It was a spot well known to me in
the course of the aquatic expeditions of my boyhood. Not far from where
we landed, was an old Dutch family vault, in the side of a bank, which
had been an object of great awe and fable among my schoolboy
associates. There were several mouldering coffins within; but what gave
it a fearful interest with us, was its being connected in our minds
with the pirate wreck which lay among the rocks of Hell Gate. There
were also stories of smuggling connected with it, particularly during a
time that this retired spot was owned by a noted burgher called Ready
Money Prevost; a man of whom it was whispered that he had many and
mysterious dealings with parts beyond seas. All these things, however,
had been jumbled together in our minds in that vague way in which such
things are mingled up in the tales of boyhood.
While I was musing upon these matters my companions had spread a
repast, from the contents of our well-stored pannier, and we solaced
ourselves during the warm sunny hours of mid-day under the shade of a
broad chestnut, on the cool grassy carpet that swept down to the
water's edge. While lolling on the grass I summoned up the dusky
recollections of my boyhood respecting this place, and repeated them
like the imperfectly remembered traces of a dream, for the
entertainment of my companions. When I had finished, a worthy old
burgher, John Josse Vandermoere, the same who once related to me the
adventures of Dolph Heyliger, broke silence and observed, that he
recollected a story about money-digging which occurred in this very
neighborhood.
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