But the smaller chests were literally crammed with all sorts of
things--big heavy Spanish coins, in gold and silver--gold and silver
dinner services, with the crest of the unfortunate emperor; magnificent
pieces of jeweled armor and weapons, beautiful jewelry and loose
precious stones. I deliberately selected handfuls of the latter, giving
my preference to the diamonds and pearls--I had always had a taste for
them, which I had never before been able to gratify!--and packed them in
a wooden box that I found in the lumber-room. The gold and dinner
services and armor, etc., I left as they were, being rather cumbersome,
and carried off, rejoicing, my big box of diamonds and pearls and other
jewelry. Needless to say we didn’t go away for the holidays on the eight o’clock
train. But I did come down to the office and proceeded to locate my
missing nine cents. After which I unfolded the tale of the ghost and the
treasure--only keeping quiet the matter of my private loot. Of which I
was heartily glad afterwards. For when the government learned of the
find what do you suppose they offered me for going about with the ghost
and discovering the secret room and treasure? Ten thousand dollars! When
I refused, stating that I would take merely, as my reward, one of the
gold dinner services, the greedy things objected at first, but I finally
had my way. And to this very day they have no idea that I--even I--have
all the beautiful jewels. Wouldn’t they be furious if they knew it? But
they aren’t apt to, unless they learn English and read this story. Which
isn’t likely. THE OLD MANSION. Down on Long Beach, that narrow strip of sand which stretches along the
New Jersey coast from Barnegat Inlet on the north to Little Egg Harbor
Inlet on the south, the summer sojourner at some one of the numerous
resorts, which of late years have sprung up every few miles, may, in
wandering over the sand dunes just across the bay from the village of
Manahawkin, stumble over some charred timbers or vestiges of crumbling
chimneys, showing that once, years back, a human habitation has stood
there. If the find rouses the jaded curiosity of the visitor
sufficiently to impel him to question the weatherbeaten old bayman who
sails him on his fishing trips he will learn that these relics mark the
site of one of the first summer hotels erected on the New Jersey coast. “That’s where the Old Mansion stood,” he will be informed by Captain
Nate or Captain Sam, or whatever particular captain it may chance to be,
and if by good fortune it chances to be Captain Jim, he will hear a
story that will pleasantly pass away the long wait for a sheepshead
bite. It was my good luck to have secured Captain Jim for a preceptor in the
angler’s art during my vacation last summer, and his stories and
reminiscences of Long Beach were not the least enjoyable features of the
two weeks’ sojourn. Captain Jim was not garrulous. Few of the baymen are. They are a sturdy,
self-reliant and self-controlled people, full of strong common sense,
but still with that firm belief in the supernatural which seems inherent
in dwellers by the sea. “The Old Mansion,” said Captain Jim, “or the Mansion of Health, for that
was its full name, was built away back in 1822, so I’ve heard my father
say. There had been a tavern close by years before that was kept by a
man named Cranmer, and people used to come from Philadelphia by stage,
sixty miles through the pines, to ‘Hawkin, and then cross here by boat. Some would stop at Cranmer’s and others went on down the beach to
Homer’s which was clear down at End by the Inlet. Finally some of the
wealthy people concluded that they wanted better accommodations than
Cranmer gave, so they formed the Great Swamp Long Beach Company, and
built the Mansion of Health. I’ve heard that when it was built it was
the biggest hotel on the coast, and was considered a wonder. It was 120
feet long, three stories high, and had a porch running all the way
around it, with a balcony on top. It was certainly a big thing for
those days. I’ve heard father tell many a time of the stage loads of gay
people that used to come rattling into ‘Hawkin, each stage drawn by four
horses, and sometimes four or five of them a day in the summer. A good
many people, too, used to come in their own carriages, and leave them
over on the mainland until they were ready to go home. There were gay
times at the Old Mansion then, and it made times good for the people
along shore, too.”

“How long did the Old Mansion flourish, Captain?” I asked. “Well, for twenty-five or thirty years people came there summer after
summer. Then they built a railroad to Cape May, and that, with the
ghosts, settled the Mansion of Health.”

“What do you mean by the ghosts?” I demanded. “Well, you see,” said Captain Jim, cutting off a mouthful of navy plug,
“the story got around that the old house was haunted. Some people said
there were queer things seen there, and strange noises were heard that
nobody could account for, and pretty soon the place got a bad name and
visitors were so few that it didn’t pay to keep it open any more.”

“But how did it get the name of being haunted, Captain Jim?” I
persisted. “Why, it was this way,” continued the mariner. “Maybe you’ve heard of
the time early in the fifties when the Powhatan was wrecked on the beach
here, and every soul on board was lost. She was an emigrant ship, and
there were over 400 people aboard--passengers and crew. She came ashore
here during the equinoctial storm in September. There wasn’t any
life-saving stations in them days, and everyone was drowned. You can see
the long graves now over in the ‘Hawkin churchyard, where the bodies
were buried after they came ashore. They put them in three long trenches
that were dug from one end of the burying-ground to the other. The only
people on the beach that night was the man who took care of the old
mansion. He lived there with his family, and his son-in-law lived with
him. He was the wreckmaster for this part of the coast, too. It wasn’t
till the second day that the people from ‘Hawkin could get over to the
beach, and by that time the bodies had all come ashore, and the
wreckmaster had them all piled up on the sand. I was a youngster, then,
and came over with my father, and, I tell you, it was the awfullest
sight I ever saw--them long rows of drowned people, all lying there with
their white, still faces turned up to the sky. Some were women, with
their dead babies clasped tight in their arms, and some were husbands
and wives, whose bodies came ashore locked together in a death embrace. I’ll never forget that sight as long as I live. Well, when the coroner
came and took charge he began to inquire whether any money or valuables
had been found, but the wreckmaster declared that not a solitary coin
had been washed ashore.