The time that I now speak of, however, was about the middle of May, the balmy month of soft breezes and bright flowers.  I had been particularly studious in school, and my father agreed to let me spend three days at the Sound in company with a young friend.  We arranged our food supply, took the old family rockaway, and set out early in the morning, as happy a pair of boys as ever started on a project of pleasure.

After spending an hour or two at the Sound house, arranging our fishing tackle and looking after the boats, which had been hauled up for the winter, we started out on a sail towards the beach.  It was a fine day for sailing, and the breeze bore us away as smoothly and quickly as if we had been in a balloon.  As we passed Money Island, we observed a boat moored on the south side, and tried to locate the occupants; but we could see nobody, and concluded that it belonged to a fishing party who had, for some reason, left the boat tied there.

We sailed on; and when we had gone perhaps half a mile away.  I happened to turn around, and was surprised to see two men stealthily embarking in the boat with what appeared to be shovels and rods of some kind.  This sight was too much for our youthful imagination.  So we decided at once to change our course, and essayed to follow at a distance the movements of the other boat.  This we had no difficulty in doing; and we afterwards learned that we were successful in our efforts to avoid the suspicion of purposely following it.

The men sailed down the Sound a short distance to the south, and made for the shore in a little cove at a somewhat secluded place.

We were familiar with the locality, and decided to wait until later for a closer observation.  Accordingly, we bore once again toward the beach, and enjoyed an hour watching the breakers roll upon the shore, and in picking up curios, such as are always to be found upon the sea beach.

Upon our return, we passed close to the little cove into which the boat had gone, and could readily discern through the trees a tent not far inland; in front of which were seated the two strangers, watching a pot hung over a fire made upon the ground.  This excited an additional flutter of wonderment with us.  Indeed, what we had seen, coupled with the current tradition regarding Money Island, soon wrought us up into a fever of excitement; for it was very suggestive of a search for the treasure on the island.

I had heard from my early childhood that Captain Kidd, the historic and lordly pirate, who reigned supreme upon the high seas during the seventeenth century, was supposed to have buried some of his booty on Money Island.  Everybody was familiar with the tradition; and I doubt if there is, even now, a single person reared in the town of Wilmington, of in the vicinity of the Sound, who has not likewise been told the same indefinite story about the little island.  But the presence of these two strangers, and their somewhat mysterious conduct, gave the tradition a touch of reality such as it could never have otherwise had.