MINES AND MINING BUILDING.
Their case illustrated the homely aphorism that “they who dance must pay the fiddler.”
They were subjected among other things to a constant expenditure for a certain wonderful kind of sand, costing sixteen dollars an ounce, which was indispensable to the success of Darby’s magic, and which he alone could procure. It was this which was to unlock the secret of the old-time buccaneer.
Again and again the supply was exhausted, only to be again and again renewed; until it must have seemed, even to those patient trotters about the ring, that the spirit who guarded the pirate’s gold could be nothing short of sand-proof!
In the centre of the circle there was a hole several feet deep, into which the schoolmaster magician and his followers would successively pour small quantities of the precious material, during the intervals of their antics.
A sight more unique than that of these decent, well-meaning gentlemen, trotting about the enchanted ring, under the shadow of the apple-trees, it would not be easy to imagine. Some of them were fat and duck-legged, others tall and lean; but each one kept his pace with tolerable accuracy to the music of the Darby chant.
The inexpressibly comic feature of the case was the entire respectability of the actors in this strange scene. They were householders, owners of broad farms and tall ships. Yet trot, trot, trot, they went, around and around, like so many mad dogs, in that old Bristol Neck orchard! They were required, upon going home, to write some strange characters with onion juice upon bits of paper, which were to be carefully placed under their pillows as assistants to divination. The characters were, of course, invisible, but this did not affect their potency.
A paper called the “Herald of the United States” was at the time published in Warren, and in its issue of August 25, 1798, we find a communication written while the Darby affair was in full blast, describing many of the performances, and expressing great disgust at the silliness of the delusion. From this it appears that not all our great-grandsires were trotters or prancers, but that some of them looked upon the matter very much as we should do to-day.
At last, even the credulous victims themselves began to lose patience, and whispers of discontent were passed from mouth to mouth. It was the beginning of one of those revolutions which never go backwards. It was discovered that the magic sand was obtained from Connecticut, and two trusty members of the circle were appointed to visit that State, for the purpose of gathering further information with regard to the mysterious mineral, which, to eyes in some measure disenchanted, had already begun to assume a woefully common appearance.
The result of their mission was a complete exposure of the fraud. With but little difficulty they obtained an interview with the very person by whom the sand had been furnished, but who, however, disclaimed all knowledge of Darby’s scheme. As to the magic article itself, they discovered it to be the common burden of the seashore in the neighborhood of New London, although of a more silvery hue than the sand of the Narragansett shore,—a difference which the wily impostor had turned to account through the simplicity of his followers.
And now arose the question as to what should be done with the recreant magician. Surrounded by his enraged dupes, he was still more than a match for them in subtlety of tongue.
“I never told you that you would get anything,” he said. “What I did tell was, that if you would only be true to me, I should get the money, and so I should have done!”
We have thus far followed and quoted our friend Coomer’s historical narrative, as it appeared in a popular paper. Mr. Coomer, an excellent poet and writer of sea-stories, lives on the borders of the Mt. Hope Lands, near the boundary-line between the towns of Warren and Bristol, and quite near the place where these strange events occurred. The high lands near to his home, overlooking the Mt. Hope and Narragansett Bays, are full of haunting traditions. They are best visited from the ancient highway between the two towns, now known as the Back Road. The Rhode Island Soldiers’ Home is on this beautiful elevation, and the outlook from it commands the most picturesque waters in New England. The Kickemuit River is particularly beautiful, seen from these flowery and orchard-shaded highlands on a mid-summer day. One of Massasoit’s Springs was on this river, and the great legend of the Northmen is connected with the Mt. Hope Bay. We will give this legend later in verse. A ride of a few miles, out of Bristol or Warren, would enable the visitor to Rhode Island to view from these Back Road farms, or from Mt. Hope, the old Pokonoket country, which has the oldest traditional history in America. Here it is supposed that the Northmen landed, and here certainly is the ancient burying-grounds of the Indian race. Near Massasoit Spring in Warren, R. I., Roger Williams spent the famous winter of his exile, intent on the problems of soul freedom, and the separation of church and state. King Philip must have been a boy then. It is proposed to erect a memorial of Massasoit at this spring.
UTAH STATE BUILDING.
A very curious legend is associated with the Darby episode. We do not know how well it is founded, but we give it here:—
The men whom he had deceived tarred and feathered him. In this disgraceful garment of woe, looking like a gigantic half-plucked bird, he ran away, and found shelter for the night in the cellar of one of the quiet farmsteads.
The next morning the good woman of the house had occasion to go down into the cellar. Her soap barrel, pork barrels, and probably cider barrels were there.
A dark place is an old-time New England cellar,—dark and damp, with an earthy smell. Lights burned low there.