmetto. But the rest of the island, except for a strip of hard white beach, is covered with a dense growth of sweet myrtle, a shrub much loved by English gardeners. It often grows fifteen or twenty feet high and forms an almost impenetrable thicket, filling the air with its fragrance.

Deep in this thicket, not far from the eastern end of the island, Legrand had built himself a small hut. I met him by chance, and we soon became friends, for there was much about the recluse that interested me. I found him well educated, with remarkable intelligence, but he was a misanthrope and subject to strange moods, swinging between great enthusiasm and deep gloom. He had many books with him, but he rarely read them. His main enjoyments were hunting and fishing, or strolling along the beach and through the myrtles, looking for shells or insects. His collection of beetles would have been the envy of a naturalist like Swammerdam. He was usually accompanied by an old Negro servant named Jupiter, who had been freed before the family's misfortunes but refused to leave his young master, whom he called 'Massa Will.' Threats and promises were useless; he insisted on following him.

It's likely that Legrand's relatives, thinking he was a bit unstable, had encouraged Jupiter's stubbornness so that he could keep an eye on the wanderer.

The winters on Sullivan's Island are usually mild, and in the fall a fire is rarely needed. But about the middle of October, 18—, there came a day that was unusually chilly. Just before sunset, I made my way through the evergreens to my friend's hut. I hadn't visited him for several weeks, since I lived in Charleston, nine miles away, and travel was not easy in those days. When I reached the hut, I knocked as I usually did, but there was no answer. I found the key where I knew it was hidden, unlocked the door, and went in. A fine fire blazed on the hearth. That was a pleasant surprise. I took off my overcoat, sat down in an armchair by the crackling logs, and waited patiently for my hosts.

Soon after dark, they arrived and gave me a warm welcome. Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to prepare some marsh hens for supper. Legrand was in one of his fits of enthusiasm. He had found an unknown bivalve, a new kind of clam, and more than that, with Jupiter's help, he had caught a beetle that he believed was completely new to science. He wanted my opinion on it the next day.

"And why not tonight?" I asked, rubbing my hands over the fire, secretly wishing all beetles at the devil.

"Ah, if I had known you were here!" said Legrand. "But it's been so long since I saw you, and how could I expect you tonight of all nights? On my way home, I met Lieutenant G—— from the fort, and foolishly lent him the bug. So you can't see it until morning. Stay here tonight, and I'll send Jup down at sunrise to get it. It's the loveliest thing in creation!"

"What!—sunrise?"

"Nonsense! No! The bug. It is a brilliant gold color, about the size of a large hickory nut, with two black spots near one end of its back, and another, a bit longer, at the other. The antennae are—"

"Dey ain't no tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin' on you," interrupted Jupiter. "De bug is a goole-bug, solid, ebery bit of him, inside and all, 'sep him wing—neber feel half so hebby a bug in my life."

"Well, suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, a little more seriously than the matter seemed to warrant. "Is that any reason for letting the birds burn? The color," he turned to me, "is almost enough to justify Jupiter's idea. You never saw such a brilliant metallic luster as the scales give off. But you can't judge until tomorrow. Meanwhile, I can give you an idea of its shape." Saying this, he sat at a small table where there were a pen and ink, but no paper. He looked for some in a drawer but found none.

"Never mind," he said at last, "this will do." He drew from his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what I thought was very dirty paper, and made a rough drawing on it with the pen. While he did this, I stayed by the fire, for I was still chilly. When the drawing was finished, he handed it to me without getting up. As I took it, a loud growl was heard, followed by a scratching at the door. Jupiter opened it, and a large Newfoundland dog, belonging to Legrand, rushed in, jumped on my shoulders, and covered me with caresses, for I had petted him on previous visits. When his play was over, I looked at the paper, and to tell the truth, I was puzzled by what my friend had drawn.

"Well!" I said, after looking at it for some minutes. "This is a strange beetle, I must admit. It's new to me; I never saw anything like it before—unless it were a skull or a death's-head, which it resembles more than anything else I've ever seen."

"A death's-head!" echoed Legrand. "Oh—yes—well, it does have that appearance on paper, no doubt. The two upper black spots look like eyes, eh? And the longer one at the bottom like a mouth—and then the whole shape is oval."

"Perhaps so," said I, "but, Legrand, I fear you are no artist. I must wait until I see the beetle itself, if I am to form any idea of its appearance."

"Well, I don't know," he said, a little nettled. "I draw tolerably—I should, at least; I've had good masters, and I flatter myself that I'm not quite a blockhead."

"But, my dear fellow, you are joking, then," said I. "This is a very passable skull—indeed, I may say it is an excellent skull, according to the common notions about such things—and your beetle must be the queerest beetle in the world if it resembles this. Why, we could start a very thrilling superstition on this hint. I presume you'll call the bug scarabaeus caput hominis, or something like that; there are many similar names in natural histories. But where are the antennae you spoke of?"

"The antennae!" said Legrand, who seemed to be getting unaccountably annoyed. "I'm sure you must see the antennae. I made them as distinct as they are in the original insect, and I presume that is sufficient."

"Well, well," I said, "perhaps you have; still, I don't see them." And I handed him the paper without further comment, not wanting to upset him. But I was surprised at how things had turned; his bad humor puzzled me. As for the drawing of the beetle, there were positively no antennae visible, and the whole thing did look very much like a death's-head.

He took the paper back peevishly and was about to crumple it and throw it into the fire, when a casual glance at the design suddenly seemed to catch his attention. In an instant, his face grew violently red, then just as pale. For some minutes he sat staring at the drawing, examining it closely. At last he got up, took a candle from the table, and went to sit on a sea chest in the farthest corner of the room. There he examined the paper again, turning it in all directions. He said nothing, and his behavior astonished me. But I thought it wise not to make any comment that might make his mood worse. Soon he took a wallet from his coat pocket, placed the paper carefully inside, and put both in a writing desk, which he locked. He became calmer, but his original enthusiasm had disappeared. He seemed not so much sulky as lost in thought.

As the evening wore on, he became more and more absorbed in his thoughts, and I couldn't rouse him with any talk. I had planned to stay the night at the hut, as I often did, but seeing my host in such a mood, I thought it best to leave. He didn't press me to stay, but as I left, he shook my hand with even more than his usual friendliness.

About a month later, during which time I had seen nothing of Legrand, I received a visit in Charleston from his servant Jupiter. I had never seen the good old Negro look so downcast, and I feared something serious had happened to my friend.

"Well, Jup," said I, "what's the matter now? How is your master?"

"Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as mought be."

"Not well! I'm truly sorry to hear it. What does he complain of?"

"Dar! dat's it!—him nebber 'plain of notin'—but him berry sick for all dat."

"Very sick, Jupiter! Why didn't you say so at once? Is he confined to bed?"

"No, dat he ain't! He ain't 'find nowhar—dat's just whar de shoe pinch—my mind is got to be berry hebby 'bout poor Massa Will."

"Jupiter, I should like to understand what you're talking about. You say your master is sick. Hasn't he told you what ails him?"

"Why, massa, 'tain't worf while for to git mad 'bout de matter—Massa Will say noffin' at all ain't de matter wid him—but den what make him go about looking dis here way, wid he head down and he soldiers up, and as white as a gose? And den he keep a syphon all de time—"

"Keeps a what, Jupiter?"

"Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate—de queerest figgurs I ebber did see. Ise gittin' to be skeered, I tell you. Hab for to keep mighty tight eye pon him noovers. Todder day he gib me slip fore de sun up, and was gone de whole ob de blessed day. I had a big stick ready cut for to gib him d—d good beating when he did come—but Ise sich a fool dat I hadn't de heart after all—he look so berry poorly."

"Eh?—what? Ah, yes!—upon the whole, I think you had better not be too severe with the poor fellow. Don't flog him, Jupiter, he can't very well stand it. But can you form an idea of what has caused this illness, or rather this change of conduct? Has anything unpleasant happened since I saw you?"

"No, massa, dey ain't bin noffin' onpleasant since den—'twas 'fore den, I'm feared—'twas de berry day you was dare."

"How? What do you mean?"

"Why, massa, I mean de bug—dare now."

"The what?"

"De bug—I'm berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere 'bout de head by dat goole-bug."

"And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a supposition?"

"Claws enuff, massa, and mouff, too. I nebber did see sich a d—d bug—he kick and he bite ebery ting what cum near him. Massa Will cotch him fuss, but had for to let him go 'gin mighty quick, I tell you—den was de time he must ha' got de bite. I didn't like de look ob de bug mouff, myself, nohow, so I wouldn't take hold ob him wid my finger, but I cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found. I wrap him up in de paper and stuff piece ob it in he mouff—dat was de way."

"And you think, then, that your master was really bitten by the beetle, and that the bite made him sick?"

"I don't t'ink noffin' 'bout it—I nose it. What make him dream 'bout de goole so much, if 'tain't cause he bit by de goole-bug? Ise heerd 'bout dem goole-bugs 'fore dis."

"But how do you know he dreams about gold?"

"How I know? Why, 'cause he talk about it in he sleep—dat's how I nose."

"Well, Jup, perhaps you are right. But to what fortunate circumstances am I to attribute the honor of a visit from you today?"

"What de matter, massa?"

"Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand?"

"No, massa, I bring dis here 'pissel;" and Jupiter handed me a note, which read:

My dear ——:

Why have I not seen you for so long? I hope you have not been so foolish as to take offense at any little brusquerie of mine; but no, that is improbable.

Since I saw you, I have had great cause for anxiety. I have something to tell you, yet scarcely know how to tell it, or whether I should tell it at all.

I have not been quite well for some days past, and poor old Jup annoys me, almost beyond endurance, by his well-meant attentions. Would you believe it?—he had prepared a huge stick, the other day, with which to chastise me for giving him the slip and spending the day, solus, among the hills on the mainland. I verily believe that my ill looks alone saved me a flogging.

I have made no addition to my cabinet since we met.

If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come over with Jupiter. Do come. I wish to see you tonight, upon business of importance. I assure you that it is of the highest importance.

Ever yours,

William Legrand.

There was something in the tone of this note that made me uneasy. Its style was completely different from Legrand's usual manner. What could he be dreaming of? What new whim had seized his excitable mind? What 'business of the highest importance' could he possibly have? Jupiter's account of him boded no good. I was afraid that continued misfortune had finally unsettled my friend's reason. So without a moment's hesitation, I prepared to go with the Negro.

When we reached the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three spades, all apparently new, lying in the bottom of the boat we were to take.

"What's the meaning of all this, Jup?" I asked.

"Him syfe, massa, and spade."

"Very true; but what are they doing here?"

"Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will 'sis' 'pon my buying for him in de town, and de debbil's own lot of money I had to gib for 'em."

"But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your 'Massa Will' going to do with scythes and spades?"

"Dat's more dan I know, and debbil take me if I don't b'lieve 'tis more dan he know, too. But it's all come ob de bug."

Finding that I could get no satisfaction from Jupiter, whose whole mind seemed taken up with "de bug," I stepped into the boat and we set sail. With a fair and strong breeze, we soon reached the little cove north of Fort Moultrie, and a walk of some two miles brought us to the hut. It was about three in the afternoon when we arrived. Legrand had been waiting for us in eager expectation. He grasped my hand with a nervous eagerness that alarmed me and increased my suspicions. His face was pale, almost ghastly, and his deep-set eyes glared with unnatural brightness. After asking about his health, I asked, not knowing what else to say, if he had yet gotten the beetle from Lieutenant G——.

"Oh, yes," he replied, coloring violently. "I got it from him the next morning. Nothing could make me part with that beetle. Do you know Jupiter is quite right about it?"

"In what way?" I asked, with a sad foreboding at heart.

"In supposing it to be a bug of real gold." He said this with an air of profound seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly shocked.

"This bug is to make my fortune," he continued, with a triumphant smile, "and restore me to my family possessions. Is it any wonder, then, that I prize it? Since Fortune has thought fit to bestow it upon me, I have only to use it properly and I shall arrive at the gold of which it is the index. Jupiter, bring me that beetle!"

"What! De bug, massa? I'd rudder not go fer trubble dat bug—you mus' git him for your own self." Hereupon Legrand rose, with a grave and stately air, and brought me the beetle from a glass case in which it was kept. It was a beautiful beetle, and at that time unknown to naturalists—of course, a great prize from a scientific point of view. There were two round black spots near one end of the back, and a long one near the other. The scales were extremely hard and glossy, with the appearance of burnished gold. The insect was remarkably heavy, and considering everything, I could hardly blame Jupiter for his opinion about it. But what to make of Legrand's agreement with that opinion, I couldn't for the life of me tell.

"I sent for you," he said, in a grand, flowery tone when I had finished examining the beetle, "that I might have your counsel and assistance in furthering the views of Fate and the bug."

"My dear Legrand," I cried, interrupting him, "you are certainly unwell, and had better take some precautions. You shall go to bed, and I will stay with you a few days until you get over this. You are feverish and—"

"Feel my pulse," said he.

I felt it, and to tell the truth, found no sign of fever.

"But you may be ill and still have no fever. Allow me this once to prescribe for you. In the first place, go to bed. In the next—"

"You are mistaken," he broke in. "I am as well as I can expect to be under the excitement I suffer. If you really wish me well, you will relieve this excitement."

"And how is that to be done?"

"Very easily. Jupiter and I are going on an expedition into the hills, on the mainland, and we shall need the help of someone we can trust. You are the only one we can trust. Whether we succeed or fail, the excitement you see in me now will be equally calmed."

"I am anxious to oblige you in any way," I replied, "but do you mean to say that this infernal beetle has any connection with your expedition into the hills?"

"It has."

"Then, Legrand, I can have nothing to do with such an absurd proceeding."

"I am sorry—very sorry—for then we shall have to try it by ourselves."

"Try it by yourselves! The man is surely mad! But wait! How long do you plan to be gone?"

"Probably all night. We shall start immediately, and be back, at all events, by sunrise."

"And will you promise me, upon your honor, that when this freak of yours is over, and the bug business (good God!) settled to your satisfaction, you will then return home and follow my advice implicitly, as that of your physician?"

"Yes; I promise. And now let's be off, for we have no time to lose."

With a heavy heart, I accompanied my friend. We started about four o'clock—Legrand, Jupiter, the dog, and I. Jupiter carried the scythe and spades, insisting on carrying them all, more, it seemed, from fear of trusting either tool near his master than from any excess of industry. His manner was very sullen, and "dat d—d bug" were the only words that escaped his lips during the journey. For my part, I had charge of two dark lanterns, while Legrand carried the beetle attached to the end of a piece of whipcord, twirling it back and forth with the air of a conjurer as he went. When I saw this last clear evidence of my friend's madness, I could hardly keep from tears. I thought it best, however, to humor his fancy, at least for now, until I could take some more effective measures. In the meantime, I tried in vain to find out the purpose of the expedition.

Having succeeded in getting me to come, he seemed unwilling to talk about anything of lesser importance, and to all my questions he only replied, "We shall see!"

We crossed the creek at the head of the island in a small boat, and climbing the high ground on the mainland shore, we headed northwest through a country that was extremely wild and desolate, with no sign of human footsteps. Legrand led the way with determination, pausing only occasionally to look at what seemed to be certain landmarks he had noted on a previous trip.

In this way we traveled for about two hours, and the sun was just setting when we came to a region even more dreary than any we had seen. It was a kind of tableland near the top of an almost inaccessible hill, densely wooded from bottom to top, with huge rocks scattered about that seemed to lie loosely on the soil and were often prevented from tumbling into the valleys below only by the trees they leaned against. Deep ravines in every direction made the scene even more solemn.

The natural platform we had climbed was thickly overgrown with brambles, through which we soon discovered we could not have made our way without the scythe. Jupiter, at his master's direction, cleared a path for us to the foot of an enormously tall tulip tree, which stood with some eight or ten oaks on the level ground and far surpassed them all, and every other tree I had ever seen, in the beauty of its foliage and form, in the wide spread of its branches, and in its general majesty. When we reached this tree, Legrand turned to Jupiter and asked him if he thought he could climb it. The old man seemed a little taken aback by the question and made no reply for a few moments. At length he approached the huge trunk, walked slowly around it, and examined it with minute attention. When he had finished his inspection, he simply said:

"Yes, massa, Jup climb any tree he ebber see in he life."

"Then up with you as soon as possible, for it will soon be too dark to see what we're about."

"How far mus' go up, massa?" asked Jupiter.

"Get up the main trunk first, and then I'll tell you which way to go. And here—stop! Take this beetle with you."

"De bug, Massa Will! De goole-bug!" cried the Negro, drawing back in dismay. "What for mus' tote de bug way up de tree?—d—n if I do!"

"If you are afraid, Jup, a great big Negro like you, to take hold of a harmless little dead beetle, why, you can carry it up by this string. But if you do not take it up with you in some way, I shall be under the necessity of breaking your head with this shovel."

"What de matter, now, massa?" said Jup, evidently shamed into compliance. "Always want fur to raise fuss wid old nigger. Was only funnin' anyhow. Me feered de bug! What I keer for de bug?" Here he took cautious hold of the end of the string, and keeping the insect as far from his person as possible, prepared to climb the tree.

In its youth, the tulip tree (Liriodendron tulipifera), the most magnificent of American forest trees, has a trunk that is peculiarly smooth and often rises to a great height without side branches. But as it ages, the bark becomes gnarled and uneven, and many short limbs appear on the stem. So the difficulty of climbing, in this case, was more apparent than real. Embracing the huge trunk with his arms and knees, seizing projections with his hands, and resting his bare feet on others, Jupiter, after a couple of near falls, at last wriggled himself into the first great fork and seemed to consider the whole business as practically done. The risk was now over, although he was some sixty or seventy feet from the ground.

"Which way mus' go now, Massa Will?" he asked.

"Keep up the largest branch, the one on this side," said Legrand. The Negro obeyed promptly and apparently with little trouble, climbing higher and higher until no glimpse of his squat figure could be seen through the dense leaves. Presently his voice was heard in a sort of call.

"How much fudder I's got for go?"

"How high up are you?" asked Legrand.

"Ebber so fur," replied the Negro. "Can see de sky fru de top ob de tree."

"Never mind the sky, but attend to what I say. Look down the trunk and count the limbs below you on this side. How many limbs have you passed?"

"One, two, three, four, fibe—I done pass fibe big limb, massa, 'pon dis side."

"Then go one limb higher."

In a few minutes, the voice was heard again announcing that the seventh limb was reached.

"Now, Jup," cried Legrand, evidently much excited, "I want you to work your way out on that limb as far as you can. If you see anything strange, let me know."

By this time, any small doubt I might have had about my poor friend's insanity was put to rest. I had no choice but to conclude he had gone mad, and I became seriously worried about getting him home. While I was thinking about what to do, Jupiter's voice was heard again.

"Mos' feerd for to ventur' 'pon dis limb berry far—'tis dead limb putty much all de way."

"Did you say it was a dead limb, Jupiter?" cried Legrand, his voice shaking.

"Yes, massa, him dead as de door-nail—done up for sartain—done departed dis here life."

"What, in the name of heaven, shall I do?" asked Legrand, seeming greatly distressed.

"Do!" said I, glad of a chance to speak. "Why, come home and go to bed. Come now! That's a good fellow. It's getting late, and besides, you remember your promise."

"Jupiter!" he cried, ignoring me completely, "do you hear me?"

"Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain."

"Try the wood well, then, with your knife, and see if you think it very rotten."

"Him rotten, massa, sure nuff," replied the Negro after a few moments, "but not so berry rotten as mought be. Mought ventur' out leetle way 'pon de limb by myself, dat's true."

"By yourself! What do you mean?"

"Why, I mean de bug. 'Tis berry hebby bug. S'pose I drop him down fust, and den de limb won't break wid just de weight of one nigger."

"You infernal scoundrel!" cried Legrand, apparently much relieved. "What do you mean by telling me such nonsense as that? As sure as you drop that beetle, I'll break your neck. Look here, Jupiter, do you hear me?"

"Yes, massa, needn' hollo at poor nigger dat style."

"Well, now listen! If you will venture out on the limb as far as you think safe, and not let go the beetle, I'll make you a present of a silver dollar as soon as you get down."

"I'm gwine, Massa Will—deed I is," replied the Negro very promptly. "Mos' out to de eend now."

"Out to the end!" fairly screamed Legrand. "Do you say you're out to the end of that limb?"

"Soon be to de eend, massa—o-o-o-o-oh! Lor-gol-a-marcy! What is dis here 'pon de tree?"

"Well," cried Legrand, highly delighted, "what is it?"

"Why, 'taint noffin' but a skull—somebody bin lef' him head up de tree, and de crows done gobble ebery bit ob de meat off."

"A skull, you say! Very well; how is it fastened to the limb? What holds it on?"

"Shure 'nuff, massa; mus' look. Why, dis berry curous sarcumstance, 'pon my word—dare's a great big nail in de skull, what fastens ob it on to de tree."

"Well now, Jupiter, do exactly as I tell you—do you hear?"

"Yes, massa."

"Pay attention, then! Find the left eye of the skull."

"Hum! hoo! dat's good! Why, dare ain't no eye lef' at all."

"Curse your stupidity! Do you know your right hand from your left?"

"Yes, I nose dat—nose all 'bout dat—'tis my lef' hand what I chops de wood wid."

"To be sure! You are left-handed, and your left eye is on the same side as your left hand. Now, I suppose you can find the left eye of the skull, or the place where the left eye has been. Have you found it?"

There was a long pause. At length the Negro asked:

"Is de lef' eye ob de skull 'pon de same side as de lef' hand ob de skull, too?—'cause de skull ain't got not a bit ob a hand at all—nebber mind! I got de lef' eye now—here de lef' eye! What mus' do wid it?"

"Let the beetle drop through it, as far as the string will reach, but be careful not to let go your hold of the string."

"All dat done, Massa Will; mighty easy ting for to put de bug fru de hole; look out for him dar below!"

During this talk, no part of Jupiter's body could be seen, but the beetle, which he had let down, was now visible at the end of the string, glistening like a globe of burnished gold in the last rays of the setting sun, some of which still faintly lit the eminence where we stood. The beetle hung clear of any branches, and if it were dropped, it would have fallen at our feet. Legrand immediately took the scythe and cleared a circular space, three or four yards across, just below the insect, and when that was done, ordered Jupiter to let go the string and come down from the tree.

Driving a peg carefully into the ground at the exact spot where the beetle fell, my friend now produced a tape measure from his pocket. Fastening one end of it at the point on the tree trunk nearest the peg, he unrolled it to the peg, and then continued in the direction established by the tree and the peg for a distance of fifty feet, as Jupiter cleared away the brambles with the scythe. At that spot, a second peg was driven, and around this, as a center, a rough circle about four feet in diameter was described. Taking a spade himself, and giving one to Jupiter and one to me, Legrand asked us to start digging as quickly as possible.

To tell the truth, I had no great liking for such work at any time, and at that particular moment, I would have gladly declined, for night was coming on and I was tired from our walk. But I saw no way to escape, and I was afraid of upsetting my poor friend's calm by refusing. If I could have counted on Jupiter's help, I would have tried to take the madman home by force, but I knew the old Negro's devotion too well to hope he would help me against his master. I had no doubt that Legrand had been infected by some of the countless Southern superstitions about buried money, and his fancy had been confirmed by finding the beetle, or perhaps by Jupiter's insistence that it was "a bug of real gold." A mind prone to madness would easily be led by such suggestions, especially if they fit in with favorite ideas. And I recalled the poor fellow's remark about the beetle being "the index of his fortune."

On the whole, I was annoyed and puzzled, but at last I decided to make the best of it—to dig with a good will, so as to convince the visionary, by seeing for himself, of the fallacy of his ideas.

The lanterns were lit, and we all set to work with an energy worthy of a more sensible cause. As the light fell on us and our tools, I couldn't help thinking what a strange and suspicious group we must have looked to anyone who happened to come upon us.

We dug steadily for two hours. Little was said, and our main problem was the dog's yelping, as he took a great interest in our work. He became so noisy that we were afraid he would attract some passersby—or rather, that was Legrand's fear; I would have welcomed any interruption that might let me get the wanderer home. At last, Jupiter effectively silenced the dog by getting out of the hole, tying the brute's mouth with one of his suspenders, and then returning to his task with a serious chuckle.

When two hours were up, we had dug down five feet, but no sign of treasure appeared. We paused, and I began to hope the farce was over. Legrand, though clearly disappointed, wiped his brow thoughtfully and began again. We had dug the whole circle of four feet in diameter, and now we slightly enlarged it and went down another two feet. Still nothing appeared. The gold-seeker, whom I sincerely pitied, finally climbed out of the pit with bitter disappointment on his face and slowly, reluctantly, put on his coat, which he had thrown off when we started. I said nothing. Jupiter, at a signal from his master, began to gather up the tools. When he was done, and the dog had been unmuzzled, we turned in complete silence toward home.

We had gone, perhaps, a dozen steps when, with a loud oath, Legrand strode up to Jupiter and seized him by the collar. The astonished Negro opened his eyes and mouth wide, dropped the spades, and fell to his knees.

"You scoundrel!" said Legrand, hissing the words through clenched teeth. "You infernal black villain! Speak, I tell you! Answer me this instant, without beating about the bush! Which—which is your left eye?"

"Oh, my golly, Massa Will! Ain't dis here my lef' eye for sartain?" roared the terrified Jupiter, putting his hand on his right eye and holding it there desperately, as if afraid his master might try to gouge it out.

"I thought so! I knew it! Hurrah!" shouted Legrand, letting the Negro go and performing a series of leaps and bounds, much to the astonishment of his servant, who got up from his knees and looked silently from his master to me, and then from me to his master.

"Come! We must go back," said Legrand. "The game's not up yet." And he again led the way to the tulip tree.

"Jupiter," he said when he reached its foot, "come here! Was the skull nailed to the limb with the face outwards, or with the face to the limb?"

"De face was out, massa, so dat de crows could get at de eyes good, widout any trouble."

"Well, then, was it this eye or that through which you dropped the beetle?"—here Legrand touched each of Jupiter's eyes.

"'Twas dis eye, massa—de lef' eye—jis as you tell me," and here it was his right eye that the Negro pointed to.

"That will do—we must try it again."

Here my friend, about whose madness I now saw, or thought I saw, certain signs of method, moved the peg that marked where the beetle fell to a spot about three inches to the west of its former position. Taking the tape measure from the nearest point of the trunk to the peg, as before, and continuing the line straight out for fifty feet, a new spot was indicated, several yards from where we had been digging.

Around this new position, a circle somewhat larger than before was described, and we again took up our spades. I was dreadfully weary, but although I didn't understand what had caused the change in my thoughts, I no longer felt any great dislike for the work. I had become strangely interested—even excited. Perhaps there was something in Legrand's wild manner—some air of thoughtfulness or deliberation—that impressed me. I dug eagerly, and now and then caught myself actually looking, with something like anticipation, for the imagined treasure that had driven my poor companion mad. At a moment when such thoughts most filled my mind, and after we had been working perhaps an hour and a half, we were again interrupted by the dog's violent howling. His uneasiness the first time had evidently been just playfulness or whim, but now he sounded serious and upset.

When Jupiter tried to muzzle him again, he resisted fiercely, and leaping into the hole, tore up the earth frantically with his claws. In a few seconds, he had uncovered a mass of human bones, forming two complete skeletons, mixed with several metal buttons and what appeared to be dust from decayed woolen cloth. A few strokes of the spade turned up the blade of a large Spanish knife, and as we dug deeper, three or four pieces of gold and silver coin came to light.

At the sight of these, Jupiter could hardly contain his joy, but his master's face showed extreme disappointment. He urged us to continue, and the words were barely out of his mouth when I stumbled and fell forward, my boot catching on a large iron ring half buried in the loose earth.

We now worked in earnest, and I never spent ten minutes of more intense excitement. During that time, we completely uncovered an oblong wooden chest which, from its perfect preservation and remarkable hardness, had evidently been treated with some mineralizing process—perhaps a solution of bichloride of mercury. The box was three and a half feet long, three feet wide, and two and a half feet deep. It was firmly bound with iron bands, riveted, forming a kind of trelliswork over the whole. On each side of the chest, near the top, were three iron rings—six in all—by which six people could get a firm hold. Our combined efforts only managed to move the chest slightly in its resting place. We saw at once that it was impossible to lift so heavy a weight. Fortunately, the only fastenings of the lid were two sliding bolts. We drew these back, trembling and panting with anxiety.

In an instant, a treasure of incalculable value lay gleaming before us. As the lantern light fell into the pit, a glow and a glare rose from a confused heap of gold and jewels that absolutely dazzled our eyes.

I won't try to describe my feelings as I stared. Amazement, of course, was uppermost. Legrand seemed exhausted with excitement and said very little. Jupiter's face, for some minutes, wore as deadly a pallor as it is possible for a dark-skinned face to show. He seemed stunned, thunderstruck. Then he fell on his knees in the pit, and burying his bare arms up to the elbows in gold, let them stay there, as if enjoying a luxurious bath. At last, with a deep sigh, he exclaimed, half to himself:

"And dis all cum ob de goole-bug! De putty goole-bug! De poor little goole-bug, what I 'boosed in dat sabage kind ob style! Ain't you 'shamed of yourself, nigger?—answer me dat!"

It became necessary, at last, to rouse both master and servant to the need of removing the treasure. It was getting late, and we had to make an effort to get everything home before daylight. It was hard to decide what to do, and much time was spent in discussion, so confused were all our thoughts. Finally, we lightened the chest by removing two-thirds of its contents, and then, with some effort, were able to lift it out of the hole. The items taken out were piled among the brambles, and the dog was left to guard them, with strict orders from Jupiter not to stir from the spot on any pretext, nor to open his mouth until we returned. We then hurried home with the chest, reaching the hut safely, though exhausted, at one o'clock in the morning. Worn out as we were, we could do no more now. We rested until two, had supper, and started for the hills immediately after, armed with three stout sacks that, by good luck, were in the house.

A little before four, we arrived at the pit, divided the rest of the loot as equally as we could among us, and, leaving the holes unfilled, set out again for the hut, where we laid down our golden burdens for the second time just as the first streaks of dawn appeared over the treetops in the east.

We were now completely exhausted, but the intense excitement of the time kept us from sleeping. After an uneasy sleep of three or four hours, we got up, as if by agreement, to examine our treasure.

The chest had been full to the brim, and we spent the whole day and most of the next night going through its contents. There was no order or arrangement. Everything had been piled in haphazardly.

When we had carefully sorted everything, we found ourselves in possession of even greater wealth than we had first estimated. In coin, there was rather more than four hundred and fifty thousand dollars—estimating the value of the pieces as accurately as we could by the tables of the period. There was not a single silver piece. All was gold of ancient date and great variety—French, Spanish, and German money, with a few English guineas, and some counters of types we had never seen before. There were several very large and heavy coins, so worn that we could not make out their inscriptions. There was no American money. The value of the jewels we found harder to estimate. There were diamonds—some extremely large and fine—a hundred and ten in all, and not one of them small; eighteen rubies of remarkable brilliance; three hundred and ten emeralds, all very beautiful; and twenty-one sapphires, with an opal.

All these stones had been taken from their settings and thrown loose into the chest. The settings themselves, which we picked out from among the other gold, appeared to have been hammered flat, as if to prevent identification. Besides all this, there was a vast quantity of solid gold ornaments—nearly two hundred massive finger and ear rings; rich chains—thirty of these, if I remember rightly; eighty-three very large and heavy crucifixes; five gold censers of great value; a prodigious golden punch-bowl, decorated with richly chased vine leaves and Bacchanalian figures; with two sword handles exquisitely embossed, and many other smaller items that I cannot recall. The weight of these valuables exceeded three hundred and fifty pounds; and this estimate does not include one hundred and ninety-seven superb gold watches, three of which were worth five hundred dollars apiece.

Many were very old and, as timepieces, worthless, the works having suffered more or less from corrosion; but all were richly jeweled and in cases of great worth. That night we estimated the entire contents of the chest at a million and a half of dollars; and later, when we sold the trinkets and jewels (keeping a few for ourselves), we found we had greatly undervalued the treasure.

When, at length, we had finished our examination, and the intense excitement had in some measure died down, Legrand, seeing that I was burning with impatience to hear the explanation of this most extraordinary riddle, gave me a full account of all the circumstances connected with it.

"You remember," he said, "the night when I handed you the rough sketch I had made of the beetle. You also remember that I was quite annoyed with you for insisting that my drawing looked like a death's-head. When you first said that, I thought you were joking; but afterwards I recalled the peculiar spots on the insect's back and admitted to myself that your observation had some foundation. Still, your sneer at my drawing abilities irritated me, for I am considered a good artist. So when you handed me the scrap of parchment, I was about to crumple it up and throw it angrily into the fire."

"You mean the scrap of paper," I said.

"No; it looked like paper, and at first I thought it was, but when I began to draw on it, I discovered it was a piece of very thin parchment. It was quite dirty, you remember. Well, as I was in the very act of crumpling it up, my glance fell upon the sketch you had been looking at, and you can imagine my astonishment when I actually perceived the figure of a death's-head just where it seemed I had made the drawing of the beetle. For a moment, I was too amazed to think clearly. I knew that my drawing was very different in detail from this, though there was a certain similarity in the general outline. Presently I took a candle and, seating myself at the other end of the room, examined the parchment more closely. When I turned it over, I saw my own sketch on the reverse, exactly as I had made it.

My first idea was simple surprise at the truly remarkable similarity of outline—at the singular coincidence that, unknown to me, there should have been a skull on the other side of the parchment, directly beneath my drawing of the beetle, and that this skull, not only in outline but also in size, should so closely resemble my drawing. I say this coincidence absolutely stupefied me for a time. That is the usual effect of such coincidences. The mind struggles to establish a connection—a sequence of cause and effect—and being unable to do so, it suffers a kind of temporary paralysis. But when I recovered from this stupor, a conviction gradually dawned on me that startled me even more than the coincidence. I began distinctly, positively, to remember that there had been no drawing on the parchment when I made my sketch of the beetle.

I was absolutely certain of this, for I remembered turning it first one side and then the other in search of the cleanest spot. If the skull had been there, of course, I could not have failed to notice it. Here, indeed, was a mystery I felt unable to explain. But even at that early moment, there seemed to glimmer, faintly, in the deepest and most hidden chambers of my mind, a faint idea of the truth that last night's adventure brought to such magnificent proof. I arose at once, put the parchment safely away, and put off all further thought until I should be alone."

"After you had gone, and Jupiter was fast asleep, I began a more methodical investigation of the matter. First, I considered how the parchment had come into my possession. The spot where we found the beetle was on the coast of the mainland, about a mile east of the island, and just above the high-water mark. When I took hold of it, it gave me a sharp bite, which made me drop it. Jupiter, with his usual caution, before seizing the insect, which had flown toward him, looked around for a leaf or something with which to pick it up. It was at that moment that his eyes, and mine too, fell on the scrap of parchment, which I then supposed to be paper. It was half buried in the sand, with a corner sticking up. Near where we found it, I noticed the remains of what appeared to have been a ship's longboat. The wreck seemed to have been there a very long time, for the resemblance to boat timbers could barely be made out."

"Well, Jupiter picked up the parchment, wrapped the beetle in it, and gave it to me. Soon afterwards, we turned to go home, and on the way met Lieutenant G——. I showed him the insect, and he begged to take it to the fort. When I agreed, he thrust it into his waistcoat pocket without the parchment, which I had kept in my hand during his inspection. Perhaps he was afraid I might change my mind and wanted to make sure of the prize at once—you know how enthusiastic he is about natural history. At the same time, without being aware of it, I must have put the parchment into my own pocket."

"You remember that when I went to the table to make a sketch of the beetle, I found no paper in the usual place. I looked in the drawer and found none there. I searched my pockets, hoping to find an old letter, when my hand fell on the parchment. This is the exact way it came into my possession; for the circumstances made a strong impression on me."

"No doubt you will think me fanciful, but I had already made a kind of connection. I had linked two parts of a great chain. There was the boat lying on the seacoast, and not far from the boat was a parchment—not paper—with a skull drawn on it. You will, of course, ask, 'Where is the connection?' I answer that the skull, or death's-head, is the well-known emblem of the pirate. The death's-head flag is hoisted in all engagements."

"I have said that the scrap was parchment, not paper. Parchment is durable—almost imperishable. Matters of small importance are seldom written on parchment, since for ordinary drawing or writing, it is not nearly as well suited as paper. This thought suggested some meaning—some relevance—in the death's-head. I also noticed the form of the parchment. Although one corner had been accidentally destroyed, it was clear that the original shape was oblong. It was just such a slip as might have been chosen for a memorandum—for a record of something to be long remembered and carefully preserved."

"But," I interposed, "you say the skull was not on the parchment when you made the drawing of the beetle. How, then, do you trace any connection between the boat and the skull—since this latter, by your own admission, must have been drawn (God only knows how or by whom) at some time after you sketched the beetle?"

"Ah, that is the whole mystery; but the secret, at this point, I had relatively little difficulty in solving. My steps were sure and could lead to only one result. I reasoned, for example, like this: When I drew the beetle, no skull was visible on the parchment. When I had finished the drawing, I gave it to you and watched you closely until you returned it. You, therefore, did not draw the skull, and no one else was present to do it. So it was not done by human hands. And yet it was done."

"At this stage of my thinking, I tried to remember, and did remember with complete clarity, every incident that occurred around that time. ), and a fire was blazing on the hearth. I was warm from exercise and sat near the table. You, however, had drawn your chair close to the chimney. Just as I placed the parchment in your hand, and as you were in the act of examining it, Wolf, the Newfoundland, came in and jumped on your shoulders. With your left hand you petted him and kept him off, while your right hand, holding the parchment, was allowed to fall carelessly between your knees, close to the fire. At one moment, I thought the flame had caught it and was about to warn you, but before I could speak, you had withdrawn it and were examining it again. When I considered all these details, I never doubted for a moment that heat had been the agent that brought to light, on the parchment, the skull I saw on it.

You are well aware that there are chemical preparations, which have existed for ages, by means of which one can write on either paper or vellum so that the characters become visible only when exposed to fire. Zaffre, digested in aqua regia and diluted with four times its weight of water, is sometimes used; it produces a green tint. The regulus of cobalt, dissolved in spirit of nitre, gives a red. These colors disappear at longer or shorter intervals after the material cools, but reappear when heat is applied again."

"I now examined the death's-head closely. Its outer edges—the edges nearest the edge of the vellum—were far more distinct than the others. It was clear that the action of the heat had been uneven. I immediately made a fire and submitted every part of the parchment to a glowing heat. At first, the only effect was to strengthen the faint lines of the skull; but when I kept at it, there became visible, at the corner diagonally opposite the death's-head, the figure of what I at first thought was a goat. Closer inspection, however, satisfied me that it was meant to be a kid."

"Ha! ha!" said I. "I'm sure I have no right to laugh at you—a million and a half is too serious for mirth—but you're not going to add a third link to your chain, are you? You won't find any special connection between your pirates and a goat; pirates, you know, have nothing to do with goats; they belong to the farming interests."

"But I said the figure was not that of a goat."

"Well, a kid, then—pretty much the same thing."

"Pretty much, but not quite," said Legrand.

"You may have heard of one Captain Kidd. I immediately saw the figure as a kind of punning or hieroglyphic signature. I call it a signature because its position on the vellum suggested that. The death's-head at the opposite corner, in the same way, had the air of a stamp or seal. But I was sorely puzzled by the lack of anything else—of the substance for my imagined instrument—of the text for my context."

"You expected to find a letter between the stamp and the signature?"

"Something of that kind. In fact, I felt strongly impressed with a premonition of some great good fortune about to happen. I could hardly say why. Perhaps, after all, it was more a desire than an actual belief. But do you know that Jupiter's silly words about the bug being solid gold had a remarkable effect on my fancy? And then the series of accidents and coincidences—they were so very extraordinary. Do you notice how purely accidental it was that these events should have occurred on the only day of the whole year when it was, or could be, cold enough for a fire—and that without the fire, or without the dog's intervention at that exact moment, I should never have seen the death's-head, and so never have come into possession of the treasure?"

"But go on—I'm all impatience."

"Well, you have heard, of course, the many stories current—the thousand vague rumors about money buried somewhere along the Atlantic coast by Kidd and his associates. Those rumors must have had some foundation in fact. And the fact that they have persisted so long and so unchanged could, it seemed to me, only be the result of the buried treasure still remaining in the ground. If Kidd had hidden his plunder for a time and later recovered it, the rumors would hardly have come down to us in their present uniform form. You will notice that the stories are all about money-seekers, not money-finders. If the pirate had recovered his money, the whole affair would have ended.

It seemed to me that some accident—say, the loss of a memorandum indicating its location—had deprived him of the means of recovering it, and that this accident became known to his followers, who otherwise might never have heard that treasure had been hidden at all, and who, busying themselves in vain attempts to find it, had given rise to the stories that are now so common. Have you ever heard of any important treasure being found along the coast?"

"Never."

"But that Kidd's hoard was immense is well known. I therefore took it for granted that the earth still held it, and you will hardly be surprised when I tell you that I felt a hope, almost amounting to certainty, that the parchment so strangely found contained a lost record of the place where it was hidden."

"But how did you proceed?"

"I held the vellum to the fire again, increasing the heat, but nothing appeared. I then thought that a layer of dirt might be the reason for the failure, so I carefully rinsed the parchment by pouring warm water over it, and after doing that, I placed it in a tin pan with the skull side down and put the pan on a bed of glowing charcoal. In a few minutes, when the pan was thoroughly hot, I took the slip out, and to my indescribable joy, found it marked in several places with what appeared to be figures arranged in lines. I put it back in the pan and left it for another minute. When I took it out, it was exactly as you see it now."

Here Legrand, having reheated the parchment, showed it to me. The following characters were crudely traced in a red tint between the death's-head and the goat:

"53‡‡†305))6;4826)4‡.);806;48†8¶60))85;1‡(;:‡8†83(88)5†;46(;8896?;8)‡(;485);5†2:‡(;49562(5—4)8¶8;4069285);)6†8)4‡‡;1(‡9;48081;8:8‡1;48†85;4)485†52880681(‡9;48;(88;4 (‡?34;48)4‡;161;:188;‡?;"

"But," said I, handing it back, "I am as much in the dark as ever. If all the jewels of Golconda were waiting for me on my solving this riddle, I am sure I would never earn them."

"And yet," said Legrand, "the solution is by no means as hard as you might imagine from the first hurried look at the characters. These characters, as anyone might guess, form a cipher—that is, they convey a meaning. But from what is known of Kidd, I could not suppose him capable of constructing any of the more obscure cryptographs. I decided at once that this was of a simple kind—such, however, as would appear to the untrained mind of a sailor absolutely unsolvable without the key."

"And you actually solved it?"

"Easily. I have solved others ten thousand times more complex. Circumstances, and a certain bent of mind, have led me to take an interest in such riddles, and it may well be doubted whether human ingenuity can devise an enigma of this kind that human ingenuity cannot, with proper effort, solve. In fact, once I had established connected and readable characters, I hardly thought about the difficulty of finding their meaning."

"In this case—indeed, in all cases of secret writing—the first question is the language of the cipher, for the principles of solution, especially in the simpler ciphers, depend on and vary with the nature of the particular language. In general, there is no alternative but to try every possible language (guided by probabilities) until the right one is found. But with the cipher now before us, all difficulty was removed by the signature. The pun on the word 'Kidd' would only be appreciated in English. But for that, I should have begun with Spanish or French, as those were the languages in which a pirate of the Spanish main would most naturally have written such a secret. As it was, I assumed the cryptograph was English."

"You notice that there are no divisions between the words. If there were, the task would have been comparatively easy. In that case, I would have started by comparing and analyzing the shorter words, and if a single-letter word had occurred, as most likely (a or I, for example), I would have considered the solution as good as certain. But since there are no divisions, my first step was to determine which characters appeared most often and which least often."

"Counting all, I constructed a table like this:

Of the character 8 there are 33. ; " 26. 4 " 19. ‡) " 16. * " 13. 5 " 12. 6 " 11. †1 " 8. 0 " 6. 92 " 5. :3 " 4. ? " 3. ¶ " 2. —. " 1.

Now, in English, the letter that occurs most often is e. After that, the order runs: a o i d h n r s t u y c f g l m w b k p q x z. E is so remarkably frequent that a sentence of any length rarely appears in which it is not the most common letter.

Here, then, we have the basis for something more than a guess. The general use of the table is obvious—but in this particular cipher, we will only need it partially. Since our most frequent character is 8, we will assume it is e. To verify, let us see if 8 appears often in pairs, for e is frequently doubled in English, as in words like 'meet,' 'fleet,' 'speed,' 'seen,' 'been,' 'agree,' etc. In this instance, we see it doubled no less than five times, although the cryptograph is short.

Let us take 8, then, as e. Now, of all words in the language, 'the' is the most common; let us see, therefore, whether there are repetitions of any three characters, in the same order, with the last one being 8. If we find such repetitions, they most likely represent the word 'the.' Upon inspection, we find no fewer than seven such arrangements, the characters being ;48. We may, therefore, assume that ; represents t, 4 represents h, and 8 represents e—the last now well confirmed. Thus, a great step has been taken.

Having established a single word, we can establish a very important point—that is, several beginnings and endings of other words. Let us look, for example, at the last instance but one where ;48 occurs—not far from the end of the cipher. We know that the semicolon immediately after is the beginning of a word, and of the six characters following this 'the,' we know no fewer than five. Let us write these characters down, using the letters we know they represent, leaving a blank for the unknown: t eeth.

Here we can at once discard the 'th' as forming no part of the word that begins with the first t, since, by trying every letter of the alphabet in the blank, we see that no word can be formed of which this th can be a part. We are thus narrowed to t ee, and, going through the alphabet again if necessary, we arrive at 'tree' as the only possible reading. We thus gain another letter, r, represented by (, with the words 'the tree' in contact.

Looking a little further, we see the combination ;48 again, and use it as the ending of what immediately precedes. We have this arrangement: the tree ;4(‡?34 the, or, substituting the known letters, it reads: the tree thr‡?3h the.

Now, if we leave blanks or dots for the unknown characters, we read: the tree thr…h the, and the word 'through' becomes obvious at once. That gives us three new letters: o, u, and g, represented by ‡, ?, and 3.

Looking now carefully through the cipher for combinations of known characters, we find, not far from the beginning, this arrangement: 83(88, or egree, which is plainly the ending of the word 'degree,' and gives us another letter, d, represented by †.

Four letters beyond 'degree,' we see the combination:

;46(;88*.

Translating the known characters and putting dots for the unknown, we read: th.rtee, which is immediately suggestive of 'thirteen,' and gives us two more characters, i and n, represented by 6 and *.

Referring now to the beginning of the cryptograph, we find: 53‡‡†.

Translating, we get:

.good, which assures us that the first letter is A, and that the first two words are 'A good.'

To avoid confusion, let us now arrange our key, as far as discovered, in a table: 5 represents a † " d 8 " e 3 " g 4 " h 6 " i * " n ‡ " o ( " r ; " t

Thus, we have at least ten of the most important letters, and it will be unnecessary to go into the details of the solution further. I have said enough to convince you that ciphers of this kind are easily solved and to give you some insight into the rationale of their development. But be assured that this specimen is one of the simplest kinds of cryptographs. It only remains to give you the full translation of the characters on the parchment, as unriddled. Here it is:

'A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat—twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes—northeast and by north—main branch seventh limb east side—shoot from the left eye of the death's-head—a bee-line from the tree through the shot fifty feet out.'"

"But," said I, "the riddle seems as hard as ever. How is it possible to get any meaning from all that jargon about 'devil's seats,' 'death's-heads,' and 'bishop's hotels'?"

"I admit," replied Legrand, "that the matter still looks serious when viewed hastily. My first effort was to divide the sentence into the natural divisions intended by the writer."

"You mean to punctuate it?"

"Something like that."

"But how could you do it?"

"I thought that the writer had made a point of running the words together without divisions so as to make the solution harder. Now, a not very acute man, in pursuing such an aim, would be almost certain to overdo it. When, in the course of his writing, he came to a break in the subject that would naturally need a pause or a punctuation mark, he would be very likely to run the characters closer together at that point. If you observe the manuscript in this instance, you will easily detect five such cases of unusual crowding. Acting on this hint, I made the division as follows:

'A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat—twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes—northeast and by north—main branch seventh limb east side—shoot from the left eye of the death's-head—a bee-line from the tree through the shot fifty feet out.'"

"Even with this division," I said, "I am still in the dark."

"It left me in the dark too," said Legrand, "for a few days. During that time, I made careful inquiries around Sullivan's Island for any building called the 'Bishop's Hotel,' for, of course, I dropped the old word 'hostel.' Getting no information, I was about to search further and more systematically, when, one morning, it suddenly occurred to me that this 'Bishop's Hostel' might refer to an old family by the name of Bessop, which had owned an old manor house about four miles north of the island for a long time. So I went over to the plantation and asked the older Negroes there. At last, one of the most aged women said that she had heard of a place called Bessop's Castle and thought she could guide me there, but that it was not a castle nor a tavern, but a high rock.

I offered to pay her well for her trouble, and after some hesitation, she agreed to take me there. We found it without much difficulty, and after dismissing her, I began to examine the place. The 'castle' was an irregular cluster of cliffs and rocks—one of them was quite remarkable for its height and for its isolated and seemingly artificial appearance. I climbed to its top and then felt quite at a loss as to what to do next.

While I was deep in thought, my eyes fell on a narrow ledge on the eastern face of the rock, perhaps a yard below the summit. The ledge projected about eighteen inches and was only about a foot wide. A niche in the cliff just above it made it look like one of the hollow-backed chairs our ancestors used. I had no doubt that this was the 'devil's seat' referred to in the manuscript, and now I seemed to grasp the full secret.

The 'good glass' could only mean a telescope, for seamen rarely use the word 'glass' in any other sense. Here, then, I saw at once that a telescope was to be used, from a definite point of view—one that allowed no variation. Nor did I hesitate to believe that the phrase 'twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes' and 'northeast and by north' were directions for aiming the telescope. Greatly excited by these discoveries, I hurried home, got a telescope, and returned to the rock.

I lowered myself onto the ledge and found that I could only sit there in one particular position. This confirmed my earlier idea. I then used the telescope. Of course, the 'twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes' could only refer to the elevation above the horizon, since the horizontal direction was already given by 'northeast and by north.' I set this direction with my pocket compass, then, pointing the telescope at an angle of about twenty-one degrees, I moved it carefully up and down until my attention was caught by a circular gap or opening in the leaves of a large tree that rose above the others in the distance. In the center of this opening, I saw a white spot, but at first could not tell what it was. Adjusting the focus, I looked again and made it out to be a human skull.

On this discovery, I was so hopeful that I considered the riddle solved, for the phrase 'main branch, seventh limb, east side' could only refer to the position of the skull on the tree, and 'shoot from the left eye of the death's-head' could have only one meaning, in regard to a search for buried treasure. I understood that the plan was to drop a bullet from the left eye of the skull, and that a straight line drawn from the nearest point of the trunk through 'the shot' (where the bullet fell) and then extended for fifty feet would indicate a definite point—and beneath that point I thought it at least possible that treasure lay hidden."

"All this," I said, "is exceedingly clear, and though ingenious, still simple and explicit. When you left the Bishop's Hotel, what then?"

"Well, after carefully taking the bearings of the tree, I went home. The moment I left the devil's seat, the circular opening disappeared, and I could not find it again, no matter which way I looked. What seems to me the most ingenious part of this whole business is the fact (for repeated experiment has convinced me it is a fact) that the circular opening is visible from no other reachable point of view than that narrow ledge on the face of the rock."

"On this trip to the Bishop's Hotel, I had been accompanied by Jupiter, who had no doubt noticed my strange behavior for several weeks and was careful not to leave me alone. But the next day, getting up very early, I managed to slip away and went into the hills to look for the tree. After much effort, I found it. When I came home that night, my servant proposed to give me a flogging. As for the rest of the adventure, I believe you know as much as I do."

"I suppose," I said, "you missed the spot on the first attempt at digging because of Jupiter's stupidity in letting the bug fall through the right instead of the left eye of the skull."

"Exactly. That mistake made a difference of about two and a half inches in the 'shot'—that is, in the position of the peg nearest the tree. If the treasure had been beneath the shot, the error would have been of little account. But the shot, together with the nearest point of the tree, were only two points to establish a line of direction; of course, the error, however small at first, increased as we followed the line, and by the time we had gone fifty feet, we were quite off the mark. If I had not been deeply convinced that treasure was buried somewhere there, our labor would have been in vain."

"I suppose the idea of the skull—of dropping a bullet through its eye—was suggested to Kidd by the pirate flag. No doubt he felt a kind of poetic fitness in recovering his treasure through that ominous symbol."

"Perhaps so; but I can't help thinking that common sense had as much to do with it as poetic fitness. To be visible from the devil's seat, the object, if small, had to be white—and there is nothing like a human skull for keeping, or even increasing, its whiteness through all kinds of weather."

"But your grand manner, and your behavior in swinging the beetle—how exceedingly odd! I was sure you were mad. And why did you insist on dropping the bug, instead of a bullet, from the skull?"

"Why, to be frank, I was a bit annoyed by your evident doubts about my sanity, and I decided to punish you quietly, in my own way, with a little sober mystification. For that reason, I swung the beetle, and for that reason, I let it fall from the tree. Your comment about its great weight suggested the latter."

"Yes, I see; and now there is only one thing that puzzles me. What are we to make of the skeletons found in the hole?"

"That is a question I am no better able to answer than you. There seems, however, only one plausible way to account for them—and yet it is horrible to believe in such cruelty as my suggestion implies. It is clear that Kidd—if Kidd indeed hid this treasure, which I do not doubt—must have had help with the labor. But when that labor was finished, he may have thought it wise to remove all who shared his secret. Perhaps a couple of blows with a mattock were enough, while his helpers were busy in the pit; perhaps it took a dozen—who can tell?"