A Bellvale Mountain Ghost Story

Here is a recently discovered story, from the Warwick Advertiser, January 17, 1889:

A Mysterious Treasure Bed

Treasure Seekers at Greenwood Lake Succumb to Fright when the Wealth is almost at Hand—

A Tale of Local Mystery

To persons of imaginative minds and skeptical tendencies the mysterious tales of treasure hunters and the difficulties encountered on their ghostly expeditions are utterly unworthy of belief, and the creations of a weak mind. In fact, in this age of materialism, we are prone to look with pity and contempt on persons who prate of a belief in the mysterious, and point with triumph to the success of the Thirteen Club of New York in dispelling some of our fondest illusions and iconoclastically eradicating even our familiar household sayings, handed down from mother to daughter. The dropping of a fork meant in my boyhood a male visitor to the house; a fallen knife denoted a female. There were many other signs and tokens, but to break a mirror signified dire calamity. Filled with these impressions when young it is a continual combat with many to explain on a purely reasonable basis the many mysterious occurrences brought up by believers in the supernatural in support of their belief, and many a time have most of us wished fo an opportunity to destroy, at one fell swoop, the hydra-headed demon, superstition, and settle the questions so far as we, individually were concerned.

A few nights since we were regaled with stories of revolutionary times in the Warwick Valley. The settlers were, of course, arrayed on both sides, and some maintained an appearance of neutrality but were really helping the Continentals or Tories to the full extent of their means and ability. There were some, too, who secretly gave information to headquarters, acting as spies, so that the commanding officers of both armies were ekpt pretty well supplied with all the information they needed. In this valley the site of a house long since gone to decay, which was occupied by a Mr. Smith, is pointed out to the lover of the historical, and he is told how said Smith was watched by his loyal neighbors, tracked through miles of forests, over mountains and across swamps, till, the evidence being sufficiently clear, was taken from his bed at the dead of night by a mob of disguised men, and on being threatened with death, confessed all his perfidy to the patriot cause. His captors decided to send him within British lines, and ordered Smith back to his house to dress himself, for he had been shivering in the damp air in his night clothes. As he turned to enter his house he was shot in the back by some of the mob and died without a groan.

While scouting parties in the Revolutionary days were despoiling house after house under the cover of darkness, the people found it necessary to secrete money and valuables in the most inaccessible places, often in the rocks, down the wells, up the chimneys, etc. Valuable articles and money are recovered year after year and much is undoubtedly still hidden. Many years since an old man came to Greenwood Lake and told a table of treasures hidden at a certain triangular place near the foot of Mount Peter, near the ruins of the house where the aforesaid Smith resided, and from a rude diagram located the spot on Mr. John Hunt’s farm. All the necessary identification marks were there except a certain chestnut tree with a plug in the trunk pointing to the spot. But the stump of a chestnut tree being close by the place located by the ancient stranger seemed to give evidence sufficient to warrant a digging party to attempt the recovery of the treasure. In order to keep the affair secret they agreed to go at nightfall to the spot, and at the time set a half dozen sturdy men assembled.

They had not dug long before their picks struck a huge rock, and while endeavoring to remove it the whole party distinctly heard groans and cries, the clanking of chains and a rumbling as of an impending thunder shower. At firs they were dumbfounded and stopped their work. As they ceased the noise died away. Gathering courage after a short rest they renewed their efforts to dislodge the huge stone. Again the noises, apparently proceeding from under the boulder at one time and then from the air overhead, were heard, and, with one impulse, they dropped their picks, shovels, and crowbars and rushed homeward as on the wings of the wind.

The story of the mysterious occurrences, magnified, of course, by each relator, soon became the popular gossip, but the earnestness and sincerity of the digging party was never questioned, and for years the treasure lay undisturbed, although occasionally in the last thirty or forty years small parties have gathered to dig a little deeper than the preceding party had done, and then when the unearthly sounds grew too weird for mortal ears, rush away pell mell, well provided with a never-ending theme for speculation in their night’s adventures.

Well, during the summer of ’88 (1888) the foregoing was narrated, with numerous embellishments and interspersed with many ejaculations to a few hardy and intelligent young men who were temporarily sojourning with Hon. James Hall at Greenwood Lake. After due consideration a party was formed in no spirit of bravado, with an honest intention of unearthing the mystery surrounding the buried treasure (if treasure and mystery, there were), resolved to go the next night to the spot indicated. The place was not readily found in the inky darkness, and the party fought with the thorns and brambles step by step till, well nigh out of patience, the site of the curried treasure was reached.

The party was then divided. One was to keep watch, one attend the fire to give light to the workers, and two plied the pick and shovel. The accumulated leaves and debris of a score of years was soon dug from the hold, and the excavation proceeded without interruption until a huge rock was laid bare. With crowbars the two study men endeavored to dislodge the rock when suddenly a long drawn and unearthly groan was heard, apparently proceeding from under the earth a short distance away. The men paused in their work, the sentinel went to the spot from whence groans came and the groans died away. After a few moments the party became convinced that as they had seen nothing to frighten them they wouldn’t be frightened, so they built a roaring, crackling fire, and by the light of its flickering flames resumed their work. So long as they were quite no noises were heard, but as soon as the digging was resumed the moans and groans were awful. Flashes of sulpherous light were seen, jumping from bush to bush, stones fell in showers all around them, and the guard, albeit a man of iron nerve, chased the sounds with pistol bullets, only to be rewarded after each shot with a mocking peal of hoarse laughter.

Then again midnight stillness ensued as the entire quartet left their work and formed a searching party. Not a sound of life could be heard save the “nancy-dids,” and after ten minutes’ conference they loaded their pistols and resolved to remove the bowlder from the excavation. Soon as the work began the noises were resumed, only more so. It seems as though a dozen demons had united their energies in clanking chains, flashing lights in the half circle round the working party and groaning in a hoarse, moaning, droning manner, like the wail of a lost soul, or the yowling and crying of some of our well-bred city cats practicing for a concert in a back yard. But, of course, cats can’t throw huge bowlders, rattle chains and produce noises which language fairs to describe. The moans ceased when the workmen halted and began as soon as they resumed.

Finally, the stones and dirt thrown out of the hole began to roll back into it again, and the shovelers saw their work was being undone faster than they could dig and delve. The guard, meanwhile, had formed a cordon, with two loaded revolvers, round the party and pursued the noises from spot to spot, till, thoroughly mystified, and finding their work useless, they resolved to retire in good order and leave the treasure in possession of the owner or owners of the cries, groans, moans, chains and flash lights. Now, if anybody of men of venturesome turn of mind, able to handl pick and shovel, and with a desire to participate in the mysterious, wishes to go through our experience while digging for treasure on Mr. Hunt’s premises, they have our heariest wishes for their ultimate success. So far as we are concerned it would have to be a much greater sum of money than tradition has recorded to attempt it again.