The story, or the history, was that this place had been the frequent resort of the notorious freebooter, La Compte, whose nom-de-guerre of “Blackbeard” had been, in the old colonial days, the terror of the Chesapeake and its tributaries.
Vast treasure, it was said, had once been buried here, and might still be waiting its resurrection at the hands of some fortunate finder.
However that might have been, whatever wealth of gold, silver, or precious stones might have lain hidden for ages in the depths of that sterile ground, it is certain that the last proprietor of the promontory was poor enough.
He was Marcellus de Crespigney, a retired officer of the army, an impoverished gentleman.
At the time our story opens, Colonel Crespigney was a young widower, without children and without family, if we except his maiden aunt, Miss Agrippina de Crespigney, and his youthful ward, Gloria de la Vera.
His history may be very briefly summed up. He was the second son of a wealthy Louisiana planter, whose estate being entailed upon the eldest male child, left little or nothing to younger brothers or sisters.
Marcellus, when required to select a profession, being of a grave and studious disposition, would have preferred divinity or medicine, but finally yielded to the wish of his father, and entered West Point Military Academy to be educated for the army.
At the age of twenty-one he graduated with honors, and then went to spend a short leave with his parents previous to joining his regiment.
He met them by appointment at Saratoga, which was at that time the headquarters and great summer resort of Southern families, flying from the fierce heat and fatal fevers of their native districts to the cool breezes and healing waters of the North.
And here, Marcellus, or, as he was most frequently called, Marcel de Crespigney, met the great misfortune of his life, for here he first saw the lady who was destined to be his wife.