The Unknown Survivor

From Cape Cod Pilot, Jeremiah Diggs, American Guide Series Federal Writer's Project Works Progress Administration for the State of Massachusetts. Sponsored by Poor Richard Associates. Modern Pilgrim Press. Provincetown, MA. 1937, pps. 14-22.

Several years after the wreck (of the Whydah Galley) Rev. Mr. Osborn was making his way up the Cape from Truro when in the darkness he lost the road. Following the dunes in what he thought the right direction, the road at that time ran close to the sea, he suddenly heard loud voices and saw a glimmer of light. He was close to the lonely hut of Goody Hallet, and she was in violent altercation with a villainous looking stranger.

“Hold you tongue, old woman,” He heard the stranger say, “those days at Crosby's Tavern were long ago. You don't resemble the Maria Hallett of then.”

“Aye,” came Goody Hallett's shrill voice, “I Have changed, and Indian Tom did tell me where the booty was hidden. But God's truth! When I searched only a few pieces of gold were left. He didn't tell me it was you, Black Bellamy, who escaped with him from the wreck until the night ne died, nor have I divulged it since.”

“I swore by my sword,” raged Bellamy, “that I would drink a cup with you that night even if I had to sail the WHIDAH over the Great Salt Marshes to do it. Tonight I swear you will show me where the rest of the gold is hidden or I will run you through.”

Goody gave a derisive laugh. “Come, I'll show you where it was, all I ever found has kept me barely alive.”

 

The two left the house and walked towards the shore. Mr. Osborn followed the unfamiliar way and when he reached the bank they were out of sight. He stood listening for voices.

“This is the spot,” he heard Goody say, “where Indian Tom told me I would find the gold, but nothing but rotted leather bags with a few coins stuck in the corners remained.”

“Dig!” roared Bellamy in a voice boiling with anger, “Dig deeper. If you didn't take it it must still be there.”

The noise of dirt and gravel being pushed to one side assailed the minister's ears. He endeavored to reach a place on the bank where he could peer over without being seen. He trembled with the feeling of evil that surrounded the place.

“There you can see for yourself,” cam Goody Hallett's voice triumphantly, “the leathern bags are still here. I have never seen the treasure.”

“You lie, old witch!” cried Bellamy in a passion of rage, “This for your pains!”

Suddenly the listener's blood was chilled by a bubbling shriek! He threw caution to the winds and peered over the bluff. There flat on the sand, arms spread awry, lay Goody Hallett. Black Bellamy had made good his threat. Her throat was cut from ear o ear!

He stepped back and viewed his handiwork. “There,” he roared, “let that be a lesson to ye, Goody Hallett.” Then with a fiendish laugh he ran towards the breakers.

Mr. Osborn waited to see no more, but rushed to his horse and galloped the news to the village. The next day the woods from Wellfleet to Nauset Harbor were combed, but the stranger was not found.

Five days later, his drowned body was picked up at the self same spot on the beach.

That was the end of the case, except that from that to this the reputed treasure has never been found. Either Goody Hallett really did re-hide the whole and was murdered for her pains, or the sea washed it away during the years before Indian Tom acquainted his relative of the hiding place. After heavy storms gold coins were picked up for many years along Goody Hallett's beach, and it seems reasonable that these are what eked out her existence after she stopped knitting for the townswomen.