Another gentleman added, “Yes, and they also buried treasure further down South; for at my old home (and I speak the honest trath) I have stood in the hole from which my friend, Mr. Coachman, unearthed accidentally a small fortune, which gave him a very comfortable start in life.”

The conversation lingered in this absorbing vein until the meeting was opened, much to my relief; for I had been surfeited with the subject of money finding for that day, at least.  But that was not all; for, during the solemnity of the opening exercises, I heard some one telling, in an undertone, of a negro who had found a roll of old bank notes in a log which had been hauled to a saw mill to be cut.

The next day I was still aware that I possessed an unusual attraction; and I resigned myself patiently to the service of all my inquiring friends.  Jamesby actually stopped by my office to walk up with me at lunch time.  He was willing to move along slowly with me, for now in my old age I find I have to walk slowly.  I knew it would have been more natural for him to have gone on briskly; but he was polite and assured me that the pleasure of my company was better than too much time spent at his meal.

We stopped on the way at a newspaper office.  The editor and proprietor had observed our approach and they were awaiting us with looks of amused interest.  “Hello!” the proprietor said cheerily, “you have really stimulated the enterprise of the town.  Why have you kept so reticent on that subject all these years?”

Of course, I knew what subject was referred to; for I had been living for those two days in an atmosphere filled with the phantoms of hidden gold, buried treasure, marvelous discoveries, pirates and other engaging topics of thought; and I now looked for nothing else.

“In my opinion,” he continued, “it was a very good story.  Of course, it goes without saying that it is true.  I tell you, sir, that it is my judgment that this whole section of coast line is rich in gold.  Not only did those pirates bury gold here, but, during the Civil War, the Confederate blockade runners, when fearing capture, were known repeatedly to throw gold into the sea along the beach, sometimes by the keg full; and not one dollar’s worth of it has ever yet been recovered, so far as I can learn.  It is all right there where they dropped it.  And besides that, at least on one occasion, it is a well proven fact that a chest of gold was buried by the commander of one of the blockade runners in the marsh grass on the shore not far below Wilmington; and there is no evidence that it has ever yet been unearthed.  In fact, all knowledge of the exact spot has been lost, I understand.”