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Updated: May 27, 2025
Vanderscamp's knees smote together. "For the love of heaven, where are they, wife?" "Where? why, in the blue-room, up-stairs, making themselves as much at home as if the house were their own." Vanderscamp made a desperate effort, scrambled up to the room, and threw open the door.
Some suggested that the negro had betrayed the house to some of Vanderscamp's bucaniering associates, and that they had decamped together with the booty; others surmised that the negro was nothing more nor less than a devil incarnate, who had now accomplished his ends, and made off with his dues. Events, however, vindicated the negro from this last imputation.
It was pronounced a haunted house, and avoided accordingly. No one inhabited it but Vanderscamp's shrew of a widow, and old Pluto, and they were considered but little better than its hobgoblin visitors. Pluto grew more and more haggard and morose, and looked more like an imp of darkness than a human being.
Several of the most noted freebooters were caught and executed, and three of Vanderscamp's chosen comrades, the most riotous swash-bucklers of the Wild Goose, were hanged in chains on Gibbet-Island, in full sight of their favorite resort.
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