Free Ghosts on the Coast of Maine by Carol Schulte Page B

“who” took the boats, and they’re not interested in talking about the why.

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JEWELL’S ISLAND
    T he subterranean caves of Jewell’s Island have not served savory purposes. Not only have they been conductors of smuggled goods, but they have also housed the secrets surrounding a lurid tale of buried treasure and coldblooded murder.
    Now a wild, uninhabited island, the place was once a quiet shelter for those who wished to live without constant fear of Indian attack. One has to think past the overhanging trees and jagged rocks to a time when people farmed the inland slopes and drew clear water from island springs. The eighteenth century had just begun.
    Captain Elijah Jones was one of the first settlers to set the tone for this peaceful hideaway. When he wasn’t shipping goods, he was tending his vegetable garden and two cows. He did not have a family, but like most islanders, he did not mind fending for himself.
    If he had done more farming and less shipping, he might not have fallen prey to the greediness of the world outside Jewell’s Island. While traveling to places like the West Indies, Spain, or Jamaica, Jones saw millions of dollars worth of luxury goods exchange hands, but he, the humble farmer, was on the outside looking in. Oh, how he’d love to be comfortably rich and be able to go anywhere he wanted anytime he pleased. There was even the chance that a wealthier lifestyle might attract a good woman who could breed him some descendants.
    Jones shifted from shipping to smuggling. It was the only way he could break into the big time. Instead of patching up his barn, he threw his energies into rigging his house with secret compartments and passageways. Underground tunnels led to inconspicuous coves where crates of illegal goods passed hands. Barrels of Jamaican rum were stowed away in the night by men of foul language and filthy breath.
    Outwardly, the captain posed a respectable image, and the islanders knew none the worse. They wondered why he neglected his farm, but they figured that business at sea was keeping him busy. Also occupying his mind at the time was the story of buried treasure that had begun circulating while he was away on one of his trips. It seems that a man from a foreign land had been poking about the island, pick and shovel in hand. He had not stated his purpose.
    The captain’s imagination tingled at the thought of a chest laden with coins and jewels, right there under his nose. He did some digging on his own but came up empty-handed. Years passed, Elijah remained satisfied with his illegal trade and had forgotten all about the visitor with pick and shovel—until one day coming into port he found a man waiting for him on the shore.
    The man hailed from St. John’s, Canada, and he had recently been given a treasure map by a dying black man who had serviced the captain of a pirate ship. This time the stranger, Mr. George Vigny, had come prepared, but he still needed a mariner’s compass. Elijah Jones was the only islander who owned one. When he realized that between him and the stranger they had a good chance of locating the treasure, he lustily invited Vigny to visit his farmhouse. There they spent hours planning, conversing, and drinking some of Jones’s best liquor. In the dark of the night they stole away, unnoticed by anyone.
    The next day found Captain Jones puttering about his garden and milking his cows. Soon afterwards he went to sea and came back with a sizable sum of money, which started him on the road to being the richest inhabitant of the island. No one ever saw the stranger again, but it was presumed that he had sailed back home after his meeting with Jones.
    Elijah died the most prominent citizen of Jewell’s Island and was buried in grand style. By this time everyone had put the Canadian stranger out of their minds. Two months after Jones’s funeral, things changed.
    A farmer was plowing his acres down