He found himself grievously battered, and lying in the bottom
of a boat. He attempted to sit up, but was too sore and stiff to
move. A voice requested him in a friendly accents to lie still.
He turned his eyes toward the speaker; it was Dirk Waldron. He had
dogged the party, at the earnest request of Dame Webber and her
daughter, who, with the laudable curiosity of their sex, had pried
into the secret consultations of Wolfert and the doctor. Dirk had
been completely distanced in following the light skiff of the
fisherman, and had just come in time to rescue the poor money
digger from his pursuer.
Thus ended this perilous enterprise. The doctor and Black Sam
severally found their way back to the Manhattoes, each having some
dreadful tale of peril to relate. As to poor Wolfert, instead of
returning in triumph, laden with bags of gold, he was borne home on
a shutter, followed by a rabble-rout[1] of curious urchins. His
wife and daughter saw the dismal pageant from a distance, and
alarmed the neighborhood with their cries; they thought the poor
man had suddenly settled the great debt of nature in one of his
wayward moods.
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