She tied up the bundle again, and placed it where he had left it and said, “This man has stolen these watches.” When he came in, he handed the towel to the young woman, and said, “There were just fifteen watches, were there?” and with such an expression of countenance, that she could not refrain from answering, “Yes.” “But,” said he, “you were mistaken about my stealing them, for I came honestly by them.” Upon which the young woman instantly recognized him to be Henry More Smith, and concluded that he was collecting his “hidden treasure,” which he had deposited while he was in Roden.
This information I received from Mrs. Beckwith, a respectable lady from Nova Scotia, who resided at the time in that neighborhood, who also said it was not known that he had ever seen his wife at that time, from the time of his release from confinement. The next account I heard of him stated that he had been seen on board of a plaster vessel at Eastport, but he was not known to have been on shore during the time she remained there. He employed himself while on board engraving a number of small articles, some of which he made presents of to young ladies who chanced to come on board.
He was next seen at Portland, by a gentleman who had known him at Kingston; nothing, however, transpired there concerning him, only that he was travelling with considerable weight of baggage through the State of Maine, which gave rise to the following ludicrous story, which I saw published at Eastport, of a Mysterious Stranger travelling in a stage. One cold and stormy night, the bar-room of an hotel was filled with sturdy farmers surrounding a cheerful fire, and discussing the affairs of state over a mug of flip. The night having been tremendously stormy and wet, the wind whistling all around the house, and making every door and window rattle, the landlord expressed much fear for the safety of the stage coach; but suddenly the sound of a distant stage-horn announced the approach of the coach and removed the landlord’s anxiety. He replenished the fire, that the approaching travellers might have as warm a retreat as possible from the unusual inclemency of the night.
Some time passed, and yet the expected coach did not come up. The landlord’s fears grew up anew, and with an expression of concern he put the question around, “Did not some of you hear a horn?” and added, “I have expected the stage a long time, and I thought that a few minutes ago I heard the horn near at hand; but I fear that something has happened in the gale that has caused it to be thus belated.” “I thought I heard the stage-horn some time ago,” answered the arch young farmer Hopkins; “but then you must know that ghosts and witches are very busy on such nights as this, and what kind of pranks they may cut up we cannot tell. You know the old adage,—“Busy as the devil in a gale of wind.” Now who knows but they may have——” Here he was interrupted by the sudden opening of the door, accompanied by a violent gust of wind and the dashing of rain, when in rushed from the fury of the storm, drenched with wet from head to foot, a tall stranger, dressed in a fur cap and shaggy great coat.
From an impulse of politeness and respect, not unmingled with fear, all arose on his entrance,—the expression “The devil in a gale of wind,” rushing upon their minds with a signification to which a profound silence gave expressive utterance. The stranger noticed their reserved yet voluntary respect with a slight nod, and proceeded to disencumber himself of his wet clothes and warm his fingers by the fire. By this time the driver entered bearing the baggage of his passenger. “The worst storm I was ever troubled with blowing right in my teeth, and I guess the gentleman there found it the same.” Here a low whisper ensued between the driver and the landlord, from which an unconnected word or phrase dropped upon the ear of the inmates. “Don’t know,—came in the,—as rich as a mine,” &c. Upon this information the landlord immediately took his wet garments and hung them carefully before the fire. “I hope that your wetting will not injure your health, sir.” “I hardly think it will, my good friend; I am no child to catch cold from a ducking.” “Shall I show you a room, sir?” said the landlord. “We can let you have as good a room and as comfortable a supper as any in the country.”
The stranger was immediately conducted into a handsome parlor, in which blazed a cheerful fire; and in a short time a smoking supper was placed on the board. After supper was over, he called the landlord into his room, and sent for his trunk. “I like your accommodations,” accosting the landlord, “and if you like my proposals equally well, I will be your guest for some time, though I know not how long. Nay, I shall stay at any price you please—but remember, I must have my rooms to myself, and they must not be entered without my leave; and whatever I do, no questions to be asked. Do you consent to these terms?” “I do sir,” replied the landlord, “and you shall not have cause to complain of your treatment.” “Very well,” rejoined the stranger, “then the agreement is completed. You may go now.” “Yes, sir,” replied the landlord, “but what may I call your name, sir?” “Beware, you have broken the bargain already,” replied the stranger. “I forgive you for this once only; now ask no more questions, or you will certainly drive me from your house.”
After this the landlord returned to his bar-room, from which the merry farmers had not yet withdrawn, but were endeavoring to penetrate the mystery that hung around the stranger. “Well, landlord,” said the arch Hopkins, “what do you make him out to be?” “That is a question I dare hardly answer. He is a gentleman, for he does not grudge his money.” “I would not think he should,” replied Hopkins, shaking his head mysteriously. “And why not?” exclaimed several of the company. “Ah, just as I thought,” returned Hopkins, with another shake of the head and significant look at the landlord. “What, in the name of all that’s silly, is the matter with you, Hopkins?” exclaimed the landlord. “What on earth can you know?” “I know what I know,” was his reply.
“Rather doubtful, that,” rejoined the landlord.
“You doubt it,” returned Hopkins, rather warmly; “then I will tell you what I think him to be; he is nothing more or less than a pirate; and you will all be murdered in your beds, Smith, (which was the landlord’s name,) you and your whole family, before morning. Now what think you of your guest?”
All the company stood aghast, and stared at each other in silence for some time, until the landlord again ventured to interrupt the silence by asking Hopkins “How do you know all that?” Hopkins answered, in rather a silly manner, “I guessed at it,” which did away with the effect produced by his previous assertions; and the landlord dismissing his fears, exclaimed, “As long as he pays well, be he man or devil, he shall stay here.” “A praiseworthy conclusion,” proceeded from a voice at the back part of the room, and at that instant the mysterious stranger stood before them. All started to their feet, seized their hats and waited to ask no questions, nor make additional comments, but went home and told their wives of Smith’s guest, and Hopkins’ opinion of his character.