At that time, though vessels and their cargoes were insured, the underwriters frequently did not make their appearance down the coast at the scene of the wreck for many days and even weeks after the ship broke up or came ashore. And when the tardy officials did arrive, Barnegat natives, even from far inland—honest men and knavish rogues alike—had always managed to capture everything of value that came ashore or could be taken from the vessel. In order to conceal their stolen salvage, indestructible merchandise or articles that were not affected by the action of the soil and water were frequently buried until after the baffled insurance company and the ship’s owners had left the scene. The arrest and sentence of the leader of this gang of wreckers caused much apprehension and excitement in every Barnegat home, and much fine china was pounded up or thrown into the water, as well as buried, lest its presence seem proof of complicity in the convict’s guilt. Our pieces of “Beach ware” remained under ground for years—it is said until the wicked old convict served out his term in prison, since he alone could find the spot where he had buried it. The green-ribboned and pink-sprigged teapots and teacups look too innocent to have known aught of such wickedness and violence, but bear no more guileless face than did the patriarchal old wrecker in the peaceful prosperous days of his later years when he unblushingly and unwincingly sold to us this “Beach ware,” of which his gossiping neighbors had told to us the tale. Shall I have the dire name of “fence” applied to me when it is told that I am the receiver of stolen goods? The best piece of Wedgwood jasper ware that I own was bought from an old Englishman of mild appearance and junk proclivities. A second visit to his den found it closed. A friendly plumber in the adjacent shop explained with effusion that the junk-man was a wretched old thief, and no one but thieves sold to him or bought of him (I winced at the accusation); that “he broke into a museyum in England and stole a lot of china and brought it over here to sell, and had kep’ stealin’ ever sense,” and he (the plumber) was “glad the perlice had chased him out, for he was a disgrace to the neighborhood.” Was not my pretty Flaxman-designed piece of Wedgwood stolen from that English collection? [Illustration: Old Worcester in “Japan Taste.”]