“What do you say to his filling that pit with oaken chests, crammed full of gold and silver ingots, and gold candlesticks, plundered from Catholic churches, and precious stones, such as diamonds, rubies, and emeralds—beyond all counting?”
“Gold! silver! precious stones!” repeated Bart, who was so overcome by this astounding information, that he could only utter these words.
“What do you say to his taking the prisoners that had dug his hole, and filled it, and killing them all, to keep his secret?”
“Killing his prisoners!”
“What do you say,” continued the landlord, enjoying with keenest relish the evident excitement of Bart,—“what do you say to his contriving the most extraordinary plans ever heard of to prevent anybody ever getting at that treasure,—by making the hole, in the first place, far down under the level of the sea,—by building a drain, so as to let in the sea water; and then, after killing the prisoners, filling up the hole to the very top? What do you say to all that?”.
“Why, I never heard of this in all my life! How do you know it? Tell me, now. Tell me all about it. Where is the place? Is it here—in this bay?”
“Of course it is. I’ve said as much,” replied the landlord.
“But you didn’t mention it this morning.”
“No, because you only wanted to hear about fine scenery. This place isn’t particularly remarkable for that. It’s a little island, not more than three miles from here, up that way to the right. It’s called Oak Island, because Captain Kidd planted it with acorns, so as to know it when he came back. Well, since his day, the acorns have grown to be oaks—some of them pretty big—though being near the sea, they haven’t grown so big as they would have done if they had been planted farther inland.”
“Oak Island!” repeated Bart, in a tone which expressed the most profound interest,—“Oak Island!”