Black Bartlemys Treasure

"O Martin!" she gasped. "O Martin--'tis in there--all huddled--in the darkest corner! And I--I slept with it--beside me all night!" Coming within the cave I looked whither her shaking hand pointed and saw what I took at first for a monstrous egg and beyond this the staves of a small barrel; then, bending nearer, I saw these were the skull and ribs of a man. And this man had died very suddenly, for the skeleton lay face down one bony arm folded under him, the other wide-tossed, and the skull, shattered behind, showed a small, round hole just above and betwixt the cavernous eye-sockets; about the ribs were the mouldering remains of a leathern jerkin girt by a broad belt wherein was a knife and a rusty sword; but that which pleased me mightily was a thing still fast-clenched in these bony fingers, and this no other than a heavy hatchet. So, disturbing these poor bones as little as need be, I took the hatchet and thereafter sword and knife; and then, turning to go, stopped all at once, for tied about the bony neck by a leathern thong I espied a shrivelled parchment. Wondering, I took this also, and coming without the cave, found my companion leaning as I had left her and very shaky.

"O Martin!" says she, shivering, "and I slept within touch of it!"

"But you slept very well and he, poor soul, is long past harming you or any." So saying I smoothed out the crackling parchment and holding it in her view, saw this writ very bold and clear: "Benjamin Galbally Slain of necessity June 20, 1642 This for a sign to like Rogues.

"Adam Penfeather."

"Will this be our Adam Penfeather, Martin?"

"Indeed," says I, "there is methinks but one Adam Penfeather in this world, the which is just as well, mayhap."

"Then he murdered this poor man?"

"Why the fellow had this hatchet in his fist, it hath lain rusting in his grasp all these years, methinks his blow came something too late! Though he must be mighty quick who'd outmatch Penfeather, I guess. No, this man I take it died in fight. Though why Adam must set this placard about the poor rogue's neck is beyond me."

"Let us go away, Martin. This is an evil place."

"It is!" says I, glancing at the great pimento tree that marked the grave of the poor Spanish lady and Black Bartlemy. "Truly we will seek out another habitation and that at once. Howbeit, I have gotten me my hammer." And I showed her the hatchet, the which, unlike the ordinary boarding-axe, was furnished with a flat behind the blade, thus: (Line drawing of the hatchet.)