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and with a box of magic ointment； which； applied to the left eye；
enables one to see the treasures in the bosom of the earth； but on
touching the right eye； causes blindness。 Having applied it to the
left eye with the result predicted； he uses it on his right eye； in
the hope that still greater treasures may be revealed； and
immediately becomes blind。
On making private inquiries about the grounds said to be haunted by
Feather Red…cap； he was more and more confirmed in his surmise。 He
learned that the place had several times been visited by
experienced money diggers who had heard Black Sam's story； though
none of them had met with success。 On the contrary； they had
always been dogged with ill luck of some kind or other； in
consequence； as Wolfert concluded； of not going to work at the
proper time and with the proper ceremonials。 The last attempt had
been made by Cobus Quackenbos； who dug for a whole night； and met
with incredible difficulty； for as fast as he threw one shovelful
of earth out of the hole； two were thrown in by invisible hands。
He succeeded so far； however； as to uncover an iron chest； when
there was a terrible roaring； ramping； and raging of uncouth
figures about the hole； and at length a shower of blows； dealt by
invisible cudgels； fairly belabored him off of the forbidden
ground。 This Cobus Quackenbos had declared on his deathbed； so
that there could not be any doubt of it。 He was a man that had
devoted many years of his life to money digging； and it was thought
would have ultimately succeeded had he not died recently of a brain
fever in the almshouse。
Wolfert Webber was now in a worry of trepidation and impatience；
fearful lest some rival adventurer should get a scent of the buried
gold。 He determined privately to seek out the black fisherman； and
get him to serve as guide to the place where he had witnessed the
mysterious scene of interment。 Sam was easily found； for he was
one of those old habitual beings that live about a neighborhood
until they wear themselves a place in the public mind； and become；
in a manner； public characters。 There was not an unlucky urchin
about town that did not know Sam the fisherman； and think that he
had a right to play his tricks upon the old negro。 Sam had led an
amphibious life for more than half a century； about the shores of
the bay and the fishing grounds of the Sound。 He passed the
greater part of his time on and in the water； particularly about
Hell Gate； and might have been taken； in bad weather； for one of
the hobgoblins that used to haunt that strait。 There would he be
seen； at all times and in all weathers； sometimes in his skiff；
anchored among the eddies； or prowling like a shark about some
wreck； where the fish are supposed to be most abundant； sometimes
seated on a rock from hour to hour； looking； in the mist and
drizzle； like a solitary heron watching for its prey。 He was well
acquainted with every hole and corner of the Sound； from the
Wallabout＇1＇ to Hell Gate； and from Hell Gate unto the Devil's
Stepping…Stones； and it was even affirmed that he knew all the fish
in the river by their Christian names。
＇1＇ A bay of the East River； on which the Brooklyn Navy Yard is
situated。
Wolfert found him at his cabin； which was not much larger than a
tolerable dog house。 It was rudely constructed of fragments of
wrecks and driftwood； and built on the rocky shore at the foot of
the old fort； just about what at present forms the point of the
Battery。＇1＇ A 〃very ancient and fishlike smell〃＇2＇ pervaded the
place。 Oars； paddles； and fishing rods were leaning against the
wall of the fort； a net was spread on the sand to dry； a skiff was
drawn up on the beach； and at the door of his cabin was Mud Sam
himself； indulging in the true negro luxury of sleeping in the
sunshine。
＇1＇ The southern extremity of New York City。
＇2＇ See Shakespeare's The Tempest； act ii。； sc。 2。
Many years had passed away since the time of Sam's youthful
adventure； and the snows of many a winter had grizzled the knotty
wool upon his head。 He perfectly recollected the circumstances；
however； for he had often been called upon to relate them； though
in his version of the story he differed in many points from Peechy
Prauw； as is not infrequently the case with authentic historians。
As to the subsequent researches of money diggers； Sam knew nothing
about them； they were matters quite out of his line； neither did
the cautious Wolfert care to disturb his thoughts on that point。
His only wish was to secure the old fisherman as a pilot to the
spot； and this was readily effected。 The long time that had
intervened since his nocturnal adventure had effaced all Sam's awe
of the place； and the promise of a trifling reward roused him at
once from his sleep and his sunshine。
The tide was adverse to making the expedition by water； and Wolfert
was too impatient to get to the land of promise to wait for its
turning； they set off； therefore； by land。 A walk of four or five
miles brought them to the edge of a wood； which at that time
covered the greater part of the eastern side of the island。 It was
just beyond the pleasant region of Bloomen…dael。＇1＇ Here they
struck into a long lane； straggling among trees and bushes very
much overgrown with weeds and mullein stalks； as if but seldom
used； and so completely overshadowed as to enjoy but a kind of
twilight。 Wild vines entangled the trees and flaunted in their
faces； brambles and briers caught their clothes as they passed； the
garter snake glided across their path； the spotted toad hopped and
waddled before them； and the restless catbird mewed at them from
every thicket。 Had Wolfert Webber been deeply read in romantic
legend he might have fancied himself entering upon forbidden；
enchanted ground； or that these were some of the guardians set to
keep watch upon buried treasure。 As it was； the loneliness of the
place； and the wild stories connected with it； had their effect
upon his mind。
＇1＇ At the time this story was written Bloomen…dael （Flowery
Valley） was a village four miles from New York。 It is now that
part of New York known as Bloomingdale； on the west side； between
about Seventieth and One Hundredth Streets。
On reaching the lower end of the lane they found themselves near
the shore of the Sound； in a kind of amphitheater surrounded by
forest trees。 The area had once been a grass plot； but was now
shagged with briers and rank weeds。 At one end； and just on the
river bank； was a ruined building； little better than a heap of
rubbish； with a stack of chimneys rising like a solitary tower out
of the center。 The current of the Sound rushed along just below
it； with wildly grown trees drooping their branches into its waves。
Wolfert had not a doubt that this was the haunted house of Father
Red…cap； and called to mind the story of Peechy Prauw。 The evening
was