A Mysterious Treasure Bed

Treasure seekers at Greenwood Lake succumb to fright when the wealth is almost at hand Warwick - From The Warwick Advertiser, Jan. 17, 1889 While scouting parties in the Revolutionary days were despoiling house after house under the cover of darkness, the people found it necessary to secrete money and valuables in the most inaccessible places, often in the rocks, down the wells, up the chimneys, etc. Many years since an old man came to Greenwood Lake and told a table of treasures hidden at a certain triangular place near the foot of Mount Peter, near the ruins of the house where the aforesaid Smith resided, and from a rude diagram located the spot on Mr. John Hunt’s farm. All the necessary identification marks were there except a certain chestnut tree with a plug in the trunk pointing to the spot. But the stump of a chestnut tree being close by the place located by the ancient stranger seemed to give evidence sufficient to warrant a digging party to attempt the recovery of the treasure. In order to keep the affair secret they agreed to go at nightfall to the spot, and at the time set a half dozen sturdy men assembled. They had not dug long before their picks struck a huge rock, and while endeavoring to remove it the whole party distinctly heard groans and cries, the clanking of chains and a rumbling as of an impending thunder shower. . The story of the mysterious occurrences, magnified, of course, by each relator, soon became the popular gossip, but the earnestness and sincerity of the digging party was never questioned, and for years the treasure lay undisturbed, although occasionally in the last thirty or forty years small parties have gathered to dig a little deeper than the preceding party had done, and then when the unearthly sounds grew too weird for mortal ears, rush away pell mell, well provided with a never-ending theme for speculation in their night’s adventures. Well, during the summer of ‘88 (1888) the foregoing was narrated, to a few hardy and intelligent young men who were temporarily sojourning with Hon. James Hall at Greenwood Lake. After due consideration a party was formed in no spirit of bravado, with an honest intention of unearthing the mystery surrounding the buried treasure (if treasure and mystery, there were), resolved to go the next night to the spot indicated. The place was not readily found in the inky darkness, and the party fought with the thorns and brambles step by step till, well nigh out of patience, the site of the curried treasure was reached. The party was then divided. One was to keep watch, one attend the fire to give light to the workers, and two plied the pick and shovel. The accumulated leaves and debris of a score of years was soon dug from the hold, and the excavation proceeded without interruption until a huge rock was laid bare. With crowbars the two study men endeavored to dislodge the rock when suddenly a long drawn and unearthly groan was heard, apparently proceeding from under the earth a short distance away. After a few moments the party became convinced that as they had seen nothing to frighten them they wouldn’t be frightened, so they built a roaring, crackling fire, and by the light of its flickering flames resumed their work. So long as they were quite no noises were heard, but as soon as the digging was resumed the moans and groans were awful. Flashes of sulphurous light were seen, jumping from bush to bush, stones fell in showers all around them, and the guard, albeit a man of iron nerve, chased the sounds with pistol bullets, only to be rewarded after each shot with a mocking peal of hoarse laughter. Then again midnight stillness ensued as the entire quartet left their work and formed a searching party. Not a sound of life could be heard save the “nancy-dids,” and after ten minutes’ conference they loaded their pistols and resolved to remove the bowlder from the excavation. Soon as the work began the noises were resumed, only more so. It seems as though a dozen demons had united their energies in clanking chains, flashing lights in the half circle round the working party and groaning in a hoarse manner, like the wail of a lost, or the yowling and crying of some of our well-bred city cats practicing for a concert in a back yard. But, of course, cats can’t throw huge bowlders, rattle chains and produce noises which language fairs to describe. The moans ceased when the workmen halted and began as soon as they resumed. Finally, the stones and dirt thrown out of the hole began to roll back into it again, and the shovelers saw their work was being undone faster than they could dig and finding their work useless, they resolved to retire in good order and leave the treasure in possession of the owner. Story contributed by Sue Gardner, librarian Weisner Library