Morning journal and courier., 1891-09-26
OLD DAYS RECALLED.

Steve came HOmes
 CONCLUDED.
 In the old days when all the trade be- tween New York and Boston was carried on in sloops and ight-draught schooners, a considerable number of these craft l hailed from Stratford and Milford just l over the river. Captain Ephraim San l born used to sail little single-sticker | down from Wheeler's Farms every week, 1 generally making about the quickest run l to New York that was then known. He | was generous, free-handed chap, friendly ! with everyone, but he had one terrible | failing which earned for him the name of l ''The Swearin' Skipper" The habit | grew on him every day, till folks got to fear him and his crew used to run away man by man to get free from his cursing. l Whether he was chatting with the pastor | of the First church, or yelling at deck l hand, he swore between every word and rise to dark, he cussed and cussed and cussed His mate says he swore in his sleep and often choked himself trying to swear while he took his grog. Profanity with him grew to be an art, and all his speeches were freely embroidered with oaths old and new. One blowy night in December there | were several of our boats tied up at Peck's l Slip, loaded and ready to go through He'll Gate, when the food tide made Before l that, however, the signs of storm ap peared and the wise ones predicted bad night on the Sound, refusing to leave the | dock. "The Swearin' Skipper" obstinate | ly declined to lie in port over night, and as the tide came in, made ready to start. The rest knew better than to argue with him, and shortly after dark the Mehitable was cast loose and drifted out into the stream. Gradually the glimmer of Cap tain Eph's pipe in the stern faded away, | even the sidelights were lost in the fog 1 and only casual curse more rancous than | it's fellows came floating back in the wake | of the "Swearin' Skipper" The group on | the wharf slowly dispersed with many a | misgiving and many dubious head shake | as they looked at the sky before turning ! in.
 A lively crew had clustered around Fen Brooks wood fire that night in the Stratford light. There was Lew Nettle- ton, wild young chap from Bridgeport, cousin of Fen's, two fishermen, who had | been blown ashore by the light, and an aged oysterman whose hut was carried l away in the gale. A jug of cider flip was being mixed, and Fen, while the flip iron was heating, sang one of his rollicking songs, everybody joining in the chorus | till the rafter's rang.
 | There was hurricane outside and every time Fen had gone up to inspect the light he reported more wind. Indoors, how ever, all were very cosy, the flip was very warming and the song was loud enough to drown the heavy booming of the breakers on the shore. Just as they were swelling the last refrain, he thought he heard some one below call "Hush!" said Fen Moth ing but the steady pounding of the waves or the low moaning of the storm came to their ears. What was that? Far away faint, but growing louder, came that strange cry. Nearer it came till all stand could hear distinctly curse after curse rise above the tempest. Such blasphemy as ! man never listened to before was being fiercely uttered by the weird voice, so odd ly familiar. Then came a scream that made one's blood stand still in his veins, for it was awful shrill, wild, triumphant shrieks as of a demon exulting, fell half unheard on the benumbed men.
 ''That's no human voice now," whisper ed fisherman, with blue lips of horror.
 "Down man and pray" muttered the old oysterman, as he bent down and mur- mured to Fen, 'The devil has hold of the swearin skipper. God rest his soul" And
 they knew he spoke the truth as they knelt by the low-burning fire.
 THE TREASURE ON CHARLES ISLAND.
 It seems that the father of my host was
 fisherman by calling, and known far and wide for generous hospitality. Strangers journeying by stage often left the post
 road and sought the homely little house
 on the point where all were welcome.
 Famous fish dinners were to be had there,
 days before he married and took to keep | ing himself out at sea most of the time. A
 gentleman of very scholarly appearance
 stopped at the door one dark night and in- quired if he could get lodging there. He introduced himself as MT. Shaw of
 Salem and soon engaged his entertainer in
 earnest conversation. At supper the talk
 never for moment Jagged, the scholarly ! gentleman's voice being low and impres- } sive, while the others rose to almost a
 concert pitch in his excitement. The old
 negro, who had spent all his life with the family, eyed the new comes suspiciously : | and the more so when he gathered from
 the discussion such bits as "a cold
 million," "bullion and currency" "must be kept dark" etc., etc. He heard MT.
 Shaw declared that unless he had chanced
 upon an old sailor who had shipped over ! with Captain Kid, he never would have ! learned of famous treasure, which no one else ever heard of.
 After supper maps and charts were pro
 duced and the two heads bent closely ovel
 the scrawls upon which the candles cast
 but a feeble light. The booty lay concealed
 in lonely spot on Charles Island, a de
 serted place lying some two miles off shore
 and never visited save by chance fishing
 parties who went ashore there occasionally
 in summer. So they fixed on the follow ing night for the enterprise, if it should bt dark and favorable.
 = The night was all that could be desired
 Not star in sight when they put tht
 tools in the dory and showed off. They
 found and boarded the fsherman's sharpie
 the result of many years saving, and sci
 sail for the island
 Once landed some time was consumed il finding the exact location of the buried
 gold and the Salem man had to return te
 forgotten. Wingfeld said he'd be digging
 so as not to lose time, and he would dig 1T
 the dark any time for gold so he struck 1T
 with pick and spade. After toiling fol
 what seemed very long time he took {
 rest and thought he'd look up MT. Shaw
 He might be in trouble. So leaving tn. large excavation he had made he clambere6 l over the rocks to the water. After calling several times in vain, an idea struck hin that was painful "What if Mir. Shaw an6
 the sharpie had gone!" They had, an6 [ though he was left two days there they , never returned.
 HOW STEVE CAME HOME.
 One of the bravest men who went iron
 Milford in the revolutionary war was Cap
 tain Silas Dewitt. After serving thy16ue l, the entire eight years he essIane back ar ! and with his savipa'ss built small cottal ne lard by tsfie Stratford light Shortly a . ter he had settled down he picked up
 homeless baby one night whose paren
 were both killed in stage accident ne mr. Beaver pond. The captain set great sto p by the waif and morning, noon and nfg ug he was plotting and contriving to plea ur- little Steve. People in the village all syr me pathized with him when the bank whe o. the small savings were was swept aw. o' and he was left penniless. He had Ss' live for the baby, however, and he brace
 up and worked with will. Up and dow the streets the old man, bent with rhe