The Camp in the Woods.—Weapons of War.—An Interruption.—An old Friend.—A Mineral Bod.—Tremendous Excitement.—-Captain Corbet on the Rampage.—A Pot of Gold.


THE spring recess was over, and the boys of the Grand Pré School were now to turn from play to study. The last day of their liberty was spent by the “B. O. W. C.” at their encampment in the woods. They found it in so good a condition, that it was even more attractive than when they left it. The dam had proved water-tight; the pool was full to the brim; the trees overhung with a denser foliage, while all around the fresh-turned earth was covered with young grass, springing forth with that rapidity which marks the growth of vegetation in these colder regions.

It was early in the day when they came up, and they were accompanied by the Perpetual Grand Panjandrum, who carried on his woolly head a basket crammed to the top with a highly-diversified and very luxurious lunch, which it had been the joy of that aged functionary to gather for the present occasion.

“Dar!” he exclaimed, as he put down his burden. “Ef you habn’t enough to feed you dis time, den I’m a nigga. Dar’s turkeys, an mutton pies, an hoe-cakes, an ham, an ginger-beer, an doughnuts, an de sakes ony knows what. All got up for de special benefit ob de Bee see double bubble Bredren, by de Gran Pan dandle drum. You’ll be de greatest specims ob chil’en in de woods dat ebber I har tell on. You gwine to be jes like wild Injins, and live in de wilderness like de prophets; an I’m gwine to be de black raven dat’ll bring you food. But now,” he added, “de black crow must fly back agen.”

“O, no, Solomon,” said they, as he started. “Don’t go. The ‘B. O. W. C.’ won’t be anything without you. Stay with us, and be the Grand Panjandrum.”

“Darsn’t!”

“O, yes, you must.”

“Can’t, no how.”

“Why not?”

“Darsn’t, De doctor’d knock my ole head off. De doctor mus hab ole Solomon. Can’t get along widout him. Yah, yah, yah! Why, de whole ’Cad-emy’d go to tarnal smash ef ole Solomon clar’d out dat way. Gracious sakes! Why, belubbed bred-ren, I’m sprised at you. An’ me de Gran Pandrum!”

“True,” said Bart, gravely. “Too true. It was very thoughtless in us, Grand Panjandrum; but don’t say that we asked you. Keep dark.”

“Sartin,” said old Solomon, with a grin. “Dar’s no fear but what I’ll keep dark. Allus been as dark as any ole darky could be. Yah, yah, yah!” And he rolled up his eyes till nothing could be seen but the whites of them, and chuckled all over, and then, with a face of mock solemnity, bobbed his old head, and said,—

“Far well, mos wos’ful, an’ all de res ob de belubbed breddren.”

And with these words he departed.

After this, the boys gave themselves up to the business of the day. And what was that? O, nothing in particular, but many things in general.

First and foremost, there was a grand jubilation to be made over the encampment of the “B. O. W. C.;” then a grand lamentation over the end of the recess. Then they talked over a thousand plans of future action. In these woods there were no bears, nor were there any wild Indians; but at any rate, there were squirrels to be shot at, and there were Gaspereaugians to be armed against.

It was certainly necessary, then, that they should have arms of offence and defence.

To decide on these arms was a matter that required long debate. One was in favor of clubs; another, of Chinese crackers; a third had a weakness for boomerangs; a fourth suggested lassos; and a fifth thought that an old cannon, with Bart’s pistol, and the gun, would form their most efficient means of defence. But in the course of a long discussion, all these opinions were modified; and the final result was in favor of the comparatively light and trifling arms—bows and arrows. In addition to these, whistles were thought to be desirable, in order to assist in decoying the unsuspecting squirrel, or in warning off the prowling Gaspereaugian.

One powerful cause of their unanimous decision was the pleasing fact, that bows, arrows, and whistles, could be manufactured on the spot by their own jackknives. Ash trees were all around, from which they could shape the elastic bow; tall spruce trees were there, from which they could fashion the light, straight shaft; and there, too, were the well-known twigs, from which they could whittle the willow whistle.

It was jolly—was it not? Could anything be more so? Certainly not. So they all thought, and they gave themselves up, therefore, to the joy of the occasion. They bathed in the pool. They dressed again, and lay on the grass in the sun. They gathered ash, and spruce, and willow. They collected also large quantities of fresh, soft moss, which they strewed over the floor of the camp, in which they at length sought refuge from the sun, and brought out their knives, and went to work.

Here they sat, then, working away like busy bees, two at bows, two at arrows, and one at whistles, laughing, singing, talking, joking, telling stories, and making such a general and indiscriminate hubbub as had never before been heard in these quiet woods; when suddenly they were startled by a dark shadow which fell in front of the doorway, and instantly retreated, followed by the crackling sound of dried twigs.

In a moment Bart was on his feet.

“Who goes there?” he cried, in a loud but very firm voice, while at the same instant the thought flashed into his mind, and into the minds of all the others,—The Gaspereaugians!—

Full of this thought, they all arose, even while Bart was speaking, with their souls full of a desperate resolution.

“Who goes there?” cried Bart a second time, in still louder tones.

A faint crackle among the dried twigs was the only respose that came.

“Who goes there?” cried Bart a third time, in a voice of deadly determination. “Speak or—I’ll fire!”

At this menacing and imperative summons there came a response. It came in the shape of a figure that stole forward in front of the doorway, slowly and carefully; a figure that disclosed to their view the familiar form, and the meek, the mild, the venerable, and the well-remembered face of Captain Corbet! Greeted with one universal shout of joy.

“Here we air agin, boys,” said the venerable commander, as he stepped inside, and looked all around with a scrutinizing glance. “We’ve ben together over the briny deep, an here’s the aged Corbet, right side up, in good health, and comes hopin to find you in the same.”

“Corbet! Corbet! Captain Corbet! Three cheers for the commander of the great expedition to Blomidon!”

And upon this there rang out three cheers as loud and as vigorous as could be produced by the united lungs of the five boys.

Captain Corbet regarded them with an amiable smile.

“Kind o’ campin’ out?” said he at last. “I thought by what you told me you’d be up to somethin like this, an I come down thinkin I’d find you; and here we air.”

“How’s the baby, captain?” asked Bart.

“In a terewly wonderful good state of health and sperits—kickin an crowin like mad; ony jest now he’s sound asleep—bless him. I’ve ben a-nussin of him ever sence I arrove, which I feel to be a perroud perrivelege, an the highest parental jy.”

“That’s right; and now sit down an sing us a song.”

“Wal, as to settin, I’ll set; but as to singin, I hain’t the time nor the vice. The fact is, I come down on business.”

At this Captain Corbet’s face assumed an expression of deep and dark mystery. He had a stick in his hand about a yard long, rather slender, and somewhat dirty. He now held out this stick, looked at it for a few moments in indescribable solemnity, then closed his eyes, then shook his head, and then, putting the stick behind his back, he drew a long breath, and looked hard at the boys.

“Business?” said Arthur; “what kind of business?”

Captain Corbet looked all around with an air of furtive scrutiny, and then regarded the boys with more solemnity than ever. He held out his stick again, and regarded it with profound earnestness.

“It’s a diskivery,” said he.

“A discovery?” asked Bart, full of wonder at Captain Corbet’s very singular manner; “a discovery? What kind of a discovery?”

“A diskivery,” continued Captain Corbet; “and this here stick,” he continued, holding it forth, “this here stick is the identical individooal article that’s made the diskivery to me. ’Tain’t everybody I’d tell; but you boys air different. I trust youns. Do you see that?” shaking the stick; “do you know what that air is? Guess, now.”

“That?” said Bart, somewhat contemptuously. “Why, what’s that? It’s only a common stick.”

At this Captain Corbet seemed deeply offended. He caressed the stick affectionately, and looked reproachfully at Bart.

“A stick?” said he at last; “a common stick? No, sir. ’Tain’t a stick at all. Excuse me. Thar’s jest whar you’re out of your reckonin. ’Tain’t a stick at all; no, nor anythin like it.”

“Well,” said Bart, “if that isn’t a stick, I should like to know what you call one.”

“O, you’ll know—you’ll know in time,” said Captain Corbet, whose air of mystery now returned, and made the boys more anxious than ever to find out the cause.

“If it isn’t a stick, what is it?” asked Bruce.

“Wal—it ain’t a stick, thar.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s—a—ROD,” said Captain Corbet, slowly and impressively.

“A rod? Well, what then? Isn’t a rod a stick?”

“No, sir, not by a long chalk. Besides, this here’s a very pecooliar rod.” #

“How’s that?”

Captain Corbet rose, went to the door, looked on every side with eager scrutiny, then returned, and looked mysteriously at the boys; then he stepped nearer; then he bent down his head; and finally he said, in an eager and piercing whisper,—

“It’s a mineral rod!”

“A mineral rod?”

“Yes, sir,” said Captain Corbet, stepping back, and watching the boys eagerly, so as to see the full effect of this startling piece of intelligence.

The effect was such as might have satisfied even Captain Corbet, with all his mystery. A mineral rod! what could be more exciting to the imagination of boys? Had they not heard of such things? Of course they had. They knew all about them. They had read of mineral rods as they had read of other things. They had feasted their imaginations on pirates, brigands, wizards, necromancers, alchy-mists, astrologers, and all the other characters which go to make up the wonder-world of a boy; and among all the things of this wonder-world, nothing was more impressive than a mineral rod. This was the magic wand that revealed the secrets of the earth—this was the resistless “sesame” that opened the way to the hoarded treasures of the bandit—this was the key that would unlock the coffers, filled with gold, and buried deep in the earth by the robber chief or the pirate captain. What wonder, then, that the very mention of that word was enough to excite them all in an instant, and to turn their minds from good-natured contempt to eager and irrepressible curiosity?

“I’m no fool,” said Captain Corbet, impressively—“I know what I’m a doin. I got this mineral rod last year, and went round everywhar over the hull country. It didn’t come natral, at fust, but I kep on. You see I had a motive. It wan’t myself. It wan’t Mrs. Corbet. It was the babby! He’s a growin, and I’m a declinin; an afore he grows to be a man, whar’ll I be? I want to have somethin to leave him. That’s what sot me up to it. Nobody knows anythin about it. I darsen’t tell Mrs. Corbet. I have to do it on the sly. But when I saw you, I got to love you, an I knew I could trust you. For you see I’ve made a diskiv-ery, an I’m goin to tell you; an that’s what brought me down here. Besides, you’re all favored by luck; an ef I have your help, it’ll be all right.”

“But what is the discovery?” asked the boys, on whom these preliminary remarks made a still deeper impression.

“Wal—as I was a sayin,” resumed the captain—“I’ve been a prowlin round and round over the hull country with the mineral rod. It’s full of holes. Them old Frenchmen left lots of money. That’s what I’m a huntin arter, and that’s what I’ve found.”

These last few words, added in a low but penetrating whisper, thrilled the boys with strange excitement.

“Have you really found anything?” asked Bart, eagerly. “What is it? When? Where? How?”

Captain Corbet took off his hat very solemnly, and then, plunging his hand into his pocket, he drew forth a crowd of miscellaneous articles, one by one. He thus brought forth a button, a knife, a string, a fig of tobacco, a pencil, a piece of chalk, a cork, a stone, a bit of leather, a child’s rattle, a lamp-burner, a bit of ropeyarn, a nail, a screw, a hammer, a pistol barrel, a flint, some matches, a horse’s tooth, the mouthpiece of a fog-horn, a doll’s head, an envelope, a box of caps, a penholder, a nut, a bit of candy, a piece of zinc, a brass cannon, a pin, a bent knitting needle, some wire, a rat skin, a memorandum book, a bone, a squirrel’s tail, a potato, a wallet, half of an apple, an ink bottle, a lamp-wick, “Bonaparte’s Oraculum,” a burning glass, a corkscrew, a shaving brush, and very many other articles, all of which he put in his hat in a very grave and serious manner.

He then proceeded with his other hand to unload his other pocket, the contents of which were quite as numerous and as varied; but in neither of the pockets did he find what he wished.

“Wal, I declar!” he cried, suddenly. “I remember, now, I put it in my waistcoat pocket.”

Saying this, he felt in his waistcoat pocket, and drew forth a copper coin, which he held forth to the boys with a face of triumph.

Bart took it, and the others crowded eagerly around him to look at it. It was very much worn; indeed, on one side it was quite smooth, and the marks were quite effaced; but on the other side there was a head, and around it were letters which were legible. They read this:
LOUIS XIV. ROI DE FRANCE.

All of which sank deep into their souls.

“It’s an old French coin,” said Bruce at length. “Where did you get it? Did you find it yourself?”

Captain Corbet made no reply, but only held up his mineral rod, and solemnly tapped it.

“Did you find it with that?” asked Bart.

The captain nodded with mysterious and impressive emphasis.

“Where?”

“Mind, now, it’s a secret.”

“Of course.”

“Wal,” said Captain Corbet slowly, “it’s a very serous ondertakin; an ef it wan’t for the babby, an me hopin to leave him a fortin, I wouldn’t be consarned in it. Any how, you see, as I was tell-in, I ben sarchin; an not long before we sailed I was out one day with the mineral rod, an it pinted—it pinted—it did—in one spot. It’s an ole French cellar. Thar’s a pot of gold buried thar, boys—that I know. The mineral rod turned down hard.”

“And did you dig there?” asked Bart, anxiously. “Did you try it?”

Captain Corbet shook his head.

“I hadn’t a shovel. Besides, I was afeard I might be seen. Then, agin, I wanted help.”

“But didn’t you find this coin there?”

Captain Corbet again shook his head.

“No,” said he. “I found that thar kine in another cellar; but in that cellar the rod didn’t railly pint. So I didn’t dig. I went on a sarchin till I found one whar it did pint. It shows how things air. Thar’s money—thar’s other kines a buried in the ground. Now I tell you what. Let’s be pardners, an go an dig up that thar pot of gold. ’Tain’t at all in my line. ’Tain’t everybody that I’d tell. But you’ve got my confidence; an I trust on you. Besides, you’ve got luck. No,” continued the captain in a dreamy and somewhat mournful tone, “’tain’t in my line for me, at my age to go huntin arter buried treasure; but then that babby! Every look, every cry, every crow, that’s given by that bee-lessed offsprin, tetches my heart’s core; an I pine to be a de win somethin for him—to smooth the way for his infant feet, when poor old Corbet’s gone. For I can’t last long. Yes—yes—I must do it for the babby.”

Every word that Captain Corbet uttered, except, perhaps, his remarks about the “babby,” only added to the kindling excitement of the boys. A mineral rod! a buried treasure! What could be more overpowering than such a thought! In an instant the camp in the woods seemed to lose all its attractions in their eyes. To play at camping out—to humor the pretence of being bandits—was nothing, compared with the glorious reality of actually digging in the ground, under the guidance of a real mineral rod, for a buried pot of gold; yet it ought to be explained, that, to these boys, it was not so much the value of any possible treasure that might be buried and exhumed which excited them, as the idea of the enterprise itself—an enterprise which was so full of all the elements of romantic yet mysterious adventure. How tremendous was the secret which had thus been intrusted to them! How impressive was the sight of that mineral rod! How overpowering was the thought of a pot of gold, buried long ago by some fugitive Frenchman! How convincing was the sight of that copper coin! And, finally, how very appropriate was such an enterprise as this to their own secret society of the “B. O. W. C.”! It was an enterprise full of solemnity and mystery; beset with unknown peril; surrounded with secrecy and awe; a deed to be attempted in darkness and in silence; an undertaking which would supply the “B. O. W. C.” with that for which they had pined so long—a purpose.

“But is there any money buried?” asked Phil.

“Money buried?” said Bart. “Of course, and lots of it. When the French Acadians were banished, they couldn’t take their money away. They must have left behind all that they had. And they had lots of it. Haven’t you read all about ‘Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand Pré? Of course you have. Well, if he was the wealthiest, others were wealthy. That stands to reason. And if so, what did they do with their wealth? Where did they keep their money? They hadn’t any banks. They couldn’t buy stock, and all that sort of thing. What did they do with it, then? What? Why, they buried it, of course. That’s the way all half-civilized people manage. That’s what the Hindoos do, and the Persians, and the Chinese. People call it ‘hoarding.’ They say there’s enough gold and silver buried in the earth in India and China to pay olf the national debt; and I believe there’s enough money buried about here by the old Acadians to buy up all the farms of Grand Pré.”

Bart spoke earnestly, and in a tone of deep conviction which was shared by all the others. The copper coin and the mineral rod had done their work. They lost all taste for the camp, and its pool, and its overarching trees, and its seclusion, and were now eager to be off with Captain Corbet. Before this new enterprise even the greatest of their recent adventures dwindled into insignificance. Captain Corbet, with his magic wand, stood before them, inviting them to greater and grander exploits.

A long conversation followed, and Captain Corbet began to think that the pot of gold was already invested. The boys took his mineral rod, which he did not give up until he had been for a long time coaxed and entreated they passed it from hand to hand; each one closely inspected it, and balanced it on his finger so as to test the mode in which it worked; each one asked him innumerable questions about it, and gave it a long and solemn trial.

“But where is the place?” asked Bart. “Is it very far from here?”

Captain Corbet shook his head.

“’Tain’t very far off,” said he. “I’ll show you.”

“Which way?” asked Tom.

The captain waved his rod in the direction of the Academy.

“What! That way?” asked Bart. “Are the cellars there?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t mean those. What! Just behind the Academy?”

“Yes.”

“It’s the ‘Old French Orchard,’ then,” cried Bart—“the ‘Old French Orchard.’ The only cellars in that direction are under the old French apple trees, on the top of the hill. Is that the place you mean, captain?”

“That’s the indentical individool spot,” said Captain Corbet.

“The ‘Old French Orchard’!” exclaimed the other boys in surprise; for they had expected to be taken to some more remote and very different place.

“Wal,” said Captain Corbet, “that thar place’s a very pecooliar place. You see thar’s a lot o’ cellars jest thar, an then the ole apple trees—they’re somethin. The ole Frenchman, that lived up thar, must hev ben rich.”

“The fact is,” exclaimed Bart, “Captain Corbet’s right. The Frenchman that lived on that place must have been rich. For my part, I believe that he was no other than ‘Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer in Grand Pré.’ He buried all his money there, no doubt. This is one of his French sous. Come along, boys; we’ll find that pot of gold.”

And with these words they all set out along with Captain Corbet for the “Old French Orchard.”