of small rocks and called out, “Get the spade!”
Tobey did as he was told, “Yes, sir.”
Standing over the mound, Davis directed Tobey. “Move away those stones and dig under them. Give me a hole two feet square.”
The young man picked up the stones and put them aside, all the while thinking that what lay buried is, without doubt, what Julian sought.
Davis sat on a slope to the side. As he lit his pipe, he cautioned Tobey with, “Mind you keep a pace with your digging. We must leave here by sunset.”
It wasn’t long before Davis leaned back and closed his eyes. Tobey wanted to rest also, but as soon as his spade ceased cutting into the dirt, Davis sat up.
“Hear now, boy. Why have you stopped?”
Tobey had no reason but exhaustion. He continued his rhythm.
With one more hit into the black dirt, his shovel resonated with a dull thud. Davis looked towards the sound and then walked over to see what Tobey’s shovel had found. As he came closer, Davis flapped his arm sideways, a clear signal to move away.
Tobey wiped his brow with the back of his hand and stepped back from the hole.
“Go further away to the horse; this is none of your business.”
Again, he did as he was told.
Davis brushed away the dirt to reveal the top of a small chest. His past life as a pirate fueled his greed this day as his fingers furiously scratched at the dirt around its edges. He grabbed the spade and dug deep gouges along its sides. When the grooved line of where it opened was revealed, he scraped away at the center of the latch. With ferocity, he threw the spade to the ground behind him.
Tobey could see Davis’s face turn crimson as he leaned further and lower into the hole. He hoped that he might be free of Davis if only the man’s heart would give out. Maybe one hit of the spade over the man’s head would be all that was needed. As his thoughts wondered about what was buried, they also encouraged him to step nearer to Davis and the sharp, flat tool on the ground now closest to his own foot. In silence, he reached for its wooden handle.
Davis opened the top of the chest, drew in a deep breath and closed it within seconds. Wiping saliva from the corner of his mouth, he caught sight of Tobey behind him with the tool in his hand. “Get back, boy, I told you once already.” He struggled to lift himself up off his knees. “Best you get started filling in this hole,” Davis ordered. “We have no need of its contents.”
Tobey had seen a glimpse of what the chest held and questioned Davis’s actions, but he kept his lips tight. He began to throw shovelfuls of dirt back into the hole. Taking note of the markings on the chest that was trimmed with leather, he tried to figure out what might happen next.
He stretched his arm out and held a fist to the late afternoon sun. Turning his palm toward his face, he counted how many folded knuckles fit within the orange ball and the horizon. All four fit squarely between; each bump signifying 15 minutes. He surmised that he had an hour to finish.
After a while, Davis grew impatient. “Replace the stones over the loose soil. We need to leave this place.” He pushed the last remaining dirt over the covered hole with his own foot.
When Davis was satisfied with the Antiguan’s work, the two men retraced their steps back to Higgins Tavern for the night. Tobey scrutinized the landscape, noticing any unusual tree or peculiar scape that would enable him to return, by himself, to the rock if needed.
The next morning, the travelers set out on their journey back to Yarmouth. It was dark by the time they reached Davis’s home. Hephzibah had already retired and lay still under the covers listening to Davis rummage in the kitchen beneath her room. Felicity and Mother Gibbs had left for Boston earlier in the day and the young woman was uncomfortable in the house alone with Mr. Davis. She crept over to the door in her attic room, making sure the latch was secure. Hephzibah then placed the
Tobey did as he was told, “Yes, sir.”
Standing over the mound, Davis directed Tobey. “Move away those stones and dig under them. Give me a hole two feet square.”
The young man picked up the stones and put them aside, all the while thinking that what lay buried is, without doubt, what Julian sought.
Davis sat on a slope to the side. As he lit his pipe, he cautioned Tobey with, “Mind you keep a pace with your digging. We must leave here by sunset.”
It wasn’t long before Davis leaned back and closed his eyes. Tobey wanted to rest also, but as soon as his spade ceased cutting into the dirt, Davis sat up.
“Hear now, boy. Why have you stopped?”
Tobey had no reason but exhaustion. He continued his rhythm.
With one more hit into the black dirt, his shovel resonated with a dull thud. Davis looked towards the sound and then walked over to see what Tobey’s shovel had found. As he came closer, Davis flapped his arm sideways, a clear signal to move away.
Tobey wiped his brow with the back of his hand and stepped back from the hole.
“Go further away to the horse; this is none of your business.”
Again, he did as he was told.
Davis brushed away the dirt to reveal the top of a small chest. His past life as a pirate fueled his greed this day as his fingers furiously scratched at the dirt around its edges. He grabbed the spade and dug deep gouges along its sides. When the grooved line of where it opened was revealed, he scraped away at the center of the latch. With ferocity, he threw the spade to the ground behind him.
Tobey could see Davis’s face turn crimson as he leaned further and lower into the hole. He hoped that he might be free of Davis if only the man’s heart would give out. Maybe one hit of the spade over the man’s head would be all that was needed. As his thoughts wondered about what was buried, they also encouraged him to step nearer to Davis and the sharp, flat tool on the ground now closest to his own foot. In silence, he reached for its wooden handle.
Davis opened the top of the chest, drew in a deep breath and closed it within seconds. Wiping saliva from the corner of his mouth, he caught sight of Tobey behind him with the tool in his hand. “Get back, boy, I told you once already.” He struggled to lift himself up off his knees. “Best you get started filling in this hole,” Davis ordered. “We have no need of its contents.”
Tobey had seen a glimpse of what the chest held and questioned Davis’s actions, but he kept his lips tight. He began to throw shovelfuls of dirt back into the hole. Taking note of the markings on the chest that was trimmed with leather, he tried to figure out what might happen next.
He stretched his arm out and held a fist to the late afternoon sun. Turning his palm toward his face, he counted how many folded knuckles fit within the orange ball and the horizon. All four fit squarely between; each bump signifying 15 minutes. He surmised that he had an hour to finish.
After a while, Davis grew impatient. “Replace the stones over the loose soil. We need to leave this place.” He pushed the last remaining dirt over the covered hole with his own foot.
When Davis was satisfied with the Antiguan’s work, the two men retraced their steps back to Higgins Tavern for the night. Tobey scrutinized the landscape, noticing any unusual tree or peculiar scape that would enable him to return, by himself, to the rock if needed.
The next morning, the travelers set out on their journey back to Yarmouth. It was dark by the time they reached Davis’s home. Hephzibah had already retired and lay still under the covers listening to Davis rummage in the kitchen beneath her room. Felicity and Mother Gibbs had left for Boston earlier in the day and the young woman was uncomfortable in the house alone with Mr. Davis. She crept over to the door in her attic room, making sure the latch was secure. Hephzibah then placed the
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