Among all the gruesome legends of the west shore of the river none is more famous than that of the "Guests from Gibbet Island." Yan Yost Vanderscamp, the scapegrace nephew of the innkeeper of Communipaw, disappeared with old Pluto, his uncle's negro servant, and reappeared years afterwards -- "a rough, burly bully ruffian, with fiery whiskers, a copper nose, a scar across his face, and a great Flaunderish beaver slouched on one side of his head." With him was Pluto, grown grizzled, blind of an eye, and more devilish in appearance than before. According to his own account the prodigal had secured the fatted calf in his travels and had brought it home with him. He had bags full of money and ships in every sea. He and a company of roystering companions he had brought with him made a pandemonium of the Wild Goose, as the inn was named, and shocked the respectable burghers of Communipaw beyond measure. At intervals the swaggering crew^ would disappear, to return, more riotous than ever, and set the village once more by the ears:

On the Jersey Shore 69

The mystery of all these proceedings gradually dawned upon the tardy intellects of Communipaw. These were the times of the notorious Captain Kidd, when the American harbours were the resorts of piratical adventurers of all kinds, who, under pretext of mercantile voyages, scoured the West Indies, made plundering descents upon the Spanish Main, visited even the remote Indian Seas, and then came to dispose of their booty, have their revels, and fit out new expeditions, in the English colonies. . . . At length the attention of the British government was called to these piratical enterprises, that were becoming so frequent and outrageous. Vigorous measures were taken to check and punish them. Several of the most noted freebooters were caught and executed, and three of Vanderscamp's chosen comrades, the most riotous swashbucklers of the Wild Goose, were hanged in chains on Gibbet Island, in full sight of their favourite resort.