“How so?” says Matthew.
“Look there,” said Captain Dyke, pointing to a little island in the river, which we were then passing. “That island,” he continued, “was once the resort of Captain Kid, the famous pirate, who had a fine ship in which he sailed over the world, and, robbing every vessel he met of its money, collected a vast deal of gold and silver. After a long voyage, he used to sail up this river and bury his money on this island. When I was a boy, there was a hut still standing there, which was said to have been built by Kid himself.
“There were a great many wild stories told about this hut; for it was said that the captain and his crew used to hold their revels there. Long after the famous freebooter was hung, and his companions were dead, it was maintained that strange noises were heard in the hut, and several persons who had peeped in at night declared that they had seen Kid there in the midst of his jolly sailors, all of them drinking, singing, and telling wild tales of the sea.
“Now my father, as I said, was a brave man, and he offered to sleep in the hut one night for a bottle of brandy. This banter was accepted, and my father was put over to the island in a boat and left to himself. He had taken care to have the bottle of brandy with him. He repaired to the hut, and sat himself down upon a sailor’s chest which chanced to be there.
“There was no furniture in the room, save a rough table which stood in the centre, and an old-fashioned high-backed chair. My father placed the bottle on the table, and which, by the way, was one of your deep craft, with a long neck, and holding somewhere about half a gallon.
“After sitting nearly an hour upon the chest, all the while looking at the bottle, which glimmered in the moonlight that stole between the rafters of the hut, my father laid himself down on the floor and tried to go to sleep. He had not lain long, however, before the bottle slid gently off the table, and then began to lengthen, till it grew up as tall as a woman. Pretty soon it assumed the shape of one of my father’s sweethearts, and beckoned to him to come and kiss her! With this request he complied, of course, and then they fell to dancing in a very merry style. As they were whirling round and round, the old chair began to bob about, and at the same moment the rickety table rocked to and fro, then whirled round and performed a pirouette upon one of its legs. A moment after, these two joined hand in hand with my father and his sweetheart, and round and round they flew. Everything went on like a regular cotillon. It was back to back, cross over, right and left, chassez, and balance to partners! My father was in great spirits, and he performed the double shuffle to admiration. The old table did the same, the high-backed chair followed, and Miss Bottle beat them all. Such pigeon-wings as she executed never were seen before! The whole party caught the spirit of the moment, and it now seemed to be a strife to see which would surpass the rest in feats of grace and agility.
“My father had seen many a frolic, but never such a one as that; and, what was remarkable, the dance seemed constantly to increase in quickness and merriment. The top of the table looked like the jolly face of a Dutchman, the mouth stretched wide, and the eyes goggling with laughter. The old chair seemed to nod and wink with elvish mirth; and the maiden, who all the time appeared to have a queer resemblance to a bottle, frisked and flirted the gayest of the party. On went the dance, until my father was entirely out of breath; but there was no cessation to the sport. There seemed to be an old fiddler standing in one corner, but nothing save two eyes and his elbow were distinctly visible. The latter flew more rapidly every moment, the music quickened; and the dancers kept time. For seven hours my father performed his part in the dance, until, at last, he reeled, and, falling forward, knocked the table, the chair, and the bottle all into a heap. The vision immediately vanished, and soon after there was a rapping at the door. The people had come over to the island, for it was now morning. They found my father in a swoon, lying across the table, the chair crushed, and the bottle broken in a hundred fragments, which lay scattered on the floor.”
“A strange story that,” says Matthew, as the Dutchman paused; “but I wish to ask one question. Was there any liquor upon the floor where the bottle was broken?”
“Not a drop,” said the Dutchman; “and that’s a good proof that old Nick himself was there to drink the liquor.”
“No, no,” said Matthew, significantly; “it only proves that your father kissed Miss Bottle a little too often; so he got drunk and had the nightmare, and all this scene was a vision of his brain! This proves that your father could drink two quarts of brandy in a single night. I had an uncle who performed a greater feat than that in the revolutionary war, for he captured a British officer with a sausage!”