He continued: "The party are determined to have them at all hazards, and are now more convinced than ever that you are in the secret. All the circumstances are against you—more especially since the custom-house was broken open, which robbery was perpetrated for the express purpose of finding the papers. It was thought if the colonel had disposed of them, they would be found there; but now they will hold you responsible. I bid you farewell."
On the same evening I had this conversation with Cunningham, I went with Smith to the gambling-house: the same day, too, on which I won seventy dollars in the flat boat—the first and dearest money I ever won at gaming, as it nearly cost me my life—the full account of which is given in the work previously mentioned.
On the second day after this, as I was about leaving for Mobile, I met the gentleman who had procured my release. He advised me to depart forthwith, promising to meet me at another time. As we were separating he placed in my hands a box.
"Here," said he, "is a box, containing something I wish you to keep with great care. You must not open it till I give you permission."
I took the same. It was a small box, made of oak, three inches high, eight long, and five wide. Its possession gave me much uneasiness for twelve years—during which time I remained faithful to my instructions. I frequently met with my benefactor. The last time I saw him was in Philadelphia, in 1841. I have received from him nine letters, in all, of a good moral character, and always referring to the box. This individual's name I have never been able to learn. No two letters ever bore the same signature, but the identity of their contents convinced me they were all from the same person. That mysterious box I have preserved to the present day.
It will be remembered by the reader that I confided the papers, taken from Mrs. B., with a man by the name of Watkins. This individual died with the cholera, in 1832. I called upon his wife for the package, who returned the same to me at Cincinnati, in 1833. I found every thing as I had left it, excepting the blank parchments. They were gone. Here was a mystery I could not solve. How should a part be missing and not the whole? I never gained any satisfactory information until last summer. While travelling through the state of New York, I had occasion to visit the state's prison, where I met with a certain convict who passed by the name of Wyatt, but whose real name was Robert H. North. He gave me information about a certain "flash," or comprehensive language used among professional gamblers and blacklegs. Many of the phrases were familiar, but I never could ascertain their origin. He was soon convinced of my ignorance, and then informed me of the society whence they originated. He likewise explained the reason why I was so persecuted by the notorious Goodrich. "It is known," said he, "wherever the fraternity exist, that you obtained the package; but they are satisfied you destroyed the same, and it is well you did, or else you would have been put out of the way long before this."
I told him I had taken the package, but there was nothing in it save letters and a few blank parchments.
He laughed and said:
"If you had warmed those parchments, they would have presented an exhibition worthy of your attention."
This information made me restless with excitement and anxiety to peruse those letters and notes which I still had in my possession. I may here remark, the letters were, for the most part, unintelligible to a common reader, because of the secret language in which they were written. I had examined them again and again, without much satisfaction. I knew they were penned for the purpose of clandestinely carrying on a wholesale plunder—a deliberate imposition upon public and private rights. By frequent perusal I had become familiar with many of the terms which were often explained to me by those who were acquainted with their use, though they are used by thousands, without any knowledge of their origin.