“No; he air a straight up-an’-down coon, I reckon,” replied Hiram, proceeding to cut off a piece of tobacco from a plug he produced from his pocket, and placing a ‘chaw’ in his jaw. “Still, b’y, jest think o’ buccaneer tree-sors, an’ all sorts o’ gold an’ silver a-waitin’ fur us to dig ’em up! Why, it beats Californy an’ all I’ve heerd tell o’ the diggin’ days, when thaar wer the first rush, an’ the folks ez got in time made their pile!”
“But you heard what he said of the spirit protecting the treasure,” I remarked, “Don’t you think he’s right about the curse hanging over it? I believe it would be unlucky to touch it.”
“B’y, thaar’s allars a cuss tied on to gold an’ greenbacks, sich ez we used ter hev a little time back,” said Hiram sententiously. “But, I reckon, the harm don’t lie in the durned stuff itself: it’s in the way some folks kinder handles it—thet’s whaar the pizen is! Guess I ain’t afeard o’ no cuss, once I comes across thet cave the Dutch mate wer a-speakin’ on!”
“And the ghost?”
“Oh, durn the sperrit, Cholly!” said he, with a laugh. “I ain’t afeard.”
“Recollect though, Hiram,” I remarked, in answer to this, “how frightened we all have been on board by Sam, and the way you were in only a couple of days ago, when you said you saw him again here.”
He looked serious again in a moment.
“Guess I don’t want ter run down thet air ghostess,” said he apologetically. “Fur I reckon a man can’t go agen a thin’ he sees right afore his eyes.”
“And how about the other one that Mr Steenbock spoke of?”
“Oh, thet’s different, Cholly. A chap ye sees a-sottin’ down an’ a-playin’ a banjo aint like a coon thet’s ben buried two or three hundred year, an’ thet no one hez seed, ez I knows on, fur Jan Steenbock never sed ez how he seed it hisself. No, b’y, I guess I’ll hev a hunt fur thet thaar tree-sor ez he spoke on, ez soon ez ever I hev the chance.”