They must have been very hard, for he required time to
think of them, and he was not a man to stick at trifles where money was
in view. When they had reached the edge of the swamp the stranger
paused.
"What proof have I that all you have been telling me is true?" said
Tom.
"There is my signature," said the black man, pressing his finger on
Tom's forehead. So saying, he turned off among the thickets of the
swamp, and seemed, as Tom said, to go down, down, down, into the earth,
until nothing but his head and shoulders could be seen, and so on until
he totally disappeared.
When Tom reached home he found the black print of a finger burnt, as it
were, into his forehead, which nothing could obliterate.
The first news his wife had to tell him was the sudden death of Absalom
Crowninshield, the rich buccaneer. It was announced in the papers with
the usual flourish, that "a great man had fallen in Israel."
Tom recollected the tree which his black friend had just hewn down, and
which was ready for burning. "Let the freebooter roast," said Tom, "who
cares!" He now felt convinced that all he had heard and seen was no
illusion.
He was not prone to let his wife into his confidence; but as this was
an uneasy secret, he willingly shared it with her. All her avarice was
awakened at the mention of hidden gold, and she urged her husband to
comply with the black man's terms and secure what would make them
wealthy for life.
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