Myths and Legends of Our Own Land — Volume 09 : as to buried treasure — Reading Companion

The Recurring Motif of Invisible Assault

Across several tales, Skinner records attacks by unseen forces that throw stones, snowballs, or household objects with uncanny accuracy. In Salisbury, Connecticut, in 1802, sticks and lumps of stone flew through windows at night, yet 'nothing could be seen coming toward the windows until the glass broke.' The missiles dropped softly on the sill, 'as if a hand had put it there.' In St. Mary's, Illinois, two boys were pelted with snowballs so tightly packed they did not break on striking, thrown from a field with no footprints. The pattern is consistent: the assault is precise, sustained, and leaves no visible agent. Skinner himself recalls a boyhood incident of a house being assailed, though he does not elaborate. These accounts share a structure—no cause is ever discovered, and the attacks cease only after a specific condition is met, such as payment to Native Americans or the passage of time.

Treasure Guardians and Scriptural Tests

Skinner's buried treasure legends often include a guardian spirit that must be overcome by reciting Scripture. At Lion's Rock near Lyme, Connecticut, a demon 'springs upon intruders unless they recite Scripture while digging for the money.' At Charles Island, a headless man leaped from the air when a treasure chest was uncovered, and blue flames poured out. The connection between religious ritual and treasure recovery is explicit: the digger must perform a verbal charm to neutralize the supernatural guard. Skinner does not comment on the irony that pirates would employ Christian rites to protect their loot, but the juxtaposition is striking. He also notes that many treasure hunts ended in failure, with backers 'beginning to look upon—no, not to look upon, but to think about—as visionary.' The parenthetical hesitation mirrors the tension between belief and skepticism that runs through the volume.

Storied Waters and Geological Curiosities

The second part of the volume shifts from buried wealth to natural landmarks invested with legend. Skinner includes sections on 'Monsters and Sea-Serpents,' 'Stone-Throwing Devils,' 'Storied Springs,' 'Lovers' Leaps,' and 'God on the Mountains.' The headings themselves suggest a taxonomy of American folklore, grouping tales by their physical setting rather than by theme. In the excerpt, the 'Stone-Throwing Devils' section recounts a poltergeist-like outbreak in the Berkshire Hills that began in a tailor's shop and spread to Ezekiel Landon's house, where rapping continued for a week. Windows were broken on both sides of buildings simultaneously, and sticks came through the same holes 'as if aimed carefully by a gunner.' Skinner's language here is almost clinical, describing the phenomena without offering explanation, letting the absurdity of the details—a cheese-press smashed against a wall, hay tossed into trees—speak for itself.

The Skeptical Collector's Voice

Skinner's authorial stance is that of a folklorist who reports without endorsing. He uses phrases like 'without presuming to doubt the veracity of tradition' and 'an incident from the writer's boyhood may be instanced' to signal his own distance from the material. He does not call the legends false, but he undercuts them with factual asides: the only verified Kidd treasure was recovered by the Earl of Bellomont; the iron kettles found by farmers likely date to the wars of 1776 and 1812. This tension between credulity and evidence gives the volume its distinctive flavor. Skinner is not a debunker, but he is a compiler who lets the contradictions stand. The reader is left to decide whether the headless phantom at Whitmire Hill, Georgia, is real or a product of 'the heart of his prospective victim bumping against his palate.'

Skinner's volume rewards readers who enjoy folklore not as supernatural truth but as a mirror of human hopes and fears. The tales are short, often only a paragraph or two, and they accumulate into a mosaic of regional belief. Pay attention to the recurring details—the precise aim of invisible stones, the failure of witch-broth and Scripture, the way a story shifts from a specific date and place to a vague 'long time ago.' Skinner's own skepticism is a quiet counterpoint, reminding us that the most interesting thing about a legend may be why people choose to believe it.

I keep thinking about how Skinner tracks those buried treasures—how the same restless ache shows up in every county. It reminded me of the quieter, hillier ghosts in Myths and Legends of Our Own Land — Volume 01: the Hudson and its hills — Reading Companion, where the land itself seems to hold its breath. That feeling stayed with me long after.