Hobart Senior High School - Memories Yearbook (Hobart, IN)

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Q P cJ Q Q 0 for a number of years. The worry affected his mind and through this weakness his body became diseased, and for a long time he had been in a state of decline. “On his death-bed Mr. Manly told the story of his life before he came to this wilder- ness; of the position he held at Washington as a government official of seemingly excel- lent repute; of his being chosen as the man who should pay the soldiers and Indians at Fort. Dearborn; of his taking the money and making good his escape. He all but told where the balance of the treasure was deposited for he handed Mr. Dunn a cipher note, written on parchment — the key to which he would not reveal, nor would he reveal any more definitely the hiding place of the treasure. “Mr. Dunn tried for many years to decipher this note, but with little success. His son, the blue-eyed boy, now grown to manhood, sits at a high desk, book-keeper for the Superior Iron and Dock Company of Chicago. But he does not seem to be at book- keeping now, nor is he idle. A paper of wearing quality is spread out before him. If we were to look over his shoulder at it we should see only a jumble of letters. As he works over them, often referring to a small paper in his hand, he slowly reads as he writes, “One quarter mile from the second great bend in Duck Creek. From spike in wild cherry at large spring, one hundred yards west to two white oaks above the other spring.” Here the talking stopped, for a customer entered the office. Then he hurriedly placed the papers, cipher, code, translation and all between the pages of his mammoth ledger for the month of September of the year of 1871. “A week later he was sent on a mission of great trust to be gone for several months, and, of course, the papers were forgotten. “On the night of the 8th of October, 1871, a party was given in Chicago in honor of some young people just arrived from Ireland. Running short of milk punch and lack- ing the milk to make more, finally it was suggested that Mrs. O’Leary kept cows, and so in the midst of games and talking, unbeknown to anybody, one or two slipped out to the O’Leary barn for the milk. The animals at this time were furnished with shavings for bedding and it is thought that these people set the shavings ablaze. “In a short time the city was in flames. Every one was terribly excited. As fast as possible everything portable was moved to the lake front. “A large express wagon stopped at our offices, and, to save moving our safe, our books were heaped into the safe of the Superior Iron and Dock Company at the command of the head of that firm who went with his valuables. The safe was taken to the lake front and left in charge of a trusted clerk. “Our books were on top, but in the jolting of the wagon over the debris of the burn- ing district a ledger of the Dock Company was shaken among the books of our heap. Later it was brought to our office where the mistake was immediately noticed. The book was set aside to be returned, but in the tumult was forgotten. A new book-keeper afterward placed it at the back of the safe among the records. It remained there until our part of the firm retired from business. They kept it with the records, thinking it was such. When we moved to Hobart we brought this ledger with us, among the records and documents. “Since I have been taking private lessons in book-keeping I have much need of extra ledger sheets. In looking over a ledger for clean sheets — it was that of the Dock Com- pany for the year 1871 — I found those papers placed there so many years before. “After some thought I decided that these papers concerned the money for which Mr. Dunn searched so long after finding five thousand dollars in the cabin which stood on the ground now occupied by the Hobart High School. It was an easy matter to find the second great bend in Duck Creek. One quarter of a mile south is the large spring. There is a wild cherry tree; indeed you are sitting upon its roots now. But this is not the one referred to in the old papers. It has grown from the old one, which must have been a giant of its species, for the remains of its stump are still to be seen. By carefully cutting away the decomposed parts I found the spike, not in the form in which it was placed there, but as rust. ‘One hundred yards west to the two white oaks.’ Even the stumps of these are rotted to the ground. After digging, digging, digging, I came to the 0 Q 3 Q 0 Q =D T

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C r S ) cl 28 AURORA ’12 Q p Q P “With the coming of night and the quieting of the waves he worked with a new enthusiasm. Upon reaching a point where the dunes came near the water in their shiftings, he uttered an eager shout of delight. The echo, reverberating from the dunes, so startled him that he released his hold on the thong that held his dugout. The heavily laden canoe, floating free, was thrown against him with a force that almost knocked him over. With low mutterings at being afraid of his own voice he snatched up the thong and hastened on to the object of his delight — to an inlet into the lake, the mouth of the sluggish Calumet. “Into this he pulled his canoe, which, after a long search, he concealed in a suitable hiding place. The next few days he spent in reconnoitering. Early one morning he broke camp and, riding, propelled the dugout upstream. Between marshy lowlands, banked with vast forests, he continued his journey for ten or twelve miles, entered Deep River, followed its course and entered Duck Creek. He followed this to the second bend where he espied a blaze that he had made several days before. Here he again hid his canoe and constructed a permanent camp. But what was his business in this desolate spot? Why his suspicious and restless attitude? “At daybreak he began the removal of the cargo from the canoe. Rolling back the tarpaulin, a chest bound in straps of iron, met the gaze — straps crosswise, straps length- wise and larger straps for hinges. Three mammoth padlocks, each with a different combination, secured it. “He lifted the cover. We are disappointed at first, for we see nothing but a num- ber of well-filled chamois skin bags, where we expected a golden hoard to greet us. “But stooping he picks one up and pulling it open, mutters ‘Gold, gold.’ “The crackling of a twig catches his practiced ear. With a quick, yet noiseless movement, he turns, lets down the cover of the chest and reaches for his gun. ’Twas only a squirrel. Muttering, reproaching himself for his fright, he returned to the gold. “His cabin stood upon the northern bank of what is now known as Duck Creek, just as it bends to the southward. “In the cabin he places ten bags of gold, and with the rest in the canoe, proceeds southward a quarter of a mile. In a hole at the foot of two white oaks, barely three feet apart, he deposits the chest and the remaining gold. “If we had walked the streets of Hobart, Indiana, in the late thirties, we should have recognized among the inhabitants, a man, prematurely gray. The startled expres- sion has almost gone from his face, but in its stead is a lonely, haggard and remorseful look. A man of means, he is highly respected by many in the community, but of late a story has been circulating — of course it contains no truth — a story that Mr. Manly — - for such was his name — did not obtain his income in a manner wholly commendable. “Upon going a little farther we meet — but is he not a newcomer? — Mr. Dunn. He looks the thorough business man. Shall we hear what he says? He talks of big deals in real estate with the Indians and about home-steading the land in this region. Some remark is made to him concerning his Indian relics and thereafter he gives us his undivided attention. We are allowed to take our leave only after a promise to dine with him and inspect his trophies. “At the appointed hour we arrive at his home. It is pointed out to us as the grandest ' in town. And it is a mansion, indeed. We are ushered into the music room — our host, though well known as a lover of archaeological treasures, is also a lover of Euterpe. Arrayed upon the walls of this room in fantastic designs and exact tribal relations are relics of many Indian tribes, besides trophies of the chase, with here and there, a painting from the brush of a famous artist friend. “While Mr. Dunn is relating the many stories concerning the obtaining of these ■treasures a little blue-eyed, fair- haired boy slips quietly to his knee. His serious eyes, steadily fixed upon the speaker, show that he is intense ly interested. “To our great disappointment, during the early part of the evening our host is called to the bedside of a dying friend. At a later meeting with him we learn that this friend was Mr. Manly. It seems that Mr. Manly had been worrying over some weighty matter r r J p u a

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D 0= AURORA ’12 rusted irons of the chest. The wood was ready, to drop from them, and beneath were the half decomposed chamois skin bags, through which the gold gleamed with tarnished luster.” As he finished speaking, the sun sank in the cloud-bordered west, thinking only of the story, she questioned him, “What are you going to do with the money?” Producing a bank book, several deeds— one for a lot in the suburbs— he said, ‘T’ve invested the largest part of it. With the rest I’m going to Europe. I came this’ after- noon, as I started to tell you when you interrupted me, to say good-bye, if — if you will not go with me. Come, say that I have discovered another rare treasure.” BENJAMIN SMITH, ’12. Q THE ENCHANTED PRINCESS. B ERNIE! Oh, Bernie!” There was a note of joy in the childish voice. “Why, hello, Glad,” the girl called back. The child’s name was Emmaline Gladys Hunter, but everyone called her Glad. She was such a sunny happy little youngster. Everyone loved her and she loved every- one in return, but Bernie Morrison, who lived next door, was her favorite. Her tiny hand reached up and caught that of the girl beside her; for a moment there was no responding grasp. “Oh dear,” Bernice was thinking, “Oh dear, why will she bother me now?” Then she was ashamed of herself and took the little one’s hand and smiled down into the big brown eyes. She had given herself up to the lively happy chatterer when she heard a step behind her and a voice said, “How do you do, Miss Morrison.” With a smile she returned the greeting, but the young man hurried on. How strange of him,” she thought. Then she remembered. He had told her one evening when they were together— that evening he had brought her roses— of his intense dislike of children, “especially at the chattering period.” Oh well, it wasn t nice of him but — how annoying, when he was hardly ever in town! And its Friday night now an’ you don’t have to do your lessons and you’ll tell me ’bout th’ ’nchanted princess, won’t you?” How flushed her cheeks were, Bernice noticed; and her eyes, how bright, even for Glad’s eyes; and how hot the tiny clinging hand in hers. “An’ ’bout the Prince Charming, too, with the plume an’ the” — (? “Oh, Bern!” “Bernice! ” She turned. It was the girls in Kathleen’s car. “Room for one more,” they were calling. She stood for a moment irresolutely. The car purred enticingly. “An’ the silver buckles an’ the horse with — ” She smiled down at the small speaker. “Not tonight, Glad,” she said, “not tonight. I’m going to be busy, so run along home, dear.” Then she turned to the girls. “Just a minute till I put my books inside.” When she came back and climbed into the car, Glad was sitting on a rustic bench in her own yard. Bernice could not see the tear-wet lashes nor catch the wistful note U i7 == 7 = t) G