“And did Sam never find out what was buried by the red-caps?” said Wolfert eagerly, whose mind was haunted by nothing but ingots and doubloons. “Not that I know of,” said Peechy; “he had no time to spare from his work, and, to tell the truth, he did not like to run the risk of another race among the rocks. Besides, how should he recollect the spot where the grave had been digged? everything would look so different by daylight. And then, where was the use of looking for a dead body when there was no chance of hanging the murderers?” “Aye, but are you sure it was a dead body they buried?” said Wolfert. “To be sure,” cried Peechy Prauw exultingly. “Does it not haunt in the neighborhood to this very day?” “Haunts!” exclaimed several of the party, opening their eyes still wider, and edging their chairs still closer. “Aye, haunts,” repeated Peechy; “have none of you heard of Father Red-cap, who haunts the old burned farmhouse in the woods, on the border of the Sound, near Hell Gate?” “Oh, to be sure, I’ve heard tell of something of the kind, but then I took it for some old wives’ fable.” “Old wives’ fable or not,” said Peechy Prauw, “that farmhouse stands hard by the very spot. It’s been unoccupied time out of mind, and stands in a lonely part of the coast, but those who fish in the neighborhood have often heard strange noises there, and lights have been seen about the wood at night, and an old fellow in a red cap has been seen at the windows more than once, which people take to be the ghost of the body buried there. Once upon a time three soldiers took shelter in the building for the night, and rummaged it from top to bottom, when they found old Father Red-cap astride of a cider barrel in the cellar, with a jug in one hand and a goblet in the other. He offered them a drink out of his goblet, but just as one of the soldiers was putting it to his mouth—whew!—a flash of fire blazed through the cellar, blinded every mother’s son of them for several minutes, and when they recovered their eyesight, jug, goblet, and Red-cap had vanished, and nothing but the empty cider barrel remained.” Here the half-pay officer, who was growing very muzzy and sleepy, and nodding over his liquor, with half-extinguished eye, suddenly gleamed up like an expiring rush-light. “That’s all fudge!” said he, as Peechy finished his last story. “Well, I don’t vouch for the truth of it myself,” said Peechy Prauw, “though all the world knows that there’s something strange about that house and grounds; but as to the story of Mud Sam, I believe it just as well as if it had happened to myself.”