HESEKIA'S TREASURE CHEST

"All out to raise the new flag-pole, boys!" called the "chief," as he hastened down the long row of khaki tents early the next morning. "It's a glorious Fourth. Let's get the pole up before the sun gets hot."

"This is going to be some Fourth," gayly chirped Vincent as he knelt before his very disordered trunk and searched for a set of clean garments.

"Let's see," replied Harold. "First, up goes the new flag-pole, and then comes the speech-gee, I hope it's short-and then breakfast, and then-"

"O, it won't go that fast," interrupted Cooper, who just then stuck his head in between the flaps. "Let's make I last just as long as we can, kids. What do you say?"

Three loud booms sounded from the lodge on the hill, then there came the familiar creaking of the rusty little pulley as the big flag spread itself to the morning breeze. From the tent street came a happy chatter as the boys hurried into their clothes. Then reveille broke on the morning air. In fifteen minutes the campers had gathered on the point, and work on the hole for the flag-pole was begun. The new pole lay close by on the ground, where it had been carefully trimmed and the halyards attached the day before. By it, it a box, lay the new flag that was that morning to be raised for the first time.

"Keep your eye on the Twins," advised "Shrimp" Warren, "or they will be planting a new batch of bones in that hole for you."

"I heard that a real Indian ghost nearly scared them to death on the lake the other night," suggested Durbin. "How about it, Vincent?"

"I heard it was old Thomson's ghost," laughed Mr. Verne. "Some one told me that Bill really saw him." But the Twins said not a word.

"And-a how did you fellows find out about it?" questioned Bill, sharply, at which they only laughed the more. "O, we heard you talking in your sleep," said Longley. But as a matter of fact, Bill had written the details in a letter to his mother, then went off and left the letter lying on the library table.

"That ghost stuff is all rot," declared Porter. "I don't take any stock in any of it."

The older fellows were doing most of the digging, and the size of the sandpile was increasing fast. Likewise the hole, for the sides kept caving in as they dug down until it became quite a large excavation.

Harold and Vincent had waited patiently for their turn to shovel. When it came, they jumped into the hole together and began shoveling out the soft dirt. Harold had hardly thrown out half a dozen shovelfuls when his shovel struck something hard. He raised the shovel and drove it into the ground a second time, with the same result. It stopped, half buried in the sand.

"I've struck something, I guess," he called out, but the fellows only laughed.

"More chicken bones, I suppose," called the "chief" from the pump, where he had gone to drink.

"O, that game of yours is old," said Durbin, disgustedly. "Get busy and get out the dirt. Let's get that pole up, for I'm getting hungry," and he slapped his empty stomach.

Again Harold dug his shovel into the ground as far as it would go, then began to throw the sand to one side, but there was apparently nothing to be seen.

"It's just a rock," called "Shrimp." "Dig around it, then you can pry it our with your shovel." But Harold was on his hands and knees, digging around the supposed rock with his fingers. "It's a great iron ring," he exclaimed, excitedly, "and it's fast to something."

"A great iron ring?" said "Love," incredulously. "Let's see." The crowd moved toward the excavation like magic, and in another second they were all peering in the hole.

"Get back!" said Cooper. "You'll have the entire bank caved in. Here, Harold, let me see." Cooper jumped into the hole, shovel in hand. The dirt flew for a few seconds, then there was exposed a large iron ring apparently attached to something that lay under the solid bank. Cooper braced himself and pulled, but there was not the slightest amount of give to it. He looked surprised, and the excitement grew intense, for if Cooper couldn't pull it out, what in the world could it be fastened to?

"It's an old buried live bait box probably," said the "chief." "The one we left here last season is just about covered up over there on the beach. It doesn't take long on this sand."

"A bait box nothing," cried Vincent from his place in the hole. "It's a buried treasure. It's a chest!" And he danced wildly in his excitement, for the sand had now caved in, exposing the black end of what appeared to be a box.

Everything imaginable was being suggested by the crowd on the bank-a sunken ship, a coffin, a big iron pot of gold, an underground cave-but this last was too extreme. All the while the digging went on in greatest haste. At length the end of a black iron box, to which the ring was attached, was completely uncovered. A group of the watchers were sent to find a heavy rope, and another group after a stout pole to use as a lever. Twice the hole was caved in and the dirt had to be shoveled out again before anything more could be accomplished, but at last Cooper was able to work the strange box loose from its age-old resting place, but was unable to lift it out to the bank. Many willing hands were stretched down into the hole to lend aid, and the treasure box was dragged out.

It had been set just above the present water-line of the lake, but from its rusty appearance, it had beyond a doubt been at one time below the water level. The ring was missing from the socket on the other end, and the stout lever that was mean to open and close its safe-like door was rusted so badly that it could not be moved. There was a keyhole just to one side of this bar, but it too had long since sifted full of rust and sand. Anyway, where was the key? What was this box? What strange story of the long-forgotten past was this that was in these few moments brought to light so unexpectedly? That was the question. What was the answer?

Never before had so large a crowd of boys occupied so small a space, namely: the space immediately surrounding the momentous find. Questions poured in like rain. A hundred vivid imaginations were busy in an instant, building strange tales from the few facts already at hand. In a flash a hundred likelihoods were put into words. All the mysterious buried treasure stories of all time seemed to rise together to offer their help and suggestions for the solution.

"Three dead men on a dead man's chest, yo-ho, and a bottle of rum!" shouted Durbin; but it is doubtful if the others even heard him, for the mysterious box was being cautiously turned over and over and surveyed from every angle. How to get into it-that was the next question. Time had worked cruelly with the old chest. Rust had checked and eaten and weakened it, yet the strong steel plates were still amply able to hold their secret from curious eyes.

"An ax and a chisel!" shouted Cooper. Harold was off toward the lodge in a flash, to secure the desired articles.

"And a file and a hacksaw," he shouted after the retreating figure, which was nearly to the top of the hill.

"O, Bill, if we just had that ghost of yours here now, I bet he could help us out," confided "Love" with his little giggle. But Bill was not thinking of ghosts just then; for was not here before his very eyes a really, truly, buried treasure? Perhaps it had belonged to Captain Kidd himself, fall all Bill knew, and inside-he dared not to think, at least out loud. Already he was turning over in his mind the things he would have to write home about the wonderful discovery.

All eyes were turned impatiently toward Harold, for he was coming, loaded down with tools, and no one thinking to go and help him, while each second of suspense seemed like an hour.

"Hey, there, boy; get a hustle on you!" shouted Stellner, who was very impatient at the short delay. "We want to see what's inside, you rube."

"If it's gold, who gets it?" questioned Vincent, thereby giving away the trend of his thoughts.

"We bought it with the land, I suppose," answered the "chief," shortly, a puzzled look on his face.

"Now we can have a motor boat and all the other things we want, can't we?" exclaimed "Shrimp," who already held the precious contents in his clenched hands, in his mind.

The bottom of the chest was finally chosen as the weakest part, as it was only riveted to the rim, while the sides were set into a strong framework. Accordingly the box was turned face downward on the sand, and a few of Cooper's telling blows with the heavy ax loosened the ancient rivets, and the bottom gave way. The crowd of eager boys pressed forward to get the first glimpse of what was inside.

"I see bags!" shouted Harold, who was on his knees as close as he could possibly get to the chest. "O! It's full of gold and money!" He fairly stuck his head into the old chest, only to jerk it back again as quickly, for a strange, foul odor was issuing from the chest and filling all the air with its musty, sour smell, as of old, wet papers rotting in a damp, dark cellar.

At last the bottom was carefully removed and the contents disclosed, followed by a chorus of exclamations, for there before them were three rotten cloth bags, each bulging with its precious contents.

"And guns!" shouted "Love."

"And daggers and hair and books!" shouted "Shrimp." "Is the hair a scalp?" And he reached forward and picked it up gingerly, holding it at arm's length before the astonished campers, while the hair unwrapped itself in the warm, dry air with slow, snakelike movements.

Two hundred hands were eagerly extended to receive a sample of the treasure. A hundred excited faces watched every move the "chief" made as he turned the contents over and set some of it aside to see what lay deeper in the shadows. After a hurried conference among leaders it was decided to remove the treasure, chest and all, to the lodge, where everything could be spread out on tables, for the books and papers-and there was a goodly packet of the latter-were wet, rotten, and discolored. The secret of the chest was, no doubt, there; so they must be handled carefully, every one of them, until the truth was known.

"Give me something to carry," begged "Specks."

"And me," cried Johnnie.

"And me," "And me," came in a chorus from every boy.

Twice, three times the chef hammered the breakfast bell, but it was unheard or, if heard, unheeded. What was a mere breakfast as compared to a buried treasure!

Carefully the "chief" took hold of the largest bag to lift it from the chest. As he did so, the bottom gave way, scattering the contents in the chest. Silence followed, for what they saw was such a surprise that no one could speak. The "chief" stood paralyzed, holding the empty remnant of the bag, for where they expected to see shining coins of gold and silver, there were only hundreds upon hundreds of small, clean pebbles.

"Hesikia Thomson," breathed some one, and the words were repeated by others of the group. Disappointment shone on many a face for the moment. Then, as the meaning of those words became clear to them, their faces brightened with a new and greater interest.

"The treasure chest of Hesikia Thomson, the crazy hermit," slowly repeated the "chief." "He thought these stones would turn to gold. Poor, deluded mortal!"

"Poor fool!" said Durbin. "And yet we thought they were gold ourselves. 'What fools these mortals be!'" and everybody laughed. The tension of the excitement was broken.

A line was quickly formed, and to each boy was given some one thing to carry to the lodge. To one boy it was a handful of the white pebbles. To another it was a handful of the white pebbles. To another it was a gun of ancient cap-and-ball design, its one time gleaming barrel pitted with the age-old rust; and to another its mate, that also had suffered much from its long, damp rest, its trigger fast, its hammer rusted red. Then came an evil-looking sheath knife, the brass mountings on its handle green with age, the once keen blade darkened with ancient bloody stains. There was a watch of by-gone pattern, the name that had been engraved upon its silver case still showing plainly on the back.

Then came a dozen coins of small denominations, bearing the United States stamp and dates that showed them all to be of ripe old age.

"Give me the arrow-heads," cried Vincent, who had been waiting for a choice bit of the treasure to carry up the hill. Another boy received a tiny bag of gold ore, and another a heavy wedding ring, the true story of which would probably never be known. Then came an ancient leather powder horn, the leather hard, the copper rivets green.

So the line filed by, each one receiving a share of the strange contents. The packet of wet and musty papers the "chief" kept in his own possession. Last in the procession came Cooper and Mr. Blaine, bringing the heavy box itself, in which the mysteries had been buried.

The flag-pole was forgotten, the speech was forgotten, even breakfast held no attraction. And when the treasures reached the lodge each fellow wanted to finger every article and form his own conclusions.

The "chief" took the packet of papers into the office and spread them out to dry, scanning each one carefully for any signs of information. There were old deeds more than one hundred years old. One particularly yellow slip, that was nearly past reading, was dated 1739, and was an ancient deed to land in His Majesty's Colony of Connecticut. Another was dated 1795, and showed the change from English money to United States money.

"For and in consideration of the sum of four hundred dollars lawful money of the State of Connecticut," it read. There were several others, all deeds to land somewhere in New England. Then came a will, a carefully wrapped packet of ancient checks, and some letters that were too far gone to be read.

Next came a packet larger than the rest, which proved upon careful examination to be written on vellum instead of paper, and were in better condition than any of the others. When they were opened and spread out, what was the surprise to find two sketches of Corey Lake itself, accurate in every detail except proportion. The first very clearly indicated the position of the box that had just been found. At the same time there were two other marks exactly similar. One was located on the extreme end of Bass Point, the other on the island.

When this fact became known to the boys, wild excitement reigned, and every camper wanted to organize a party at once to search for the other chests; but they were persuaded to wit, for there were many other things of great interest to be talked over if they but waited.

The first map had a very peculiar cipher in the upper right-hand corner, but no one was able to even suggest its meaning. There were also a series of dotted lines running across the water, and at a point that seemed to be about the center of the lake, there was a large black cross. In the lower right-hand corner were these words:

"Cedar chest with body. Key in Lonesome Oak."

The mystery deepened. "Cedar chest with body. Key in Lonesome Oak." What body? Where was the "Lonesome Oak?" Did the dark cross represent the resting place of a human body? What great secret was this that had come to light in so strange a manner-come to light from the depths of a once vast wilderness? Perhaps a hundred years had rolled away, a nation had been built, a continent civilized, since this odd secret chamber had been buried, only to be dug up again and pried into by human hands a century later.

The second map seemed to be merely an enlargement of that part of the first which showed the location of the three treasure chests. In the upper left of this was a second strange, unreadable message in cipher. In the right-hand corner were the words in bold letters, "God Rules," and in the lower corner the simple direction, "Large oak. 4th m. from S. S. 14 ft. S. C. P." What could it all mean? Who could read the cipher, and what secret did it hold?

The third seemed to be a letter, evidently the last written of the old hermit, and plainly showed his mental condition at that time.

The boys were at last induced to line up for breakfast, and as chef rewarmed the food this letter was read aloud: "To Those Concerned:-This chest is the property of Hesikia Thomson, formerly of New England, later of the Michigan wilderness. A spiritualist of God believing, and my spirit will still roam over these lakes in the full moon seasons, guarding all my valuable, deposited possessions, for they are many and varied. God gave me many wonderful secrets, but because of the great sin, he took them all away but one, the least of them, the turning of sable stones into gold. I have buried this secret by the body of old Duckwing in the big swamp. God rest my soul. God has filled the earth with gold. Devils do not believe it, but has He not promised, 'seek and find?' The blue heron is wise and the night owl, but man is an ass, for he walketh not in the ways of the Most High.

"My father's spirit, rest his soul, taught me when the warm breeze of full moon came, that sable stones were gold by faith. The Mighty One granted a prophet as a reward for serving his mother's spirit and keeping it from the fiery devils. I bequeath my secret to you with all of the possession of the spirit family. They make you rich, for my spirit ever guards he who is the owner. You are a talisman. I guard this chest always, and those others also. The Island is doomed forever, it is the abiding place of the seven devils! Beware! Fish die, birds drop as they pass, and man disappears in its cavernous depths. The arrow-heads are the peace tokens of the Running Water, but the gold came from those depths of the cave. The luck stone saved her from the evil one. The knife, the one that drank his life's blood, is cursed for ever. The books were her possessions from the older days before the great shadow fell; the man may claim his papers, Duckwing knows how I cam by them. He died for lack of faith. The guns were his, they were found upon his body. He had obtained the ring, but the spirits found him. The gold pebbles were my own products of my genius. Place them in the spring at midnight, as the blue heron passes the swamp,-all believing, nothing doubting, I will aid you. The spirit bid me hasten. I must be gone. Farewell."

Great was the discussion as to the true meaning of such sentences as: "God gave me many wonderful secrets, but because of the great sin He took them all away but one;" "The arrow-heads are the peace offering of Running Water;" "The knife, the one that drank his life's blood, is cursed forever;" "The books were her possessions from the old days before the great shadow fell;" "The man may claim his papers, Duckwing knows how came I by them;" "The guns were his, they were found on his body;" "He had obtained the ring, but the spirit bound him;" "I have buried this secret by the body of old Duckwing in the big swamp."

It was past ten o'clock when breakfast was over and the dishes cleared away. Of course the ball game was not played as had been planned, but because it was July Fourth and the Nation's birthday, the still excited campers were called together to finish the half completed task of raising the flag-pole and flying the new flag.

"The pole will serve a double purpose now," said the "chief." "For it will not only fly our new flag, but will forever mark the spot where Hesikia consigned his secrets to the earth."

"The pole was soon planted and the banner flung to the breeze amid hearty cheers. Then came the flag salute by as enthusiastic a crowd of young Americans as were ever banded together. Then the party found places beneath the shadows of the remaining fringe of the wonderful woodland that had once been Hesikia's abiding place, and there listened attentively to the splendid address by Mr. Eldred.

"Fellow Campers:-We have just set free to the breeze the grandest banner that flies this day upon the earth.*

"The story is told, and I suppose it is true, of General Washington discussing with his lieutenants the design and colors of a National emblem. They were seated at a table, and as they talked a sunbeam stole through the window, fell upon a glass in front of them, and there on the white tablecloth before the whole company shone the beautiful red, white, and blue of our National flag. And I know that to-day, as the light shines through our hearts, it is refracted into the same patriotic colors.

"This is our Nation's birthday, and it is fitting that we should stop for a little while and reflect upon how much our country means to us, and upon how much we may mean to our country. You have all read the fine story of Philip Nolan, the 'Man Without a Country.' You will remember that in his youth, as a young soldier, he joined with Aaron Burr in an act of treason against the United States. When he was brought to trial he declared with an oath that he hoped that he would never hear the name of the United States again. In accordance with his wish, the court decreed that he should be taken on board ship to cruise around as long as he should live, but never to see his native land, nor hear her name again. And then we know how the long years passed until finally Philip Nolan went down to his grave in the sea broken-hearted because he had no fatherland. But we have a country and a country's flag. It is not the flag of a single State. It does not represent a single section; it is not the cross of St. George nor the banner of St. Andrew; it is not the emblem of any individual nor the personal standard of any king. It is a flag of a country: there is a State for every star and a star for every State. The Stars and Stripes stand for America. Kings and countries both have individualities; they both have adherents and defenders. But the one is mortal, while the other is immortal. And so it is that almost a century and a half after it was first flung to the breeze, our flag still waves as the emblem of a living, breathing country. It is today the oldest flag, save that of Holland, now flown by a civilized nation.

"Sometimes I wonder why we do not love our banner more. Why is it, I wonder, that we so often sit with covered heads when the flag is raised or the 'Star Spangled Banner' is played? Why should we be outdone by the gallant Southerners, who go wild every time they hear the strains of 'Dixie?' Why need we wait until we are in foreign lands before the sight of the flag shall thrill us? Let us, my young friends, not be afraid to be Americans. Let us not always wait for the spur of the martial music before we do the brave and manly thing.

"We look back upon the patriot soldiers of the Revolution, and their every act and deed seems invested with a halo and a charm. We long to march away with them to the stirring strains of fife and drum, and do great things for God and country. But to-day, though you do not hear the throbbing drums, there is a Call to Arms. 'Right forever on the scaffold; wrong forever on the throne.' This very day the armies of the future are being mustered in. This day you may enlist in some great cause. From the kindled altar of to-day Patriotism may snatch an ember and touch some boyish lips with the old deathless fire. And in the service of our country in the ranks of every-day life there is a need for courage as high and loyal as ever hero had.

"It is easy to get men to do their duty with the bullet box, but it is hard to get men to do their duty-the thing they ought to do-with the ballot box. Men will always take their stand for the flag on the field, but how hard to get them to take the stand in the courthouse and swear that evil is afoot and that certain men should be sent to jail. There are always volunteers to march away in the 'pomp and circumstance of war' and sound the tocsin of alarm from every church tower when a foreign foe lands upon our shores, but when the hidden foe of graft and corruption and bribery is eating the heart out of great cities, we are as dumb dogs that dare not bark when the wolf climbs into the fold. It is always easy to find men who are glad to do great things for their country, if only they can be done in the 'high Roman fashion,' but it is hard to find men who will serve their country by paying their just taxes and insisting that when they are paid, they shall be well and truly spent. O, if ever we needed our Paul Reveres and Nathan Hales, we need them now. We need men in the council chambers of our cities who will sign their names to a public measure as boldly as John Hancock signed the Declaration. We need soldiers of the common good in legislative halls who will cry as passionately as John Adams, 'Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote.' We need men of the spirit of Abraham Lincoln when he first saw slaves sold upon the block. 'If ever I get a chance,' he said, 'I shall strike this accursed thing hard.' We need men, young men, in school and college, in Y.M.C.A.'s and in every rank of life who will always remember that 'plain living and high thinking' is the first duty of citizenship.

"Down in the museum of the Y. M.C.A. at South Bend you have all seen that tree trunk taken from the field of Chickamauga. The other day I counted in that gnarled and war-torn wood thirteen pieces of grape and shrapnel and cannister. And I thought of the brave men who faced that fire of death as though it were nothing but a summer's breeze-all for country, nothing for themselves. I thought of father, son, and aged sire on the slopes of Bunker Hill with their old flint-lock muskets facing the best troops of Europe-all for country, nothing for themselves. I thought of the Continental soldiers at Valley Forge, sitting around their winter camp fires, starving, freezing, dying, just to make the Declaration good. I thought of Washington kneeling in prayer because they knew that 'except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it'-all for country, nothing for themselves. I can't help feeling that the Declaration still needs its defenders, democracy still needs her soldiers. 'All men are created equal.' Sometimes we hear sneers at that, but we know that the Anglo-Saxon race will never strike out a single word from that great Declaration. Sometimes we hear men sneer at the failures of popular government. But we know that democracy, with all its follies and failures, stands for all that has been achieved thus far in the world-long struggle for liberty under law. Democracy will not fail. Government of the people will not perish from the earth. Do you know what Fisher Ames said about democracy-Fisher Ames, one of the great orators of the Revolution-in contrasting democracy with monarchy? This is what he said: 'A monarchy is like a man-of-war, beautiful in motion, irresistible when under way, but a single hidden rock sends her to the bottom; while democracy is like a raft, always in trouble, your feet always wet, but nothing can sink her.'

"This is the All Souls' Day of America. To-day democracy is making up her jewels. To-day young hearts are being fired with the tales of devotion and self-sacrifice. To-day strong men are being spurred on to heroism in the service of their city, State, or Nation. And we know that, however great the evils of our time, our country will live on if we will always remember, each year, this day to keep it holy."

As he finished and sat down, there was hearty applause; then the boys rose, and with spirits moved and enthusiasm thoroughly awakened they sang "America" with a merry ring.

The news of a discovery at the camp spread through the countryside like wildfire, and by dinner time farmers were coming from every direction to see the chest of Hesikia and to add their bit of hearsay to the rapidly growing volume of information concerning the strange old man.

Every spare moment for the rest of the day was filled with speculating and secret planning for the recovering of the other treasures, for it was commonly believed that the real treasure was concealed in the other chests.

Large number of visitors came to witness the water sports in the afternoon, and to see the grand display of fireworks in the evening, but running through and above everything else was the intense interest in the secrets of Hesikia Thomson. Every bit of information that any one secured was passed from mouth to mouth until it became current news. A thousand plausible stories of just how it all happened and its real meaning were discussed and compared until at last, when the visitors had gone, taps had sounded, and every boy was in his bed, his only thought was, "How long would it be until the morrow?" Every boy in camp talked himself to sleep that night, then dreamed fanciful dreams of buried fortunes and mysterious secrets written in unsolvable ciphers.

"And-a, gee, 'Coop,' I'll bet the ghost is mad to-night," said Bill. "I'm glad I'm not hunting frogs, aren't you?' But Cooper didn't answer, for he was already dreaming marvelous dreams of things that couldn't be, of chests, and ghosts, and mysteries.