Myths and Legends of Our Own Land, vol 9 | Page 5

of counterfeiters worked in that
recess, and there some spurious coinage may still be concealed. The
stream is also known as Spectre Brook, for late wandering hunters and
scouting soldiers, seeing the forgers moving to and fro about their
furnaces, took them for ghosts.
Province Island, in Lake Memphremagog, Vermont, is believed to
contain some of the profits of an extensive smuggling enterprise that
was carried on near the lake for several years.
A little company of Spanish adventurers passed along the base of the
Green Mountains early in the last century, expecting to return after
having some dealings with the trading stations on the St. Lawrence; so
they deposited a part of their gold on Ludlow Mountain, Vermont, and
another pot of it on Camel's Hump. They agreed that none should
return without his companions, but they were detained in the north and
separated, some of them going home to Spain. Late in life the sole
survivor of the company went to Camel's Hump and tried to recall
where the treasure had been hidden, but in vain.
While flying from the people whose declaration of independence had
already been written in the blood of the king's troops at Concord, the

royal governor--Wentworth--was embarrassed by a wife and a treasure-
chest. He had left his mansion, at Smith's Pond, New Hampshire, and
was making toward Portsmouth, where he was to enjoy the protection
of the British fleet, but the country was up in arms, time was important,
and as his wearied horses could not go on without a lightening of the
burden, he was forced to leave behind either Lady Wentworth or his
other riches. As the lady properly objected to any risk of her own safety,
the chest was buried at an unknown spot in the forest, and for a century
and more the whereabouts of the Wentworth plate and money-bags
have been a matter of search and conjecture.
When the Hessian troops marched from Saratoga to Boston, to take
ship after Burgoyne's surrender, they were in wretched
condition-war-worn, ragged, and ill fed,--and having much with them
in the form of plate and jewels that had been spared by their conquerors,
together with some of the money sent from England for their hire, they
were in constant fear of attack from the farmers, who, though they had
been beaten, continued to regard them with an unfavorable eye. On
reaching Dalton, Massachusetts, the Hessians agreed among themselves
to put their valuables into a howitzer, which they buried in the woods,
intending that some of their number should come back at the close of
the war and recover it. An Indian had silently followed them for a long
distance, to gather up any unconsidered trifles that might be left in their
bivouacs, and he marked the route by blazes on the trees; but if he saw
the burial of this novel treasury it meant nothing to him, and the
knowledge of the hiding-place was lost. For years the populace kept
watch of all strangers that came to town, and shadowed them if they
went to the woods, but without result. In about the year 1800 the
supposed hiding-place was examined closely and excavations were
made, but, as before, nothing rewarded the search.
A tree of unknown age--the Old Elm--stood on Boston Common until
within a few years. This veteran, torn and broken by many a gale and
lightning-stroke, was a gallows in the last century, and Goody Glover
had swung from it in witch-times. On tempestuous nights, when the
boughs creaked together, it was said that dark shapes might be seen
writhing on the branches and capering about the sward below in hellish
glee. On a gusty autumn evening in 1776 a muffled form presented
itself, unannounced, at the chamber of Mike Wild, and, after that

notorious miser had enough recovered from the fear created by the
presence to understand what it said to him, he realized that it was
telling him of something that in life it had buried at the foot of the Old
Elm. After much hesitancy Mike set forth with his ghostly guide, for he
would have risked his soul for money, but on arriving at his destination
he was startled to find himself alone. Nothing daunted, he set down his
lantern and began to dig. Though he turned up many a rood of soil and
sounded with his spade for bags and chests of gold, he found nothing.
Strange noises overhead--for the wind was high and the twigs seemed
to snicker eerily as they crossed each other-sent thrills along his back
from time to time, and he was about to return, half in anger, half in fear,
when his spirit visitor emerged from behind the tree and stood before
him. The mien was threatening, the nose had reddened