章节正文
kept them in his own possession they would doubtless have been a
great weapon of defense to protect him from the gallows. Indeed,
when Captain Kidd was finally brought to conviction and hung, he
was not accused of his piracies, but of striking a mutinous
seaman upon the head with a bucket and accidentally killing him.
The authorities did not dare try him for piracy. He was really
hung because he was a pirate, and we know that it was the log
books that Tom Chist brought to New York that did the business
for him; he was accused and convicted of manslaughter for killing
of his own ship carpenter with a bucket.
So Parson Jones, sitting there in the slanting light, read
through these terrible records of piracy, and Tom, with the pile
of gold and silver money beside him, sat and listened to him.
What a spectacle, if anyone had come upon them! But they were
alone, with the vast arch of sky empty above them and the wide
white stretch of sand a desert around them. The sun sank lower
and lower, until there was only time to glance through the other
papers in the chest.
They were nearly all goldsmiths' bills of exchange drawn in favor
of certain of the most prominent merchants of New York. Parson
Jones, as he read over the names, knew of nearly all the
gentlemen by hearsay. Aye, here was this gentleman; he thought
that name would be among 'em. What? Here is Mr. So-and-so.
Well, if all they say is true, the villain has robbed one of his
own best friends. "I wonder," he said, "why the wretch should
have hidden these papers so carefully away with the other
treasures, for they could do him no good?" Then, answering his
own question: "Like enough because these will give him a hold
over the gentlemen to whom they are drawn so that he can make a
good bargain for his own neck before he gives the bills back to
their owners. I tell you what it is, Tom," he continued, "it is
you yourself shall go to New York and bargain for the return of
these papers. 'Twill be as good as another fortune to you."
The majority of the bills were drawn in favor of one Richard
Chillingsworth, Esquire. "And he is," said Parson Jones, "one of
the richest men in the province of New York. You shall go to him
with the news of what we have found."
"When shall I go?" said Tom Chist.
"You shall go upon the very first boat we can catch," said the
parson. He had turned, still holding the bills in his hand, and
was now fingering over the pile of money that yet lay tumbled out
upon the coat. "I wonder, Tom," said he, "if you could spare me a
score or so of these doubloons?"
"You shall have fifty score, if you choose," said Tom, bursting
with gratitude and with generosity in his newly found treasure.
"You are as fine a lad as ever I saw, Tom," said the parson, "and
I'll thank you to the last day of my life."
Tom scooped up a double handful of silver money. "Take it.
sir," he said, "and you may have as much more as you want of it."
He poured it into the dish that the good man made of his hands,
and the parson made a motion as though to empty it into his
pocket. Then he stopped, as though a sudden doubt had occurred to
him. "I don't know that 'tis fit for me to take this pirate
money, after all," he said.
"But you are welcome to it," said Tom.
Still the parson hesitated. "Nay," he burst out, "I'll not take
it; 'tis blood money." And as he spoke he chucked the whole
double handful into the now empty chest, then arose and dusted
the sand from his breeches. Then, with a great deal of bustling
energy, he helped to tie the bags again and put them all back
into the chest.
They reburied the chest in the place whence they had taken it,
and then the parson folded the precious paper of directions,
placed it carefully in his wallet, and his wallet in his pocket.
"Tom," he said, for the twentieth time, "your fortune has been
made this day."
And Tom Chist, as he rattled in his breeches pocket the half
dozen doubloons he had kept out of his treasure, felt that what
his friend had said was true.
As the two went back homeward across the level space of sand Tom
Chist suddenly stopped stock-still and stood looking about him.
"'Twas just here," he said, digging his heel down into the sand,
"that they killed the poor black man."
"And here he lies buried for all time," said Parson Jones; and as
he spoke he dug his cane down into the sand. Tom Chist shuddered.
He would not have been surprised if the ferrule of the cane had
struck something soft beneath that level surface. But it did not,
nor was any sign of that tragedy ever seen again. For, whether
the pirates had carried away what they had done and buried it
elsewhere, or whether the storm in blowing the sand had
completely leveled off and hidden all sign of that tragedy where
it was enacted, certain it is that it never came to sight
again--at least so far as Tom Chist and the Rev. Hilary Jones
ever knew.
VII
This is the story of the treasure box. All that remains now is
to conclude the story of Tom Chist, and to tell of what came of
him in the end.
He did not go back again to live with old Matt Abrahamson.
Parson Jones had now taken charge of him and his fortunes, and
Tom did not have to go back to the fisherman's hut.
Old Abrahamson talked a great deal about it, and would come in
his cups and harangue good Parson Jones, making a vast
protestation of what he would do to Tom--if he ever caught
him--for running away. But Tom on all these occasions kept
carefully out of his way, and nothing came of the old man's
threatenings.
Tom used to go over to see his foster mother now and then, but
always when the old man was from home. And Molly Abrahamson used
to warn him to keep out of her father's way. "He's in as vile a
humor as ever I see, Tom," she said; "he sits sulking all day
long, and 'tis my belief he'd kill ye if he caught ye."
Of course Tom said nothing, even to her, about the treasure, and
he and the reverend gentleman kept the knowledge thereof to
themselves. About three weeks later Parson Jones managed to get
him shipped aboard of a vessel bound for New York town, and a few
days later Tom Chist landed at that place. He had never been in
such a town before, and he could not sufficiently wonder and
marvel at the number of brick houses, at the multitude of people
coming and going along the fine, hard, earthensidewalk, at the
shops and the stores where goods hung in the windows, and, most
of all, the fortifications and the battery at the point, at the
rows of threatening cannon, and at the scarlet-coated sentries
pacing up and down the ramparts. All this was very wonderful,
and so were the clustered boats riding at anchor in the harbor.
It was like a new world, so different was it from the sand hills
and the sedgy levels of Henlopen.
Tom Chist took up his lodgings at a coffee house near to the town
hall, and thence he sent by the postboy a letter written by
Parson Jones to Master Chillingsworth. In a little while the boy
returned with a message, asking Tom to come up to Mr.
Chillingsworth's house that afternoon at two o'clock.
Tom went thither with a great deal of trepidation, and his heart
fell away altogether when he found it a fine, grand brick house,
three stories high, and with wrought-iron letters across the
front.
The counting house was in the same building; but Tom, because of
Mr. Jones's letter, was conducted directly into the parlor, where
the great rich man was awaiting his coming. He was sitting in a
leather-covered armchair, smoking a pipe of tobacco, and with a
bottle of fine old Madeira close to his elbow.
Tom had not had a chance to buy a new suit of clothes yet, and so
he cut no very fine figure in the rough dress he had brought with
him from Henlopen. Nor did Mr. Chillingsworth seem to think very
highly of his appearance, for he sat looking sideways at Tom as
he smoked.
"Well, my lad," he said, "and what is this great thing you have
to tell me that is so mightily wonderful? I got
what's-his-name--Mr. Jones's-- letter, and now I am ready to hear
what you have to say."
But if he thought but little of his visitor's appearance at
first, he soon changed his sentiments toward him, for Tom had not
spoken twenty words when Mr. Chillingsworth's whole aspect
changed. He straightened himself up in his seat, laid aside his
pipe, pushed away his glass of Madeira, and bade Tom take a
chair.
He listened without a word as Tom Chist told of the buried
treasure, of how he had seen the poor negro murdered, and of how
he and Parson Jones had recovered the chest again. Only once did
Mr. Chillingsworth interrupt the narrative. "And to think," he
cried, "that the villain this very day walks about New York town
as though he were an honest man, ruffling it with the best of us!
But if we can only get hold of these log books you speak of. Go
on; tell me more of this."
When Tom Chist's narrative was ended, Mr. Chillingsworth's
bearing was as different as daylight is from dark. He asked a
thousand questions, all in the most polite and gracious tone
imaginable, and not only urged a glass of his fine old Madeira
upon Tom, but asked him to stay to supper. There was nobody to be
there, he said, but his wife and daughter.
Tom, all in a panic at the very thought of the two ladies,
sturdily refused to stay even for the dish of tea Mr.
Chillingsworth offered him.
He did not know that he was destined to stay there as long as he
should live.
"And now," said Mr. Chillingsworth, "tell me about yourself."
"I have nothing to tell, Your Honor," said Tom, "except that I
was washed up out of the sea."
"Washed up out of the sea!" exclaimed Mr. Chillingsworth. "Why,
how was that? Come, begin at the beginning, and tell me all."
Thereupon Tom Chist did as he was bidden, beginning at the very
beginning and telling everything just as Molly Abrahamson had
often told it to him. As he continued, Mr. Chillingsworth's
interest changed into an appearance of stronger and stronger
excitement. Suddenly he jumped up out of his chair and began to
walk up and down the room.
"Stop! stop!" he cried out at last, in the midst of something Tom
was saying. "Stop! stop! Tell me; do you know the name of the
vessel that was wrecked, and from which you were washed ashore?"
"I've heard it said," said Tom Chist, " 'twas the Bristol
Merchant."
"I knew it! I knew it!" exclaimed the great man, in a loud
voice, flinging his hands up into the air. "I felt it was so the
moment you began the story. But tell me this, was there nothing
found with you with a mark or a name upon it?"
"There was a kerchief," said Tom, "marked with a T and a C."
"Theodosia Chillingsworth!" cried out the merchant. "I knew it!
I knew it! Heavens! to think of anything so wonderful happening
as this! Boy! boy! dost thou know who thou art? Thou art my own
brother's son. His name was Oliver Chillingsworth, and he was my
partner in business, and thou art his son." Then he ran out into
the entryway, shouting and calling for his wife and daughter to
come.
So Tom Chist--or Thomas Chillingsworth, as he now was to be
called--did stay to supper, after all.
This is the story, and I hope you may like it. For Tom Chist
became rich and great, as was to be supposed, and he married his
pretty cousin Theodosia (who had been named for his own mother,
drowned in the Bristol Merchant).
He did not forget his friends, but had Parson Jones brought to
New York to live.
great weapon of defense to protect him from the gallows. Indeed,
when Captain Kidd was finally brought to conviction and hung, he
was not accused of his piracies, but of striking a mutinous
seaman upon the head with a bucket and accidentally killing him.
The authorities did not dare try him for piracy. He was really
hung because he was a pirate, and we know that it was the log
books that Tom Chist brought to New York that did the business
for him; he was accused and convicted of manslaughter for killing
of his own ship carpenter with a bucket.
So Parson Jones, sitting there in the slanting light, read
through these terrible records of piracy, and Tom, with the pile
of gold and silver money beside him, sat and listened to him.
What a spectacle, if anyone had come upon them! But they were
alone, with the vast arch of sky empty above them and the wide
white stretch of sand a desert around them. The sun sank lower
and lower, until there was only time to glance through the other
papers in the chest.
They were nearly all goldsmiths' bills of exchange drawn in favor
of certain of the most prominent merchants of New York. Parson
Jones, as he read over the names, knew of nearly all the
gentlemen by hearsay. Aye, here was this gentleman; he thought
that name would be among 'em. What? Here is Mr. So-and-so.
Well, if all they say is true, the villain has robbed one of his
own best friends. "I wonder," he said, "why the wretch should
have hidden these papers so carefully away with the other
treasures, for they could do him no good?" Then, answering his
own question: "Like enough because these will give him a hold
over the gentlemen to whom they are drawn so that he can make a
good bargain for his own neck before he gives the bills back to
their owners. I tell you what it is, Tom," he continued, "it is
you yourself shall go to New York and bargain for the return of
these papers. 'Twill be as good as another fortune to you."
The majority of the bills were drawn in favor of one Richard
Chillingsworth, Esquire. "And he is," said Parson Jones, "one of
the richest men in the province of New York. You shall go to him
with the news of what we have found."
"When shall I go?" said Tom Chist.
"You shall go upon the very first boat we can catch," said the
parson. He had turned, still holding the bills in his hand, and
was now fingering over the pile of money that yet lay tumbled out
upon the coat. "I wonder, Tom," said he, "if you could spare me a
score or so of these doubloons?"
"You shall have fifty score, if you choose," said Tom, bursting
with gratitude and with generosity in his newly found treasure.
"You are as fine a lad as ever I saw, Tom," said the parson, "and
I'll thank you to the last day of my life."
Tom scooped up a double handful of silver money. "Take it.
sir," he said, "and you may have as much more as you want of it."
He poured it into the dish that the good man made of his hands,
and the parson made a motion as though to empty it into his
pocket. Then he stopped, as though a sudden doubt had occurred to
him. "I don't know that 'tis fit for me to take this pirate
money, after all," he said.
"But you are welcome to it," said Tom.
Still the parson hesitated. "Nay," he burst out, "I'll not take
it; 'tis blood money." And as he spoke he chucked the whole
double handful into the now empty chest, then arose and dusted
the sand from his breeches. Then, with a great deal of bustling
energy, he helped to tie the bags again and put them all back
into the chest.
They reburied the chest in the place whence they had taken it,
and then the parson folded the precious paper of directions,
placed it carefully in his wallet, and his wallet in his pocket.
"Tom," he said, for the twentieth time, "your fortune has been
made this day."
And Tom Chist, as he rattled in his breeches pocket the half
dozen doubloons he had kept out of his treasure, felt that what
his friend had said was true.
As the two went back homeward across the level space of sand Tom
Chist suddenly stopped stock-still and stood looking about him.
"'Twas just here," he said, digging his heel down into the sand,
"that they killed the poor black man."
"And here he lies buried for all time," said Parson Jones; and as
he spoke he dug his cane down into the sand. Tom Chist shuddered.
He would not have been surprised if the ferrule of the cane had
struck something soft beneath that level surface. But it did not,
nor was any sign of that tragedy ever seen again. For, whether
the pirates had carried away what they had done and buried it
elsewhere, or whether the storm in blowing the sand had
completely leveled off and hidden all sign of that tragedy where
it was enacted, certain it is that it never came to sight
again--at least so far as Tom Chist and the Rev. Hilary Jones
ever knew.
VII
This is the story of the treasure box. All that remains now is
to conclude the story of Tom Chist, and to tell of what came of
him in the end.
He did not go back again to live with old Matt Abrahamson.
Parson Jones had now taken charge of him and his fortunes, and
Tom did not have to go back to the fisherman's hut.
Old Abrahamson talked a great deal about it, and would come in
his cups and harangue good Parson Jones, making a vast
protestation of what he would do to Tom--if he ever caught
him--for running away. But Tom on all these occasions kept
carefully out of his way, and nothing came of the old man's
threatenings.
Tom used to go over to see his foster mother now and then, but
always when the old man was from home. And Molly Abrahamson used
to warn him to keep out of her father's way. "He's in as vile a
humor as ever I see, Tom," she said; "he sits sulking all day
long, and 'tis my belief he'd kill ye if he caught ye."
Of course Tom said nothing, even to her, about the treasure, and
he and the reverend gentleman kept the knowledge thereof to
themselves. About three weeks later Parson Jones managed to get
him shipped aboard of a vessel bound for New York town, and a few
days later Tom Chist landed at that place. He had never been in
such a town before, and he could not sufficiently wonder and
marvel at the number of brick houses, at the multitude of people
coming and going along the fine, hard, earthensidewalk, at the
shops and the stores where goods hung in the windows, and, most
of all, the fortifications and the battery at the point, at the
rows of threatening cannon, and at the scarlet-coated sentries
pacing up and down the ramparts. All this was very wonderful,
and so were the clustered boats riding at anchor in the harbor.
It was like a new world, so different was it from the sand hills
and the sedgy levels of Henlopen.
Tom Chist took up his lodgings at a coffee house near to the town
hall, and thence he sent by the postboy a letter written by
Parson Jones to Master Chillingsworth. In a little while the boy
returned with a message, asking Tom to come up to Mr.
Chillingsworth's house that afternoon at two o'clock.
Tom went thither with a great deal of trepidation, and his heart
fell away altogether when he found it a fine, grand brick house,
three stories high, and with wrought-iron letters across the
front.
The counting house was in the same building; but Tom, because of
Mr. Jones's letter, was conducted directly into the parlor, where
the great rich man was awaiting his coming. He was sitting in a
leather-covered armchair, smoking a pipe of tobacco, and with a
bottle of fine old Madeira close to his elbow.
Tom had not had a chance to buy a new suit of clothes yet, and so
he cut no very fine figure in the rough dress he had brought with
him from Henlopen. Nor did Mr. Chillingsworth seem to think very
highly of his appearance, for he sat looking sideways at Tom as
he smoked.
"Well, my lad," he said, "and what is this great thing you have
to tell me that is so mightily wonderful? I got
what's-his-name--Mr. Jones's-- letter, and now I am ready to hear
what you have to say."
But if he thought but little of his visitor's appearance at
first, he soon changed his sentiments toward him, for Tom had not
spoken twenty words when Mr. Chillingsworth's whole aspect
changed. He straightened himself up in his seat, laid aside his
pipe, pushed away his glass of Madeira, and bade Tom take a
chair.
He listened without a word as Tom Chist told of the buried
treasure, of how he had seen the poor negro murdered, and of how
he and Parson Jones had recovered the chest again. Only once did
Mr. Chillingsworth interrupt the narrative. "And to think," he
cried, "that the villain this very day walks about New York town
as though he were an honest man, ruffling it with the best of us!
But if we can only get hold of these log books you speak of. Go
on; tell me more of this."
When Tom Chist's narrative was ended, Mr. Chillingsworth's
bearing was as different as daylight is from dark. He asked a
thousand questions, all in the most polite and gracious tone
imaginable, and not only urged a glass of his fine old Madeira
upon Tom, but asked him to stay to supper. There was nobody to be
there, he said, but his wife and daughter.
Tom, all in a panic at the very thought of the two ladies,
sturdily refused to stay even for the dish of tea Mr.
Chillingsworth offered him.
He did not know that he was destined to stay there as long as he
should live.
"And now," said Mr. Chillingsworth, "tell me about yourself."
"I have nothing to tell, Your Honor," said Tom, "except that I
was washed up out of the sea."
"Washed up out of the sea!" exclaimed Mr. Chillingsworth. "Why,
how was that? Come, begin at the beginning, and tell me all."
Thereupon Tom Chist did as he was bidden, beginning at the very
beginning and telling everything just as Molly Abrahamson had
often told it to him. As he continued, Mr. Chillingsworth's
interest changed into an appearance of stronger and stronger
excitement. Suddenly he jumped up out of his chair and began to
walk up and down the room.
"Stop! stop!" he cried out at last, in the midst of something Tom
was saying. "Stop! stop! Tell me; do you know the name of the
vessel that was wrecked, and from which you were washed ashore?"
"I've heard it said," said Tom Chist, " 'twas the Bristol
Merchant."
"I knew it! I knew it!" exclaimed the great man, in a loud
voice, flinging his hands up into the air. "I felt it was so the
moment you began the story. But tell me this, was there nothing
found with you with a mark or a name upon it?"
"There was a kerchief," said Tom, "marked with a T and a C."
"Theodosia Chillingsworth!" cried out the merchant. "I knew it!
I knew it! Heavens! to think of anything so wonderful happening
as this! Boy! boy! dost thou know who thou art? Thou art my own
brother's son. His name was Oliver Chillingsworth, and he was my
partner in business, and thou art his son." Then he ran out into
the entryway, shouting and calling for his wife and daughter to
come.
So Tom Chist--or Thomas Chillingsworth, as he now was to be
called--did stay to supper, after all.
This is the story, and I hope you may like it. For Tom Chist
became rich and great, as was to be supposed, and he married his
pretty cousin Theodosia (who had been named for his own mother,
drowned in the Bristol Merchant).
He did not forget his friends, but had Parson Jones brought to
New York to live.
- doubtless [´dautlis]
ad.无疑地；大概，多半 (初中英语单词) - weapon [´wepən] n.武器；斗争手段 (初中英语单词)
- conviction [kən´vikʃən] n.定罪；确信，信服 (初中英语单词)
- striking [´straikiŋ] a.显著的，明显的 (初中英语单词)
- carpenter [´kɑ:pintə] n.木工 vi.做木工活 (初中英语单词)
- spectacle [´spektəkəl] n.展览；表演；景象 (初中英语单词)
- prominent [´prɔminənt] a.突起的；凸出的 (初中英语单词)
- hidden [´hid(ə)n] hide 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- bargain [´bɑ:gin] n.买卖合同 v.议(价) (初中英语单词)
- province [´prɔvins] n.省；领域；范围 (初中英语单词)
- gratitude [´grætitju:d] n.感激，感谢 (初中英语单词)
- welcome [´welkəm] a.受欢迎的；可喜的 (初中英语单词)
- tragedy [´trædʒidi] n.悲剧；惨案；灾难 (初中英语单词)
- charge [tʃɑ:dʒ] v.收费；冲锋 n.费用 (初中英语单词)
- running [´rʌniŋ] a.奔跑的；流动的 (初中英语单词)
- belief [bi´li:f] n.相信；信仰，信条 (初中英语单词)
- aboard [ə´bɔ:d] ad.&prep.在...上 (初中英语单词)
- vessel [´vesəl] n.容器；船；脉管 (初中英语单词)
- sufficiently [sə´fiʃəntli] ad.充分地，足够地 (初中英语单词)
- multitude [´mʌltitju:d] n.大群(批)；众多 (初中英语单词)
- cannon [´kænən] n.大炮 (初中英语单词)
- anchor [´æŋkə] n.锚 v.抛锚 (初中英语单词)
- thence [ðens] ad.从那里；因此 (初中英语单词)
- thither [´ðiðə] ad.到那里 a.那边的 (初中英语单词)
- altogether [,ɔ:ltə´geðə] ad.完全；总而言之 (初中英语单词)
- parlor [´pɑ:lə] n.客厅；起居室 (初中英语单词)
- tobacco [tə´bækəu] n.烟草(叶)；卷烟 (初中英语单词)
- interrupt [,intə´rʌpt] v.中断；打扰 (初中英语单词)
- daylight [´deilait] n.日光；黎明 (初中英语单词)
- polite [pə´lait] a.有礼貌的；温和的 (初中英语单词)
- gracious [´greiʃəs] a.和蔼可亲的；任慈的 (初中英语单词)
- beginning [bi´giniŋ] n.开始，开端；起源 (初中英语单词)
- supposed [sə´pəuzd] a.想象的；假定的 (初中英语单词)
- bucket [´bʌkit] n.水桶 (高中英语单词)
- pirate [´paiərət] n.海盗 v.做海盗；掠夺 (高中英语单词)
- parson [´pɑ:sən] n.教区牧师 (高中英语单词)
- esquire [i´skwaiə] n.先生 (高中英语单词)
- generosity [,dʒenə´rɔsiti] n.慷慨；慷慨的行为 (高中英语单词)
- handful [hændful] n.一把，少数，一小撮 (高中英语单词)
- motion [´məuʃən] n.手势 vt.打手势 (高中英语单词)
- homeward [´həumwəd] ad.&a.回家(的) (高中英语单词)
- foster [´fɔstə] vt.促进；推动；鼓励 (高中英语单词)
- reverend [´revərənd] a.可尊敬的 (高中英语单词)
- sidewalk [´saidwɔ:k] n.人行道 (高中英语单词)
- battery [´bætəri] n.炮兵连；炮台；电池 (高中英语单词)
- narrative [´nærətiv] a.叙述的 n.记事 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- gallows [´gæləuz] n.绞刑架 (英语四级单词)
- villain [´vilən] n.坏人；恶棍；反面角色 (英语四级单词)
- wretch [retʃ] n.不幸的人；卑鄙的人 (英语四级单词)
- breeches [´britʃiz] n.裤子；马裤 (英语四级单词)
- whence [wens] ad.从何处；从那里 (英语四级单词)
- wallet [´wɑ:lit] n.(放钞票等的)皮夹子 (英语四级单词)
- armchair [´ɑ:mtʃeə] n.扶手椅 (英语四级单词)
- accidentally [,æksi´dentəli] ad.偶然地 (英语六级单词)
- holding [´həuldiŋ] n.保持，固定，存储 (英语六级单词)
- earthen [´ə:θən, -ðən] a.泥土做的；大地的 (英语六级单词)
- calling [´kɔ:liŋ] n.点名；职业；欲望 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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