The Gold-Bug (1843)

Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849)

What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad! He hath been bitten by the Tarantula. -- All in the Wrong Many years ago, I became the intimate friend of a Mr. William Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy; but a series of misfortunes had reduced him to poverty. To avoid the shame resulting from his disasters, he left New Orleans, the city of his ancestors, and made his home at Sullivan's Island, near Charleston, South Carolina. This island is very unique. It consists of nothing more than sea sand, and is about three miles long. Its width at no point is more than a quarter of a mile. It is separated from the mainland by a barely noticeable creek that oozes through a wilderness of reeds and slime which is a favorite habitat of the marsh-hen. The vegetation, as one might expect, is scant, or at least very low. No trees of any size are to be seen. Near the western end, where Fort Moultrie stands, and where are some miserable frame buildings (that are inhabited during summer by those escaping the dust and fever of Charleston), the bristly palmetto may be found; but the whole island, except for this western point and a line of hard white beach on the sea-coast, is covered with a dense undergrowth of sweet myrtle which is prized by the horticulturists[1] of England. The shrub here often reaches fifteen or twenty feet high, and forms an almost impenetrable thicket, filling the air with its fragrance. In the innermost depths of this thicket, not far from the eastern or more remote end of the island, Legrand had built himself a small hut where he lived when I first met him by accident. This soon developed into friendship -- for much in this solitary man aroused my interest and respect. I found him well

educated, with unusual powers of mind, but infected with misanthropy,[2] and suffering from peculiar moods that alternated from enthusiasm to melancholy. He had with him many books, but rarely used them. His chief amusements were shooting and fishing or wandering along the beach and through the myrtles looking for shells or insect specimens -- his collection of the latter might have been envied by a Swammerdamm.[3] In these expeditions he was usually accompanied by an old negro, named Jupiter, who had been freed from slavery before the family’s misfortune, but who could be convinced, neither by threats nor by promises, to abandon what he considered his right to attend to his young "Massa Will." It is may even be that Legrand’s relatives, thinking he was somewhat mentally troubled, had contrived to implant this stubbornness into Jupiter, with a view to the supervision and guardianship of the wanderer Legrand. The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are seldom severe, and in the fall of the year a fire is rarely necessary. About the middle of October, 18 -- , however, a day of remarkable chilliness occurred. Just before sunset I scrambled through the evergreens to the hut of my friend, whom I had not visited for several weeks -- my home was, at that time, in Charleston, about nine miles from the island, and the methods of travelling back and forth were very far behind those of today. On reaching the hut I knocked, as was my custom, and getting no reply, looked for the key in the place I knew it was hidden, unlocked the door, and went in. A fine fire was blazing in the fireplace. It was a novel thing, and one for which I was grateful. I threw off an overcoat, sat in an armchair by the crackling logs, and waited patiently for my hosts to arrive. Soon after dark they arrived, and welcomed me cordially. Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to prepare some marsh-hens for dinner. Legrand was in one of his fits – what else can I call them? -- of enthusiasm. He had found an unknown bivalve,[4] forming a new species, and, in addition, had hunted down and secured, with Jupiter's assistance, a scarabaeus (beetle) which he believed to be totally new, on which he wanted my opinion the following morning. "And why not tonight?" I asked, rubbing my hands over the blaze, and wishing the whole species of scarabaei to the devil. "Ah, if I had only known you were here!" said Legrand, "but it's so long since I saw you; and how could I predict that you’d visit this very night of all

others? As I was coming home I met Lieutenant G -- -- , from the fort, and, very foolishly, I lent him the bug; so it will be impossible for you to see it until the morning. Stay here tonight, and I will send Jup down for it at sunrise. It is the loveliest thing in creation!" "What? -- sunrise?" "Nonsense! no! -- the bug. It is a brilliant gold color -- about the size of a large hickory-nut -- with two jet black spots near the back end, and another, somewhat longer, at the other. The antennae are -- " "Dey aint no tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin' on you," here interrupted Jupiter; "de bug is a goole-bug, solid, ebery bit of him, inside and all, sep him wing -- meber feel half so hebby a bug in my life." [“There isn’t nothing in him, Master Will, I keep telling you. The bug is a gold-bug, solid, every bit of him, inside and all, except his wing – I never felt half so heavy a bug in my life."] "Well, suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, a bit more sincerely, it seemed to me, than the situation demanded; "Is that any reason to let the birds you’re cooking burn? The color" -- here he turned to me -- "is really almost enough to justify Jupiter's idea. You never saw a more brilliant metallic luster than his scales emit -- but you cannot judge this until tomorrow. In the meantime I can give you some idea of the shape." Saying this, he seated himself at a small table, on which were a pen and ink, but no paper. He looked for some in a drawer, but found none. "Never mind," he said at length, "this will do"; and he drew from his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what looked like very dirty foolscap,[5] and drew on it a rough sketch with pen. While he did this, I stayed in my seat by the fire, for I was still chilly. When the design was complete, he handed it to me without getting up. As I took it, a loud growl was heard, followed by a scratching at the door. Jupiter opened it, and a large Newfoundland, belonging to Legrand, rushed in, jumped on my shoulders, and loaded me with caresses; for I had shown him much attention on my previous visits. When his playing was over, I looked at the paper, and, to speak the truth, found myself puzzled at what my friend had drawn there. "Well!" I said, after studying it for some minutes, "this is a strange scarabaeus, I must confess; new to me; never saw anything like it before -- unless it was a skull, or a death's-head, which it resembles more than anything

else that I’ve seen." "A death's-head!" echoed Legrand. "Oh -- yes -- well, it does appear that way on paper, no doubt. The two upper black spots look like eyes, eh? and the longer one at the bottom like a mouth -- and then the shape of the whole is oval." "Perhaps so," said I; "but, Legrand, I fear you are no artist. I must wait until I see the beetle itself, if I am to get any idea of its appearance." "Well, I don't know," said he, a little annoyed, "I draw tolerably well -- should do it at least – I’ve had good masters, and I flatter myself that I’m not that much of a blockhead." "But, my dear fellow, you are joking then," said I, "this is a very passable skull -- indeed, I may say that it is a very excellent skull, based on the usual images about such physiological specimens -- and your scarabaeus must be the queerest scarabaeus in the world if it resembles it. Why, we may get a very thrilling fantasy from this clue. I presume you will call the bug scarabaeus caput hominis,[6] or something of that kind -- there are many similar titles in the Natural Histories. But where are the antennae you spoke of?" "The antennae!" said Legrand, who seemed to be getting riled up on the subject; "I am sure you must see the antennae. I made them as clear as they are in the original insect, and I presume that is enough." "Well, well," I said, "perhaps you have -- still I don't see them"; and I handed him the paper without additional comment, not wishing to ruffle his temper; but I was much surprised at the turn things had taken; his ill humor puzzled me -- and, as for the drawing of the beetle, there were positively no antennae visible, and the whole did resemble very closely the ordinary outlines of a death's-head. He accepted the paper irritably, and was about to crumple it, apparently to throw it in the fire, when a casual glance at the design suddenly caught his attention. In an instant his face grew violently red -- in another, excessively pale. For some minutes he continued to examine the drawing carefully where he sat. Finally he rose, took a candle from the table, and proceeded to sit on a sea-chest in the far corner of the room. Here he again anxiously examined the paper; turning it in all directions. He said nothing, however, and his behavior greatly astonished me; but I thought it wise not to aggravate his growing moodiness

with another comment. Soon he took from his coat-pocket a wallet, placed the paper carefully in it, and put both in a writing desk, which he locked. He now became more collected; but his original air of enthusiasm had quite disappeared. But he seemed not so much sulky as abstracted. As the evening progressed he became more and more absorbed in thought, and none of my efforts could rouse him. I had intended to spend the night at the hut, as I had often done before, but, seeing my host in this mood, I thought it proper to leave. He did not press me to stay, but, as I left, he shook my hand with even more than his usual cordiality. It was about a month after this (and during this interval I saw nothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at Charleston, from his man, Jupiter. I had never seen the good old negro look so dispirited, and I feared that some serious disaster had befallen my friend. "Well, Jup," said I, "what is the matter now? -- how is your master?" "Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as mought be." ["Why, to speak the truth, Master, he is not so very well as might be."] "Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he complain of?" "Dar! dat's it! -- him neber 'plain of notin' -- but him berry sick for all dat." ["There! That's it! – he never complains of nothing -- but he is very sick for all that."] "Very sick, Jupiter! -- why didn't you say so immediately? Is he in bed?" "No, dat he aint! -- he aint 'fin'd nowhar -- dat's just whar de shoe pinch -- my mind is got to be barry hebby 'bout poor Massa Will." ["No, that he isn’t! -- he isn’t confined nowhere -- that's just where the shoe pinches (what the issue is) -- my mind has gotten very heavy about poor Master Will.] "Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are talking about. You say your master is sick. Has he told you what’s wrong with him?" "Why, massa, 'taint worf while for to git mad about de matter -- Massa Will say noffin at all aint de matter wid him -- but den what make him go about looking dis here way, wid he head down and he soldiers up, and as white as a gose? And den he keep a syphon[7] all de time -- " ["Why, master, it is not worthwhile to get mad about the matter -- Master Will says nothing at all is the matter with him -- but then what makes him go about looking this here way, with his head down and his shoulders up, and as white as a ghost? And then he keeps a ciphering all the time --]

"Keeps a what, Jupiter?" "Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate -- de queerest figgurs I ebber did see. Ise gittin' to be skeered, I tell you. Hab for to keep mighty tight eye 'pon him 'noovers. Todder day he gib me slip 'fore de sun up and was gone de whole ob de blessed day. I had a big stick ready cut for to gib him deuced good beating when he did come -- but Ise sich a fool dat I hadn't de heart arter all -- he looked so berry poorly." ["Keeps ciphering with the figures on the slate – the queerest figures I ever did see. I am getting scared, I tell you. I have to keep a mighty tight eye on his maneuvers. The other day he gave me the slip before the sun was up and was gone the whole of the blessed day. I had a big stick ready cut for to give him a good beating when he did come -- but I am such a fool that I hadn't the heart after all -- he looked so very poorly."] "Eh? -- what? -- ah yes! -- on the whole I think you’d better not be too severe with the poor fellow -- don't beat him, Jupiter -- he can't very well stand it -- but you have no idea of what has caused this illness, or rather this change of behavior? Has anything unpleasant happened since I saw you last?" "No, massa, dey aint bin noffin onpleasant since den -- 'twas 'fore den I'm feared -- 'twas de berry day you was dare." ["No, Master, there hasn’t been nothing unpleasant since then – it was before then I think – it was the very day you was there."] "How? what do you mean?" "Why, massa, I mean de bug -- dare now."["Why, Master, I mean the bug -- there now."] "The what?" "De bug -- I'm berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit somewhere 'bout de head by dat goole-bug." ["The bug -- I'm very certain that Master Will has been bit somewhere about the head by that gold-bug."] "And what cause, have you, Jupiter, to think such a thing?" "Claws enuff, massa, and mouff too. I nebber did see sich a deuced bug -- he kick and he bite ebery ting what cum near him. Massa Will cotch him fuss, but had for to let him go 'gin mighty quick, I tell you -- den was de time he must ha' got de bite. I didn't like de look ob de bug mouff, myself, nohow, so I wouldn't take hold ob him wid my finger, but I cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found. I rap him up in de paper and stuff a piece of it in he mouff -- dat was de way." ["Cause enough, master, and a mouth too. I never did see such a

deuced bug -- he kick and he bite everything that comes near him. Master Will caught him first, but had to let him go again mighty quick, I tell you – that was the time he must have gotten the bite. I didn't like the look of the bug mouth, myself, anyway, so I wouldn't take hold of him with my finger, but I caught him with a piece of paper that I found. I wrap him up in the paper and stuff a piece of it in his mouth – that was the way."] "And you think, then, that your master was really bitten by the beetle, and that the bite made him sick?" "I don't think noffin' about it -- I nose it. What make him dream 'bout de goole so much, if 'taint cause he bit by de goole-bug? Ise heerd 'bout dem goole-bugs 'fore dis." ["I don't think nothing about it -- I know it. What makes him dream about the gold so much, if it aint because he got bit by the gold-bug? I have heard about them gold-bugs before this."] "But how do you know he dreams about gold?" "How I know? why, 'cause he talk about it in he sleep -- dat's how I nose." ["How do I know? why, because he talks about it in his sleep – that's how I knows." "Well, Jup, perhaps you are right; but to what happy occasion am I have the honor of a visit from you today?" "What de matter, massa?" "Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand?" "No, massa, I bring dis here pissel"; and here Jupiter handed me a note which ran thus: "My Dear -- -- "Why have I not seen you for so long a time? I hope you have not been so foolish as to be offended by any little brusquerie[8] of mine; but no, that’s unlikely. "Since I saw you I have had serious reasons to be anxious. I have something to tell you, yet scarcely know how to tell it, or whether I should tell it at all. "I have not been quite well for some days past, and poor old Jup annoys me, almost beyond what I can stand, by his well-meant attentions. Would you believe it? -- he had prepared a huge stick, the other day, with which to discipline me for giving him the slip, and spending the day, alone, among the hills on the mainland. I honestly believe that my sickly appearance alone saved

me a beating. "I haven’t added anything to my cabinet since we met last. "If you can, in any way, when it’s convenient, come over with Jupiter. Do come. I wish to see you tonight, on important business. I assure you that it is of the highest importance. "Ever yours, "William Legrand" There was something in the tone of this note that made me nervous. Its whole style differed substantially from that of Legrand. What could he be dreaming of? What new obsession had taken hold of his excitable brain? What "business of the highest importance" could he possibly have to act on? Jupiter's description of him predicted nothing good. I feared that the constant pressure of misfortune had, finally, disturbed my friend’s mind. Without a moment's hesitation, therefore, I prepared to accompany the negro. On reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three spades, all apparently new, lying in the bottom of the boat we were to leave in. "What is the meaning of all this, Jup?" I inquired. "Him syfe, massa, and spade." "Very true; but what are they doing here?" "Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will sis 'pon me buying for him in de town, and de debbil's own lot of money I had to gib for 'em." [They are the scythe and the spades what Master Will insisted on I buy for him in the town, and the devil's own lot of money I had to give for them."] "But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your 'Massa Will' going to do with scythes[9] and spades?" "Dat's more dan I know, and debbil take me if I don't b'lieve 'tis more dan he know too. But it's all cum ob de bug." [That's more than I know, and devil take me if I don't believe it is more than he know too. But it's all on account of the bug."] Finding that I could get no satisfaction from Jupiter, whose entire mind seemed to be absorbed by "de bug," I now stepped into the boat, and set sail. With a fair and strong breeze we soon ran into the little cove to the north of Fort Moultrie, and a walk of some two miles brought us to the hut. It was about three in the afternoon when we arrived. Legrand had been waiting for us in

eager expectation. He grasped my hand with a nervous friendliness which surprised me and strengthened the suspicions already in my mind. His face was pale or even ghastly, and his deep-set eyes glared with unnatural shine. After some questions about his health, I asked him, not knowing what better to say, if he had yet gotten the scarabaeus from Lieutenant G -- -- . "Oh, yes," he replied, and became very red, "I got it from him the next morning. Nothing will tempt me to give up that scarabaeus. Do you know that Jupiter is quite right about it?" "In what way?" I asked, with a sad feeling in my heart. "In believing it to be a bug of real gold." He said this in a deeply serious tone, and I was inexpressibly shocked. "This bug is to make my fortune," he continued, with a triumphant smile; "to reinstate me in my family possessions. Is it any wonder, then, that I prize it? Since Fortune has decided it proper to give it to me, I have only to use it properly, and I shall get at the gold of which it is a sign. Jupiter, bring me that scarabaeus!" "What! de bug, massa? I'd rudder not go fer trubble dat bug; you mus' git him for your own self." ["What! The bug, Master? I'd rather not go for trouble that bug; you must get him for your own self."] Here Legrand arose, with a serious and dignified air, and brought me the beetle from a glass case in which it was enclosed. It was a beautiful scarabaeus, and, at that time, unknown to naturalists -- of course a great prize from a scientific point of view. There were two round black spots near one end of the back, and a long one near the other. The scales were exceedingly hard and glossy, all with the appearance of burnished gold. The weight of the insect was very remarkable, and, taking all things into consideration, I could hardly blame Jupiter for his opinion regarding it; but what to conclude of Legrand's agreeing with that opinion, I could not, for the life of me, decide. "I sent for you," said he, in a grand tone, when I had finished examining the beetle, "I sent for you so that I might have your advice and help in furthering the views of Fate and of the bug -- " "Feel my pulse," said he. I felt it, and, to say the truth, found not the slightest sign of fever. "But you may be ill and yet have no fever. Allow me this once to prescribe for you. In the first place go to bed. In the next -- "

"You are mistaken," he interrupted, "I am as well as I can expect to be under the excitement that I suffer. If you really wish me well, you will relieve this excitement." "And how am I to do this?" "Very easily. Jupiter and myself are going on an expedition into the hills, on the mainland, and, in this expedition, we will need the help of a person we can trust. You are the only one we can trust. Whether we succeed or fail, the excitement that you now see in me will be equally relieved." "I am anxious to help you in any way," I replied; "but do you mean to say that this infernal beetle has any connection with your expedition into the hills?" "It has." "Then, Legrand, I cannot be a party to any such ridiculous activity." "I am sorry -- very sorry -- for we shall have to try it by ourselves." "Try it by yourselves! The man is surely mad! -- but wait! -- how long do you propose to be gone?" "Probably all night. We shall start immediately, and be back, in any event, by sunrise." "And will you promise me, on your honor, that when this curiosity of yours is over, and the bug business (good God!) settled to your satisfaction, you will then return home and follow my advice without reservation, as that of your doctor." "Yes; I promise; and now let’s get started, for we have no time to lose." With a heavy heart I accompanied my friend. We started about four o'clock -- Legrand, Jupiter, the dog, and myself. Jupiter had with him the scythe and spades – all of which he insisted on carrying -- it seemed to me more out of fear of trusting the tools near his master’s reach, than from any desire to be productive or agreeable. His appearance was extremely annoyed, and "dat deuced bug" were the only words that he uttered during the journey. For my own part, I was in charge of a couple of dark lanterns, while Legrand was content to carry the scarabaeus, which he had attached to the end of a bit of a cord; twirling it to and fro, with the air of a magician, as he walked. When I noticed this last part, clear proof of my friend's peculiarity of mind, I could scarcely keep from tears. I thought it best, however, to humor his fancy, at least for now, or until I could take stronger measures that had a better chance of succeeding. In the meantime I tried, but in vain, to understand the reason for

the expedition. Having succeeded in convincing me to accompany him, he seemed unwilling to talk on anything unimportant, and to all my questions offered no other answer than "we shall see!" We crossed the creek at the head of the island using a skiff, and, climbed the high grounds on the shore of the mainland, continued in a northwesterly direction, through a piece of extremely wild and empty country, where no trace of human footstep was to be seen. Legrand led the way with decision; stopping only for an instant, here and there, to study what appeared to be certain landmarks that he had made at a previous time. In this way we journeyed for about two hours, and the sun was just setting when we entered a region infinitely more dreary than any yet seen. It was a type of plateau, near the top of an almost inaccessible hill, densely wooded from base to peak, and interspersed with huge crags that appeared to lie loosely on the soil, and in many instances kept from falling into the valleys below only due to the support of the trees against which they rested. Deep ravines, in various directions, gave an air of an even sterner seriousness to the scene. The natural plateau to which we had climbed was thickly overgrown with brambles, through which we soon discovered that it would have been impossible to force our way except using the scythe; and Jupiter, at his master’s instruction, proceeded to clear for us a path to the foot of an enormously tall tulip-tree, which stood even with some eight or ten oaks and far surpassed them all, and every other tree I had seen, in the beauty of its foliage and shape, in the wide spread of its branches, and in the general majesty of its appearance. When we reached this tree, Legrand turned to Jupiter, and asked him if he thought he could climb it. The old man seemed a little stunned by the question, and for some moments didn’t reply. Finally he approached the huge trunk, walked slowly around it, and examined it closely. When he had completed his examination, he only said: "Yes, massa, Jup climb any tree he ebber see in he life." "Then up with you as soon as possible, for it will soon be too dark to see what we are about." "How far mus' go up, massa?" inquired Jupiter. "Get up the main trunk first, and then I will tell you which way to go -- and here -- stop! take this beetle with you." "De bug, Massa Will! -- de goole-bug!" cried the negro, drawing back in

dismay -- "What for mus' tote de bug way up de tree? -- d -- n if I do!" ["What for must I tote the bug way up the tree? -- damn if I do!"] "If you are afraid, Jup, a great big negro like you, to take hold of a harmless little dead beetle, why you can carry it up by this string -- but, if you do not take it up with you in some way, I shall feel it necessary to break your head with this shovel." "What de matter now, massa?" said Jup, evidently shamed into obeying; "always want for to raise fuss wid old nigger. Was only funnin anyhow. Me feered de bug! what I keer for de bug?" ["What’s the matter now, master?" said Jup, evidently shamed into obeying; "you’re always wanting to raise a fuss with the old nigger. I was only joking anyhow. Me afraid of the bug! what do I care for the bug?"] Here he cautiously grabbed the extreme end of the string, and, maintaining the insect as far from his person as circumstances would permit, prepared to climb the tree. In youth, the tulip-tree, or Liriodendron Tulipiferum, the most magnificent of American foresters, has a trunk peculiarly smooth, and often rises to a great height without side branches; but in its old age, the bark becomes gnarled and uneven, while many short limbs appear on the trunk. Thus the difficulty of climbing, in the present case, was more apparent than real. Embracing the huge trunk, as closely as possible, with his arms and knees, seizing with his hands some stubs, and resting his naked toes on others, Jupiter, after one or two narrow escapes from falling, at length wriggled himself into the first great fork, and seemed to consider the whole business as virtually accomplished. The risk of the achievement was, in fact, now over, although the climber was some sixty or seventy feet from the ground. "Which way mus' go now, Massa Will?" he asked. "Stay on the largest branch -- the one on this side," said Legrand. The negro obeyed him promptly, and apparently with little trouble; climbing higher and higher, until no sign of his squat figure could be seen through the dense leaves which covered it. Soon his voice was heard in a sort of halloo. "How much fudder is got for go?" "How high up are you?" asked Legrand. "Ebber so fur," replied the negro; "can see de sky fru de top ob de tree." "Never mind the sky, but listen to what I say. Look down the trunk and

count the limbs below you on this side. How many limbs have you passed?" "One, two, tree, four, fibe -- I done pass fibe big limb, massa 'pon dis side." "Then go one limb higher." In a few minutes the voice was heard again, announcing that the seventh limb was attained. "Now, Jup," cried Legrand, evidently very excited, "I want you to work your way out on that limb as far as you can. If you see anything strange let me know." By this time what little doubt I might have had of my poor friend's insanity was no longer in doubt. I had no choice but to conclude he was stricken with lunacy, and I became seriously anxious about getting him home. While I was considering what the best thing to do was, Jupiter's voice was again heard. "Mos' feerd for to venture 'pon dis limb berry far -- 'tis dead limb putty much all de way." ["Most feared for to venture upon this limb very far – it’s a dead limb pretty much all the way."] "Did you say it was a dead limb, Jupiter?" cried Legrand in a quavering voice. "Yes, massa, him dead as de door-nail -- done up for sartain -- done departed dis here life." ["Yes, master, him dead as the door-nail -- done up for certain -- done departed this here life."] "What in the name of heaven shall I do?" asked Legrand, seemingly in the greatest distress. "Do!" said I, glad of a chance to get in a word, "why come home and go to bed. Come now! -- that's a fine fellow. It's getting late, and, besides, you remember your promise." "Jupiter," cried he, without heeding me in the least, "do you hear me?" "Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain." "Try the wood well, then, with you knife, and see if you think it very rotten." "Him rotten, massa, sure nuff," replied the negro in a few moments, "but not so berry rotten as mought be. Mought venture out leetle way 'pon the limb by myself, dat's true." ["Him rotten, master, sure enough, but not so very rotten as might be. Might venture out little way upon the limb by myself, that's true."] "By yourself! -- what do you mean?" "Why I mean de bug. 'Tis berry hebby bug. Spose I drop him down fuss, and den de limb won't break wid just de weight ob one nigger." ["Why I mean the

bug. It’s a very heavy bug. Suppose I drop him down first, and then the limb won't break with just the weight of one nigger."] "You infernal crook!" cried Legrand, apparently very relieved, "what do you mean by telling me such nonsense? As sure as you drop that beetle I'll break your neck. Look here, Jupiter, do you hear me?" "Yes, massa, needn't hollo at poor nigger dat style." ["Yes, master, you needn't holler at poor nigger in that style (way)."] "Well! now listen! -- if you will venture out on that branch as far as you think safe, and not let go the beetle, I'll give you a present of a silver dollar as soon as you get down." "I'm gwine, Massa Will -- deed I is," replied the negro very promptly -- "mos' out to the eend now." ["I'm going, Master Will -- indeed I is -- most out to the end now."] "Out to the end!" here fairly screamed Legrand; "do you say you are out to the end of that limb?" "Soon be to de eend, massa -- o-o-o-o-oh! Lor-gol-a-marcy! what is dis here pon de tree?" ["Soon be to the end, master -- o-o-o-o-oh! Lord-god-of-mercy! what is this here upon the tree?"] "Well!" cried Legrand, highly delighted, "what is it?" "Why taint noffin but a skull -- somebody bin left him head up de tree, and de crows done gobble ebery bit ob de meat off." ["Why it aint nothing but a skull -- somebody has left his head up the tree, and the crows have gobbled every bit of the meat off."] "A skull, you say! -- very well, -- how is it attached to the branch? -- what holds it on?" "Sure nuff, massa; mus' look. Why dis berry curous sarcumstance, 'pon my word -- dare's a great big nail in de skull, what fastens ob it on to de tree." ["Sure enough, master; I must look. Why this is a very curious circumstance, upon my word -- there's a great big nail in the skull, that fastens it on to the tree." "Well now, Jupiter, do exactly as I tell you -- do you hear?" "Yes, massa." "Pay attention, then -- find the left eye of the skull." "Hum! hoo! dat's good! why dey aint no eye lef' at all." "Curse your stupidity! do you know your right hand from your left?"

"Yes, I knows dat -- know all bout dat -- 'tis my lef' hand what I chops de wood wid." "To be sure! you are left-handed; and your left eye is on the same side as your left hand. Now, I suppose, you can find the left eye of the skull, or the place where the left eye was. Have you found it?" Here was a long pause. At length the negro asked: "Is de lef' eye ob de skull 'pon de same side as de lef' hand ob de skull too? -- cause de skull aint got not a bit ob a hand at all -- nebber mind! I got de lef' eye now -- here de lef' eye! what mus' do wid it?" ["Is the left eye of the skull on the same side as the left hand of the skull too? -- because the skull aint got not a bit of a hand at all -- never mind! I got the left eye now -- here is the left eye! what must I do with it?"] "Let the beetle drop through it, as far as the string will reach -- but be careful not to let go your hold of the string." "All dat done, Massa Will; mighty easy ting for to put the bug fru de hole -- look out for him dar below!" ["All that is done, Massa Will; mighty easy thing for to put the bug through the hole -- look out for him there below!"] During this dialogue no part of Jupiter's body could be seen; but the beetle, which he had lowered, was visible at the end of the string, and glistened, like a globe of burnished gold, in the last rays of the setting sun, some of which still faintly lit the hill where we stood. The scarabaeus hung quite clear of any branches and, if allowed to fall, would have fallen at our feet. Legrand immediately took the scythe, and cleared with it a circle, three or four yards in diameter, just beneath the insect, and, when he finished this, ordered Jupiter to let go the string, and come down from the tree. Driving a peg, very nicely, into the ground, at the exact spot where the beetle fell, my friend now produced from his pocket a tape-measure. Fastening one end of this to the point of the trunk of the tree nearest the peg, he unrolled it until it reached the peg and then unrolled some more, in the direction already decided by the two points of the tree and the peg, for fifty feet -- Jupiter clearing away the brambles with the scythe. At the spot he located in this way, he drove a second peg, and around the peg, using it as a center, marked a rough circle, of about four feet in diameter. Taking now a spade himself, and giving one to Jupiter and one to me, Legrand begged us to start digging as quickly as possible. To speak the truth, I’ve never had a special desire to pass the time in this

way, and, at that particular moment, would most willingly have refused it; for night was coming, and I felt tired with the exercise I’d already had; but I saw no way out of it, and I was afraid of disturbing my poor friend's peace by refusing. If I could have depended on Jupiter's help, I wouldn’t have hesitated getting the lunatic home by force; but I was too sure of the old negro's character, to hope that he’d help me, in anything concerning his master. I was sure that he had been infected with some of the countless Southern superstitions about buried money, and that his fantasies had been confirmed by finding the scarabaeus, or, perhaps, by Jupiter's stubbornness in believing it to be "a bug of real gold." A mind leaning towards madness could easily be persuaded by such suggestions – especially when adding ideas he already believed -- and then I remembered the poor man’s talk about the beetle being "the index of his fortune." Taking everything into account, I was sadly irritated and puzzled, but, finally, I concluded to make the best of what was necessary -- to dig with as best as I could, and so the sooner to convince the dreamer, by having him see for himself, the error of the opinions he considered. The lanterns were lit, and we all fell to work with a zeal worthy of a more reasonable cause; and, as the glare fell on our persons and tools, I could not help thinking how we looked, and how strange and suspicious our labors must have seemed to a stranger who might have stumbled on our location. We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was said; and our chief embarrassment lay in the yelpings of the dog, who took a great interest in our proceedings. He, finally, became so noisy that we worried he’d alarm some stragglers in the area, -- or, rather, this was Legrand’s fear; -- for myself, I would have been happy at any interruption that would have enabled me to get the wanderer home. The noise was, finally, very effectively silenced by Jupiter, who, got out of the hole with a deliberate determined look, tied the brute's mouth with one of his suspenders, and then returned, with a serious chuckle, to his work. When the time mentioned had passed, we had reached a depth of five feet, and yet found no sign of any treasure. A general pause followed, and I began to hope that the farce had ended. Legrand, however, although clearly very much flustered, wiped his brow thoughtfully and began again. We had excavated the entire circle of four feet diameter, and now we slightly enlarged the limit, and went to the farther depth of two feet. Still nothing appeared. The gold-seeker,

whom I sincerely pitied, finally climbed from the pit, with the bitterest disappointment printed on every feature, and proceeded, slowly and reluctantly, to put on his coat, which he had taken off at the beginning of his digging. In the meantime I said nothing. Jupiter, at a signal from his master, began to gather up his tools. When this was done, and the dog had been unmuzzled, we turned in deep silence toward home. We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direction, when, with a loud oath, Legrand walked up to Jupiter, and seized him by the collar. The astonished negro opened his eyes and mouth to the their limit, let the spades fall, and fell on his knees. "You scoundrel!" said Legrand, hissing out the syllables from between his clenched teeth -- "you infernal black villain! -- speak, I tell you! -- answer me this instant, and don’t you lie! -- which -- which is your left eye?" "Oh, my golly, Massa Will! aint dis here my lef' eye for sartain?" roared the terrified Jupiter, placing his hand on his right organ of vision, and holding it there with desperate purpose, as if in instant fear of his master's attempt at a gouge. "I thought so! -- I knew it! hurrah!" exclaimed Legrand, letting the negro go and made a series of leaps and twists, much to the astonishment of his servant, who rising from his knees, looked, mutely, from his master to myself, and then from myself to his master. "Come! we must go back," said the latter, "the game's not up yet"; and he again led the way to the tulip-tree. "Jupiter," said he, when we reached its foot, "come here! was the skull nailed to the limb with the face outward, or with the face to the limb?" "De face was out, massa, so dat de crows could get at de eyes good, widout any trouble." "Well, then, was it this eye or that, through which you dropped the beetle?" -- here Legrand touched each of Jupiter's eyes. "Twas dis eye, massa -- de lef' eye -- jis as you tell me," and here it was his right eye that the negro indicated. "That will do -- we must try again." Here my friend, about whose madness I now saw, or imagined I saw, sure signs of method, removed the peg which marked the spot where the beetle fell, to a spot about three inches to the west of its previous position. Taking, now,

the tape measure from the point of the trunk to the peg, like before, and continuing the extension in a straight line to the distance of fifty feet, he located a spot, several yards away, from the point at which we had been digging. Around the new location, a circle, somewhat larger than in the previous case, was now made, and we again set to work with the spade. I was dreadfully tired, but, not understanding what had changed my thoughts, I no longer felt any dislike of the work. I had become most inexplicably interested -- nay, even excited. Perhaps there was something, in all of Legrand’s extravagant behavior -- some hint of a plan, or of deliberation, which impressed me. I dug eagerly, and now and then caught myself actually looking, with something like expectation, for the imagined treasure, whose vision had made my unfortunate companion crazy. At a moment when such vague thoughts had fully gotten a hold of me, and when we had been working perhaps an hour and a half, we were again interrupted by the violent barking of the dog. His agitation, in the first case, had evidently been the result of playfulness or instinct, but he now assumed a bitter and serious tone. When Jupiter again attempted to muzzle him, he resisted furiously, and, leaping into the hole, frantically dug at the mound with his claws. In a few seconds he had uncovered a mass of human bones, making two complete skeletons, mixed with several metal buttons, and what appeared to be the dust of decayed fabric. One or two strokes of the spade uncovered the blade of a large Spanish knife, and, as we dug farther, three or four loose pieces of gold and silver coin were revealed. At the sight of these items Jupiter’s joy could scarcely be controlled, but his master’s face looked extremely disappointed. He urged us, however, to continue our efforts, and the words were hardly spoken when I stumbled and fell forward, having caught the toe of my boot in a large ring of iron that was half buried in the loose earth. We now worked intently, and I never passed ten minutes more excitedly. During this time we had almost uncovered an oblong chest of wood, which, from its perfect preservation and wonderful hardness, had clearly undergone some mineralizing process -- perhaps of bichloride of mercury. This box was three feet and a half long, three feet wide, and two and a half feet deep. It was firmly secured by bands of wrought iron, riveted, and shaped some kind of open trellis-work over its entirety. On each side of the chest, near the top, were three rings of iron -- six in all – from which six people could get a firm hold. Our

greatest united efforts disturbed the chest only very slightly in its bed. We immediately saw it was impossible to remove so great a weight. Luckily, the lids only fastenings were two sliding bolts. These we drew back -- trembling and panting anxiously. In an instant, a treasure of incalculable value lay gleaming before us. As the rays of the lanterns fell inside the pit, there flashed upward a glow and a glare, from a jumbled heap of gold and of jewels that absolutely dazzled our eyes. I will not pretend to describe the feelings with which I looked. Amazement was, of course, the main one. Legrand appeared exhausted with excitement, and spoke very few words. Jupiter's face had, for some minutes, as deadly a paleness as it is possible for any negro's face to have. He seemed stunned – thunderstricken. Soon he fell on his knees in the pit, and buried his naked arms up to his elbows in gold, let them remain there, as if enjoying the luxury of a bath. Finally, with a deep sigh, he exclaimed, as if talking in a monologue: "And dis all cum ob de goole-bug! de putty goole-bug! the poor little goole-bug, what I boosed in tat sabage kind ob style! Aint you shamed ob yourself, nigger? -- answer me dat!" ["And this all come from the gold-bug! The pretty gold-bug! the poor little gold-bug, that I abused in that savage kind of style! Aint you ashamed of yourself, nigger? -- answer me that!"] It became necessary, at last, that I should alert both master and servant to the practicality of removing the treasure. It was growing late, and it was most appropriate for us to work, to get everything packed before daylight. It was difficult to say what we should do, and we spent a lot of time in discussion -- so confused were our thoughts. We, finally, lightened the box by removing two thirds of its contents, when we were able, with some trouble, to raise it from the hole. We deposited the articles we took out among the brambles, and the dog left to guard them, with strict orders from Jupiter neither, for any reason, to stir from the spot, nor to open his mouth until we returned. We then hurriedly left for home with the chest; reaching the hut safely, but after a lot of effort, at one o'clock in the morning. Wore out as we were, it was not humanly possible to do more immediately. We rested until two, and had supper; we started for the hills immediately afterward, armed with three strong sacks, which, luckily, we found at the house. A little before four we arrived at the pit, divided the remainder of the booty, as equally as might be, among us, and, leaving the holes unfilled, again set out for the hut, where, for the second time, we deposited our

gold burdens, just as the first faint streaks of dawn gleamed from over the tree-tops in the East. We were now thoroughly exhausted; but the intense excitement of the time did not allow us to rest. After a restless sleep of some three or four hours, we arose, as if by agreement, to examine our treasure. The chest had been full to the brim, and we spent the whole day, and most of the next night, examining its contents. Nothing was arranged in order. Everything had been heaped in randomly. Having sorted everything with care, we found that we possessed an even greater wealth than we had first assumed. In coin there was more than four hundred and fifty thousand dollars -- estimating the value of the pieces, as accurately as we could, by the values of that time. There was not a bit of silver. Everything was antique gold and of great variety -- French, Spanish, and German money, with a few English guineas, and some pieces, which we’d never seen before. There were several very large and heavy coins, so worn that we couldn’t make out their inscriptions. There was no American money. We had more difficulty in estimating the value of the jewels. There were diamonds -- some of them very large and fine -- a hundred and ten in all, and not one of them small; eighteen rubies of remarkable brilliancy; -- three hundred and ten emeralds, all very beautiful; and twenty-one sapphires, with an opal. These stones had all been broken from their settings and thrown loose in the chest. The settings, which we picked out from among the other gold, appeared to have been broken up with hammers as if to prevent identification. Besides all this, there was a vast quantity of solid gold ornaments; nearly two hundred massive finger-and ear-rings; rich chains -- thirty of these, if I remember; eighty-three very large and heavy crucifixes; five gold censers of great value; an extraordinary golden punch-bowl, ornamented with richly chased vine-leaves and Bacchanalian figures; with two sword-handles exquisitely engraved, and many other smaller articles which I cannot remember. The weight of these valuables exceeded three hundred and fifty pounds avoirdupois;[10] and in this estimate I’ve not included one hundred and ninety seven superb gold watches; three of them worth five hundred dollars each. Many of them were very old, and as timekeepers of no value; the gears suffering, more or less, from corrosion -- but all were richly jeweled and very valuable cases. We estimated the entire contents of the chest, that night, at a million and a half of dollars, and after disposal of the trinkets and jewels that

followed (we retained a few for our own use), it was found that we had greatly undervalued the treasure. When, finally, we finished our examination, and the excitement of the time had lessened, Legrand, who saw that I was dying with impatience for a solution to this most extraordinary riddle, fully explained in every detail all the circumstances connected with it. "You remember," said he, "the night when I handed you the rough sketch I had made of the scarabaeus. You remember also, that I became annoyed at you for insisting that my drawing looked like a death's-head. When you first claimed so, I thought you were joking; but afterward I remembered the strange spots on the insect’s back, and had to admit that your comment had some truth in it. Still, your ridicule of my drawing abilities irritated me -- for I am considered a good artist -- and, therefore, when you handed me the scrap of parchment,[11] I was about to crumple it up and throw it angrily into the fire." "The scrap of paper, you mean," said I. "No; it appeared to be paper, and at first I thought it was, but when I drew on it, I discovered it to be a piece of very thin parchment. It was quite dirty, you remember. Well, as I was in the very act of crumpling it up, I glanced at the sketch you had been looking at, and I was astonished to notice the figure of a death's-head just where, I thought, I had drawn the beetle. For a moment I was much too amazed to think clearly. I knew that my drawing’s details were very different -- although there was a similarity in the general outline. I took a candle, and sat at the other end of the room and proceeded to examine the parchment more closely. On turning it over, I saw my own sketch on the reverse, just as I had made it. My first thought, now, was surprise at the really remarkable similarity in the outline -- at the rarity of this coincidence -- that there was a skull on the other side of the parchment, immediately under my drawing of the scarabaeus, and that this skull, not only in outline, but also in size, so closely resembled my drawing. The rarity of this coincidence absolutely stunned me for a while. This is the usual effect of such coincidences. The mind struggles to make connections – to sequence causes and effects -- and, when unable to do so, is temporarily paralyzed. But, when I recovered, I gradually came to believe something that surprised me even more than the coincidence. I began distinctly and positively to remember that there had been no drawing on the parchment when I sketched my scarabaeus. I was perfectly sure of this; for I remembered

turning up first one side and then the other to search for the cleanest spot. Had the skull been then there, of course I would have noticed it. Here indeed was a mystery which I could not explain; but, even at that early moment, there glimmered, faintly, inside the most distant and secret chambers of my mind, a glow-worm-like idea of the truth which last night's adventure demonstrated so magnificently. I immediately got up, and putting the parchment safely away, thought about it no more until I was alone. "When you had left, and when Jupiter was asleep, I began a systematic investigation of the affair. Firstly, I considered how I had found the parchment. The spot where we discovered the scarabaeus was on the mainland coast, about a mile east of the island, and a short distance above the high-tide mark. On taking hold of it, it had given me a sharp bite, which caused me to drop it. Jupiter, with his usual care, before grabbing the insect, which had flown toward him, looked around for a leaf, or something similar, to grab it. At this moment his eyes, and mine, saw the scrap of parchment, which at that time I thought was paper. It was lying half buried in the sand, a corner sticking up. Near the spot where we found it, I noticed the remnants of the hull of what looked like a ship's longboat. The wreck seemed to have been there for a very long time; for its resemblance to boat timbers was scarcely noticeable. "Well, Jupiter picked up the parchment, wrapped the beetle in it, and gave it to me. Soon after we turned to go home, and on the way met Lieutenant G -- -- . I showed him the insect, and he begged me to let him take it to the fort. When I agreed, he immediately put it into his waistcoat pocket, without the parchment that it had been wrapped in, and which I still held in my hand while he inspected the beetle. Perhaps he thought I’d change my mind, and thought to make sure of the prize immediately -- you know how enthusiastic he is about anything related to Natural History. At the same time, without realizing it, I must have put the parchment in my own pocket. "You remember that when I went to the table, to sketch the beetle, I found no paper where it was usually kept. I looked in the drawer, and found none there. I searched my pockets, hoping to find an old letter, when my hand fell on the parchment. I detailed the exact way I acquired it because the circumstances made a strong impression on me. "No doubt you will think I’m imagining things -- but I had already established a kind of connection. I had put together two links of a great chain.

There was a boat lying on the seacoast, and not far from the boat was a parchment -- not a paper -- with a skull pictured on it. You will, of course, ask 'Where is the connection?' I answer that the skull, or death's-head, is the well-known sign of pirates. The flag of the death's-head is raised in every battle. "I have said that the scrap was parchment, and not paper. Parchment is durable -- almost imperishable. Unimportant matters are rarely put on parchment since; for common drawing or writing, it’s not as appropriate as paper. This thought suggested something important -- something relevant -- in the death's-head. I also noticed the form of the parchment. Although one of its corners had been, destroyed, it was clear that its original shape was oblong. It was just such a slip as might have been chosen for a memorandum -- for a record of something that was to be long remembered and carefully preserved." "But," I interrupted, "you say that the skull was not on the parchment when you drew the beetle. How then do you connect the boat and the skull -- since this last, as you admit, must have been sketched (God only knows how or by whom) sometime after your sketch of the scarabaeus?" "Ah, on this depends the whole mystery; although I had little difficulty in solving the secret at this point. My steps were precise, and could result in only one thing. I thought this way: when I drew the scarabaeus, there was no skull visible on the parchment. When I finished the drawing I gave it to you, and watched you closely until you returned it. You, therefore, did not draw the skull, and no one else was present to do it. Therefore it was not done by a human act. But nevertheless it was done. "At this stage of my analysis I tried to remember, and did remember, clearly, every incident that occurred during the time in question. The weather was chilly (oh, rare and happy accident!), and a fire was blazing in the fireplace. I was hot from exercise and sat near the table. You, however, had drawn a chair close to the chimney. Just as I placed the parchment in your hand, and as you were inspecting it, Wolf, the Newfoundland, entered, and leaped on your shoulders. With your left hand you caressed him and kept him off, while your right, holding the parchment, fell limp between your knees, close to the fire. At one moment I thought the blaze had caught it, and was about to warn you, but, before I could speak, you took it, and started examining it. When I considered all these details, I had no doubt that heat had been the agent that revealed, on the parchment, the skull which I saw drawn there. You know that chemical

compounds exist, and have existed forever, that make it possible to write on either paper or parchment, so that the characters become visible only when subjected to fire. Zaffre[12] dipped in aqua regia,[13] and diluted with four times its weight of water, is sometimes used; a green tint results. The regulus of cobalt,[14] dissolved in spirit of nitre,[15] produces a red. These colors disappear at longer or shorter intervals after the material it’s written on cools, but are revealed again when heat is reapplied. "I now examined the death's-head carefully. Its outside edges -- the edges of the drawing nearest the edge of the parchment -- were more distinct than the others. It was clear that the action of the heat had been imperfect or unequal. I immediately kindled a fire, and subjected every part of the parchment to glowing heat. At first, the only result was that the faint lines in the skull grew stronger; but, on persisting in the experiment, at the corner diagonally opposite the spot where the death-head was sketched, a figure appeared that, at first, I thought was a goat. On closer examination, however, I confirmed that the intent was to draw a kid." "Ha! ha!" said I, "surely I have no right to laugh at you -- a million and a half is too serious a matter to joke about -- but you haven’t shown a third link in your chain – there is no special connection between your pirates and a goat -- pirates, you know, have nothing to do with goats; they are animals of the farm." "But I have just said that the figure was not a goat." "Well, a kid then -- pretty much the same thing." "Pretty much, but not entirely," said Legrand. "You may have heard of one Captain Kidd. I immediately considered the figure of the animal as a pun or hieroglyphical signature. I say signature, because its position on the vellum suggested this idea. The death's-head at the diagonally opposite corner had the feel of a stamp or seal. But I was confused by the absence of anything else -- of the body of my imagined tool -- of the text for my context." "I’m sure you expected to find a letter between the stamp and the signature." "Something like that. The fact is, I was completely convinced that some great good fortune was coming. I can scarcely say why. Perhaps, it was rather a desire than an actual belief; -- but do you know that Jupiter's silly words, about the bug being of solid gold, had a remarkable effect on my imagination? And then the series of accidents and coincidences -- these were so very

extraordinary. Did you notice what an accident it was that these events occurred on the only day of the year that it was cool enough for fire, and that without the fire, or without the interference of the dog at the exact moment he appeared, I should’ve never known about the death's-head, and so never owned the treasure?" "But continue -- I am full of impatience." "Well, you’ve heard, of course, the many current stories -- the thousand vague rumors that circulate about buried money, somewhere on the Atlantic coast, by Kidd and his associates. These rumors must have some basis in reality. And that the rumors have existed so long and so continuously, and could have resulted, it seemed to me, only due to the buried treasure still remaining buried. If Kidd had hidden his plunder for a time, and then reclaimed it, the rumors would scarcely have reached us in their current unchanged form. You will notice that the stories being told are all about money-seekers, not about money-finders. Had the pirate recovered his money, the affair would have ended there. It seemed to me that some accident – like the loss of a memorandum showing its location -- had prevented him from recovering it, and that this accident had become known to his followers, who otherwise might have never heard treasure had been hidden at all. They likely searched in vain because they had no guide. Any attempts to find it had resulted in the rumors that are now so common -- and became known to everyone. Have you ever heard of any important treasure being dug up along the coast?" "Never." "But it is well known that Kidd's stockpiles were immense. I took it for granted, then, that they were still in the earth; and you won’t be surprised when I tell you that I felt a hope, nearly a certainty, that the parchment in question and so strangely found, was a lost record of where it was." "But how did you proceed?" "After increasing the heat, I held the vellum again to the fire but nothing appeared. I thought that possibly the dirt coating might have something to do with the failure: so I carefully rinsed the parchment by pouring warm water over it, and, having done this, I placed it in a tin pan, with the skull downward, and put the pan on a furnace of lighted charcoal. In a few minutes, when the pan was completely heated, I removed the slip, and, to my indescribable joy, found it spotted, in several places, with what appeared to be figures arranged in lines.

Again I placed it in the pan, and kept it there another minute. On removing it, everything was as you see it now." Here Legrand, having reheated the parchment, gave it to me to inspect. The following characters were crudely traced, in a red tint, between the death's head and the goat: 53‡‡†305))6*;4826)4‡.)4‡);806*;48†8 ¶60))85;1‡(;:‡*8†83(88)5*†;46(;88*96 *?;8)*‡(;485);5*†2:*‡(;4956*2(5*—4)8 ¶8*;4069285);)6†8)4‡‡;1(‡9;48081;8:8‡ 1;48†85;4)485†528806*81(‡9;48;(88;4 (‡?34;48)4‡;161;:188;‡?; "But," I said, returning the slip to him, "I know as little now as before. If all the jewels of Golconda[16] were waiting for me when I solved this riddle, I’m sure I wouldn’t get them." "And yet, "said Legrand, "the solution isn’t as difficult as you might think from a quick look at the characters. These characters are a cipher -- that is to say, they convey a meaning; but from what’s known about Kidd, I didn’t think he was capable of creating a complex cryptograph. Immediately I made up my mind that this cipher was simple – of the type, however, that would appear to the crude mind of a sailor completely unsolvable without the key." "And you really solved it?" "Easily; I have solved others ten thousand times more complex. Circumstances, and a certain bias of mind, have interested me in such riddles. I doubt that human ingenuity can create a puzzle that human ingenuity cannot solve if properly applied. In fact, once I established the connections and legible characters, I didn’t even think about the difficulty of deciphering their meaning. "In this case -- indeed in every case of secret writing -- the first question is about the language of the cipher. The rules of the solution, especially concerning the simpler ciphers, depend on and vary, depending on the particular language. In general, the only choice is to experiment (guided by probabilities) using every language known to the problem solver, until he discovers the language used. But, in the cipher now before us, all difficulty was removed by the signature. The pun on the word 'Kidd' is appreciable only in English. If not for this consideration I would have started with Spanish and

French, as these are the languages most likely to have been used for a secret of this kind by a pirate of the Spanish Main. So, I assumed the cryptograph to be English. "You notice there are no gaps between the words. Had there been gaps the task would have even easier. In that case I would have started by organizing and analyzing the shorter words, and, if there was a word of a single letter, most likely (a or I, for example), the solution would have been certain. But, since there was no gap, my first step was to identify the most frequent letters, as well as the least frequent. Counting all of them, I created a table in this way: Of the character 8 there are 33. ; " " 26. 4 " " 19. ‡) " " 16. * " " 13. 5 " " 12. 6 " " 11. †1 " " 8. 0 " " 6. 92 " " 5. : 3 " " 4. ? " " 3. ¶ " " 2. _. " " 1. "Now, in English, the letter that occurs most frequently is e. The order of frequency after is this: a o i d h n r s t u y c f g l m w b k p q x z. E is so frequent, that it’s a rare sentence in which it is not the prevailing character. "Here, then, we have, in the very beginning, the basis for something more than mere guess. It is obvious how the table may be used -- but, in this particular cipher, we will need its help only partially. As our most frequent character is 8, we will start by assuming it as the e of the alphabet. To verify the supposition, let’s see if the 8 appears often in twos – since e is doubled frequently in English -- in such words, for example, as 'meet,' 'fleet,' 'speed,' 'seen,' 'been,' 'agree,' etc. In this case, it’s doubled no less than five times, although the cryptograph is brief.

"Let us assume 8, then, is e. Now, of all words in the language, 'the' is the most common; let’s see, therefore, if any three characters are repeated, in the same order, with the last being 8. If we discover these letters repeated, they’ll most probably represent the word 'the.' On inspection, we find no less than seven such arrangements, the characters being ;48. We may, therefore, assume that ; represents t, 4 represents h, and 8 represents e -- this last is now well confirmed. In this way we’ve taken a great step. "But, having solved a single word, we established a very important point; that is to say, several beginnings and endings of other words. Let’s look, for example, at the next to the last instance, where the combination ;48 occurs – close to the end of the cipher. We know that the ; immediately following is the start of a word, and, of the six characters following this 'the,' we recognize no less than five. Let us write these characters down by the letters they represent, leaving a space for the unknown – t eeth. "Here we are able, immediately, to reject the 'th,' as part of the word starting with the first t; because by checking the entire alphabet for a letter fitting the blank, we find no word in where th appears. So we can narrow it to t ee, and, going through the alphabet as before we come to the word 'tree,' as the only possible reading. We thus gain another letter, r, represented by (, with the words 'the tree' in juxtaposition. "Looking past these words, we again see the combination ;48, and use it by way of termination to what comes immediately before. We have thus this arrangement: the tree ;4(‡?34 the, or substituting the natural letters, that we know, it reads thus: the tree thr(‡?3h the."Now, if, in place of the unknown characters, we leave blank spaces, or substitute dots, we read thus:the tree thr...h the, where the word 'through' makes itself immediately known. But this discovery

gives us three new letters, o, u, and g, represented by ‡, ?, and 3. "Looking now, narrowly, through the cipher for combinations of known characters, we find, not very far from the beginning, this arrangement, 83(88, or egree, which, clearly, is the ending of the word 'degree,' giving us another letter, d, represented by † "Four letters beyond the word 'degree,' we see the combination ;46(;88. "Translating the known characters, and representing the unknown by dots, as before, we read thus: th.rtee, an arrangement immediately suggesting the word 'thirteen,' and again providing us with two new characters, i and n, represented by 6 and *. "Referring, now, to the beginning of the cryptograph, we find the combination,53‡‡†. "Translating as before, we obtain .good, which assures us that the first letter is A, and that the first two words are 'A good.' "It is now time to arrange our key, as far as we know, in a table form, to avoid confusion. It will look like this: 5 represents a † " d 8 " e 3 " g 4 " h 6 " i * " n ‡ " o ( " r ; " t ? " u "We have, therefore, eleven of the most important letters represented.

There is no need to go into further details of the solution. I have said enough to convince you that ciphers of this type are easily solvable and to give you some insight into the rationale of their creation. But be assured that the example we have here is the very simplest type of cryptograph. The only thing left is to give you the full translation of the characters on the parchment, as solved. Here it is: "'A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes northeast and by north main branch seventh limb east side shoot from the left eye of the death's-head a bee-line from the tree through the shot fifty feet out.'" "But," I said, "the riddle still seems as bad as ever. How is it possible to arrive at a meaning from all this jargon about 'devil's seats,' 'death's-heads,' and 'bishop's hostels'?" "I agree," replied Legrand, "that the matter still seems serious, at first glance. My first attempt was to divide the sentence into the natural parts that the cryptographist intended." "You mean, to punctuate it?" "Something like that." "But how was it possible to achieve this?" "I remembered that the writer made a point to run his words together without separation, to make the solution more difficult. Now, an overcautious man would surely overdo the matter. When composing he arrived at a gap that naturally required a pause, or a point, he would be more likely to place his characters close together. If you’ll notice the manuscript you will easily detect five such cases of unusual crowding. Acting on this hint, I made the division thus: "'A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat -- forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes -- northeast and by north -- main branch seventh limb east side -- shoot from the left eye of the death's-head -- a bee-line from the tree through the shot fifty feet out.'" "Even this division," said I, "still leaves me in the dark." "It left me also in the dark," replied Legrand, "for a few days; during which I inquired, in the area of Sullivan's Island, for any building known as the 'Bishop's Hotel'; for, of course, I dropped the obsolete word 'hostel.' Learning nothing on the subject, I was about to expand my search area and continue in a more systematic manner, when, one morning, I realized, quite suddenly, that this 'Bishop's Hostel' might refer to an old family, by the name of Bessop, which, for

as long as anyone can remember, had owned an ancient manor-house, about four miles to the north of the island. So I went over to the plantation, and again began my inquiries amongst the older negros of the place. Finally one of the oldest women told me she’d heard of such a place as Bessop's Castle, and thought that she could guide me to it, but that it was not a castle, nor a tavern, but a massive rock. "I offered to pay her well for her trouble, and, after protesting a bit, she agreed to go with me to the spot. We found it easily, and when she left, I examined the place. The 'castle' was a rough collection of cliffs and rocks -- one of the latter quite remarkable for its height as well as its isolated and artificial appearance. I climbed to the top, and then had no idea what to do next. "While I was thinking, I saw a narrow ledge in the eastern face of the rock, perhaps a yard below the peak where I stood. This ledge projected about eighteen inches, and was not more than a foot wide. A niche in the cliff just above it resembled one of the hollow-backed chairs used by our ancestors. Now I knew this was the 'devil's-seat' referred to in the manuscript and now I understood the full secret of the riddle. "The 'good glass,' I knew, could only refer to a telescope; for the word 'glass' rarely means anything else to seamen. Now here, I knew immediately that a telescope was to be used, and a definite point of view, allowing no deviation, from which to use it. Immediately I understood that the phrases, 'forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes,' and 'northeast and by north,' were directions for leveling the glass. Greatly excited by these discoveries, I hurried home, got a telescope, and returned to the rock. "I climbed down to the ledge, and found it was impossible to sit except in one particular spot. This confirmed my previous idea. I used the glass. Of course, the 'forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes' could only refer to the height above the visible horizon, since the horizontal direction was clearly described by the words, 'northeast and by north.' This latter direction I established by using a pocket-compass; then, pointing the glass as close to an angle of forty-one degrees high as I could guess, I moved it carefully up or down, until I saw a round opening in the leaves of a large tree that topped its fellows in the distance. In the center of this opening I noticed a white spot, but could not, at first, make it out. Adjusting the focus of the telescope, I looked again, and now saw a human skull.

"On discovering this I was so hopeful that I thought the riddle solved; for the phrase 'main branch, seventh limb, east side,' could refer only to the position of the skull on the tree, while 'shoot from the left eye of the death's-head' could only mean only one thing -- buried treasure. I remembered the directions were to drop a bullet from the left eye of the skull, and that a beeline, or, in other words, a straight line, measured from the trunk through 'the shot' (or the spot where the bullet fell), and then extending out fifty feet, would identify a point -- and beneath this point it was at least possible that something valuable was hidden." "All this," I said, "is very clear, and, although ingenious, still simple and explicit. When you left the 'Bishop's Hotel,' what then?" "Why, having carefully taken the bearings of the tree, I returned home. The instant that I left 'the devil's-seat,' however, the circular rift disappeared; nor could I see it afterward, turn as I might. What seems to me the cleverest thing in this whole business, is the fact (for experimenting repeatedly has convinced me it is a fact) that the round opening is only visible from nowhere else but the narrow ledge on the rock face. "In this expedition to the 'Bishop's Hotel' Jupiter had accompanied me, who had, no doubt, observed, for the past weeks, my distractedness, and was especially careful not to leave me alone. But, the next day, getting up very early, I gave him the slip, and went into the hills in search of the tree. After much effort I found it. When I returned that night my servant was ready to flog me. With the rest of the adventure I believe you are as familiar as I am." "I suppose," said I, "you missed the spot, the first time we dug, due to Jupiter's stupidity in letting the bug fall through the right instead of the left eye of the skull." "Precisely. This mistake made a difference of about two and half inches in the 'shot' -- that is the position of the peg nearest the tree; and had the treasure been beneath the 'shot,' the error wouldn’t have mattered; but 'the shot' closest to the spot in the tree, were just two reference points establishing a direction; of course the error, however small in the beginning, increased as we proceeded with the line, and by the time we’d gone fifty feet it threw us off quite a bit. If not for my belief that treasure was actually buried here somewhere, we might have done all that work for nothing." "I assume the idea of the skull, of letting a bullet fall through the skull's eye

-- was suggested to Kidd from the pirate flag. No doubt he felt a kind of poetical consistency in recovering his money through this ominous symbol." "Perhaps. Still I can’t help thinking that common-sense had as much to do with the matter as poetical consistency. To be visible from the devil's-seat, it was necessary that the small object should be white; and there is nothing like your human skull for retaining and even increasing its whiteness when exposed to all types of weather." "But your aloofness, and your behavior in swinging the beetle -- how very odd! I was sure you were crazy. And why did you insist on letting the bug fall, instead of a bullet, from the skull?" "Why, to be honest, I was somewhat annoyed by your very clear suspicions regarding my sanity, and so decided to punish you quietly, in my own way, by a little bit of serious mystery. For this reason I swung the beetle, and for this reason I let it fall from the tree. Your comment about its great weight suggested the latter idea." "Yes, I understand; and now only one point remains that puzzles me. What are we to conclude about the skeletons found in the hole?" "That is a question I am no more able to answer than you. There seems, however, only one reasonable way of explaining them -- and yet it’s horrible to believe in an atrocity like the one my suggestion implies. It is clear that Kidd -- if Kidd indeed hid this treasure, which I don’t doubt – it’s clear that he must have had help in the effort. But with this help no longer needed, he may have thought it practical to remove everyone who shared his secret. Perhaps a couple of blows with a pickax were enough, while his helpers were busy in the pit; perhaps he required a dozen blows -- who can tell?"

Notes

At first glance, "The Gold-Bug" tells of William Legrand’s discovery of buried pirate treasure. At story start Legrand finds a gold-colored bug and is bitten by it. His servant, Jupiter, fears Legrand is going insane and seeks the help of the unnamed narrator. Legrand’s apparent obsession with the bug draws the other two into a successful hunt for Captain Kidd’s treasure. But the story is also a mystery and contains many of the elements now considered central to detective stories. More than a third of the story consists of Legrand explaining how he used reason to break a code and then followed its clues to deduce the location

of the treasure. The explanation takes the reader into the mind of an intelligent hero who is now a staple of detective fiction. He is endowed with above average intelligence and deductive power. Once the hero explains and makes the connections and explains, the audience too sees the logic and inevitability of the one true solution. Edgar Allan Poe wrote several stories similar to “The Gold-Bug” which incorporate features of what was to become the genre of detective fiction. Poe called these "tales of ratiocination" meaning the process by which the hero detects what others have missed or considered unimportant using his superior reasoning powers. In "The Gold-Bug," Legrand’s servant Jupiter, the narrator and the audience are duped into thinking the gold bug’s sting has affected Legrand’s sanity, but in fact he is distracted by a coded message on parchment. Legrand soon pulls the narrator and Jupiter into the search for the treasure whose location, unbeknownst to the others, he has deciphered. As in any good mystery there are distractions, false leads, and intrigue: the narrator doubts Legrand’s sanity; the gold bug may be part of the story but it’s also a pun by Poe to muddle the waters; a bug that looks like a skull is sketched on a manuscript where another skull then appears; Jupiter, the servant, adds superstitions including his insistence that the bug is real gold. Legrand toys with servant and narrator by inserting the gold-bug into the treasure hunt to punish them “quietly, in my own way, by a little bit of sober mystification.” Edgar Allan Poe had been stationed at Fort Moultrie on Sullivan's Island in 1827-1828 and heard of its connection to Captain Kidd. He used the area as setting for several of his stories. Local Sullivan's Island and Charleston legend says that Poe’s "Annabel Lee" was inspired by his time in South Carolina. On Sullivan's Island Poe also likely noticed two insects found in the area: one with a gold-tinted body and the other with two black spots on its back. He added the bug bite, the connection to gold, pirates, and secret writing. "The Gold-Bug" includes a cipher that uses simple substitution. To most people in the 19th century, cryptography was a mystery and those able to break codes were considered almost supernatural. For about four months in 1840 Poe drew attention to “secret writing” in Alexander's Weekly Messenger boasting he could solve any substitution cipher. In July 1841, he published "A Few Words on Secret Writing" and then wrote "The Gold-Bug" to capitalize on huge reader interest. He entered “The Gold-Bug” into a writing contest sponsored by the

Philadelphia Dollar Newspaper and won the grand prize. "The Gold-Bug" was an instant success and became the most popular of Poe's works during his lifetime. He later compared the success of "The Gold-Bug" with the success of "The Raven" and commented that "the bird beat the bug". The narrator and Legrand of "The Gold-Bug" have counterpart characters in Poe’s "The Murders in the Rue Morgue" and "The Purloined Letter." In these stories the reclusive Dupin solves crimes that have stumped the police because he enjoys the intellectual challenge. His narrator friend, like the audience, is stumped by the mystery and thus allows the hero to explain and demonstrate his superior reasoning skills and insight. The two-part structure of “The Gold-Bug” story is characteristic of Poe. Suspense builds in the first half because narrator and reader find Legrand’s actions odd and possibly unbalanced. The quotation that starts the story hints that a character may be suffering from madness. Only at story end does the reader realize there is a sound explanation for Legrand’s odd behavior. Poe himself adds to the obfuscation -- both in plot and in wordplay -- by making the bug responsible for Legrand’s obsession or illness. After Poe’s story, the phrase “bitten by the gold bug” became a popular description of a mania for treasure to the detriment of common sense and even health. Once the treasure is found and Legrand’s sanity is no longer an issue, readers are treated to a second mystery – how the puzzle was solved. Again, suspense builds as the now vindicated authority explains his very logical processes which answer all questions and connect all that today we call “loose ends.” Legrand has the intellectual skills to break the code but is also convinced that if human ingenuity can create a puzzle then human ingenuity can solve it if the mind is “properly applied.” Poe has influenced writers, literary theory, and popular culture. "The Gold-Bug" inspired Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island (1883), for example, and played a major role in popularizing cryptography. Even in the Twentieth Century, William F. Friedman, who helped decipher Japan's PURPLE code during World War II, credited "The Gold-Bug" for interesting him in cryptography. Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849) is known the world over for his stories of premature burial and for an assortment of characters of questionable sanity. “The Tell-Tale Heart,” “The Fall of the House of Usher,” and “The Cask of Amontillado” are classics of the short story format but also of horror. But Poe

was more versatile; he is known as the Father of Literary Criticism, as an originator of detective and science fiction, and as a poet of some of the most haunting poetry ever written. Magic, mystery, and rhythmic melodies feature prominently in his poems; in fact, during his lifetime, Poe was best known for his poetic lyric elegy, “The Raven” rather than his stories. The characters that Poe created still hold the interest of today’s readers but his own short life is equally fascinating. Edgar Poe was born to traveling actors in Boston on January 19, 1809. While still less than three years old and after both parents died, he was taken in by a wealthy tobacco merchant named John Allan and his wife Frances in Richmond, Virginia. Allan wanted Poe to be a businessman and a Virginia gentleman, but Poe dreamed of being a writer like his hero the British poet Lord Byron. His father discouraged his artistic career and despite sending him to the University of Virginia, he did not sufficiently support him financially. Poe soon started gambling to make money but by the end of his first term, though academically successful, he was desperately poor. Edgar Allan Poe had a contentious relationship with his father for the rest of his life and facets of the relationship can be identified throughout his stories. Poe suffered another of his many setbacks when his fiancée became engaged to another man. The heartbroken Poe left the Allans to venture out on his own; to support himself he enlisted in the Army but also managed to publish his first book when only eighteen. Two years later, Frances Allan, the only mother he had ever known, became ill with tuberculosis but by the time Poe arrived in Richmond, she had already died. Poe and Allan briefly reconciled, and Allan helped Poe enter West Point. Continuing difficulties with finances and Allan led to his expulsion from the academy eight months later. Broke and alone, Poe turned to Baltimore, where a relative of his late father’s, Maria Clemm, welcomed him into her home and became a new mother to him. While Poe was in Baltimore, Allan died but left Poe out of his will, which did, however, provide for an illegitimate son that Allan had never met. Poe lived in poverty but one of his stories won a contest sponsored by the Saturday Visiter. The connections Poe established through the contest led to more stories being published and then to an editorial position at the Southern Literary Messenger in Richmond where Poe finally flourished as a magazine writer. Within a year and due to his sensational stories and scathing book reviews, the Messenger had become the most popular magazine in the South. Poe became

known as a literary critic who targeted some of the most famous writers in the country. One of his targets was the anthologist and editor Rufus Griswold who would later greatly influence Poe’s post-mortem reputation. At the age of twenty-seven, Poe brought Maria and Virginia Clemm to Richmond and married Virginia who was not yet fourteen. The marriage was a happy one, and the family is even said to have enjoyed singing together at night. Virginia expressed her devotion to her husband in a Valentine poem and Poe celebrated the joys of married life in his poem “Eulalie.” In 1838, dissatisfied with his low pay and lack of editorial control at the Messenger, Poe moved to New York City but struggled to find work there. The year after, he moved to Philadelphia and wrote for a number of different magazines. In spite of his growing fame, Poe was barely making enough to support his family of three. For the publication of his first book of short stories, Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque, he was paid with only twenty-five free copies. He soon championed the cause of higher wages for writers as well as international copyright law. To change the face of the magazine industry, he tried starting his own journal but could not find the necessary financial support. Tragedy struck in 1842 when Poe’s wife contracted tuberculosis, the disease that had already claimed Poe’s mother, brother, and foster mother. Poe returned to New York in 1844 and became known for a “news story” of a balloon trip across the ocean; the public rushed to read about the trip—until Poe revealed that it was a hoax. Bits of the story found their way into “The Angel of the Odd” which was written at about the same time. The January 1845 publication of “The Raven” made Poe a household name. Crowds rushed to his lectures and his pay improved. He published two books that year and realized his dream of publishing his own magazine by buying the Broadway Journal. His success was short, however; the magazine soon failed, his wife’s health deteriorated, and rumors arose about Poe’s relationship with a married woman. In 1846 he was forced to leave New York and moved to a small cottage in the country where in the winter of 1847 Virginia died at the age of twenty-four. Poe was devastated and could not write for months. He lived another two years and spent much of that time traveling from city to city lecturing and seeking support for a new magazine he proposed to be called The Stylus. While on lecture tour in Lowell, Massachusetts, Poe befriended Nancy

Richmond. His idealized love for her inspired some great poetry but she was married and unattainable. Poe then attempted to marry the poet Sarah Helen Whitman in Providence, but the engagement lasted only about a month. In Richmond he found his earlier fiancée, Elmira Royster Shelton who was now a widow, and again began to court her. On what proved his final trip, he left for Philadelphia for work considering himself engaged to her; her letters imply that she felt the same. On his way to Philadelphia, Poe stopped in Baltimore and there disappeared for five days. He was found “in great distress” in a bar room that was being used for an election and sent to a hospital where he died on October 7, 1849 at the age of forty. Poe’s mother-in-law and fiancée learned of his death from newspapers. The exact cause of Poe’s death remains a mystery but has been attributed to alcohol, brain congestion, cholera, drugs, heart disease, rabies, carbon monoxide poisoning, tuberculosis, and other causes.[17] Days after Poe’s death, his literary rival Rufus Griswold wrote a libelous obituary as revenge for Poe’s criticism of his work and then a memoir portraying Poe as a drunken, womanizing madman with no morals and no friends. Griswold intended the public to dismiss Poe but the opposite happened and Poe’s books sold better than ever. Today Edgar Allan Poe is considered one of America’s greatest writers—he is an originator of the short story and of the detective genre. His stories set out the basic principles of detective fiction with Dupin, a character he created, serving as a model for Sherlock Holmes and a host of other famous fictional detectives. Poe is considered part of the Romantic Movement and the Gothic genre which he, Lord Byron, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and Mary Shelley popularized at the beginning of the 19th century. Gothic fiction is an extreme form of Romanticism which is characterized by terror and heightened senses centered solidly on man rather than on institutions or God as in previous eras. “Gothic” refers to the ominous dark buildings where many of these stories take place and where mystery, horror, suspense, and death are at home. Poe is often grouped with other American Romantics, notably Nathaniel Hawthorne and Herman Melville, who together are labeled Dark Romantics for their emphasis on human fallibility and man’s proclivity towards sin and self-destruction. All three Americans were well aware of but also frustrated by the lack of reform they thought society needed. According to G. R. Thompson, Dark Romantics differ from mainstream

Romantics by their propensity for evil and amoral choices. Despite being overly aware of their depravity they are unable to control or overcome these forces. They often suspect that the physical world is “a delusive projection of the mind” and are fascinated by “inexplicable and vastly metaphysical phenomena.”[18] Black Romantic stories feature outcasts and psychically torn and tormented individuals that teeter between salvation and destruction. For other classic short stories in easy to understand modern English search for “George Lakon” and www.EasyStories.net. [1] Horticulturist = A specialist in growing fruits, vegetables, flowers, or ornamental plants. [2] Misanthropy = dislike of common humanity. [3] Johann Jacob Swammerdamm, author of "Historia Insectorum generalis" (1669). Later translated into English as "The Book of Nature" or, "The History of Insects" (1758). [4] Bivalve = molluscs that have laterally compressed bodies enclosed by a shell of two hinged parts such as clams, oysters, and scallops. [5] Foolscap = a size of paper formerly standard in Great Britain, measuring 17.2 cm x 21.6 cm. [6] Scarabaeus caput hominis = Death’s head beetle [7] Syphon = ciphering. Today we would say ‘deciphering’ or ‘trying to solve.’ [8] Brusquerie = brusque manner [9] Scythe = a farming tool with a long curved blade and a long handle often used to harvest wheat or other grasses. The Grim Reaper, the personification of death, is often pictured as a cloaked skeleton holding a scythe (to reap souls just as people reap wheat.) [10] Avoirdupois = a system of weights based on a pound containing 16 ounces or 7,000 grains. [11] Parchment = a material made from animal skin; often calfskin, sheepskin, or goatskin commonly used as a material to write on. [12] Zaffre = an oxide of cobalt created by heating cobalt ore and used to stain glass blue during Victorian times. [13] Aqua Regia = a mixture of hydrochloric acid and nitric acid; it can dissolve gold, which single acids alone cannot.

[14] Regulus of cobalt = pure cobalt; named by the copper miners of the Hartz Mountains after the evil spirits, the "kobolds", which they believed gave a false copper ore. [15] Nitre = a clear or white mineral crystal of potassium nitrate. It’s usually found as growths on cavern walls. [16] Golkonda, also known as Golconda or Golla konda ("shepherd's hill"), capital of the Golconda Sultanate in India (c.1518–1687) and famous for its mines which have produced the world's most famous gems including the Hope Diamond, Idol's Eye, the Koh-i-Noor, and the Darya-i-Noor. [17] "Poe's Life." Death Theories. Www.poemuseum.org, n.d. Web. 20 June 2014. [18] Thompson, G. R., ed. "Introduction: Romanticism and the Gothic Tradition." Gothic Imagination: Essays in Dark Romanticism. Pullman, WA: Washington State University Press, 1974.