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Ingraham, J. H. (Joseph Holt), 1809-1860 [1847], Blanche Talbot, or, The maiden's hand: a romance of the war of 1812 (Williams Brothers, New York) [word count] [eaf205].
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CHAPTER XIII. THE SURRENDER.

`Your account of Temple's villainy,' said
Mr. Gustavus to William Wilson,' has
painfully interested me. I begin already
to see the heavy causes which led to his
death by your hand. Will you inform me
how this occurred?'

`Although I have made my story so very
long,' answered Wilson, `still this remains
to be told. By this time I see that both of
you look upon me with more sympathy
than before. I trust I shall show you that
I have done only what every man placed
in my situation, would have been strongly
tempted to do. I have told you that the
same night I brought her home, none
of us slept. I walked the room till dawn,
planning some mode of vengeance—some
way of punishing the offender. I had been
wounded most grievously in my honor,
as a father and a man! My daughter, by
a false and inquitous marriage had been
degraded. I thought of an appeal to the
law; but what could the law do? He
was rich, I was poor. I should be defeated,
perhaps; and ruin would follow disgrace.
Day broke upon me before I had
resolved what course to pursue. I ate no
breakfast. I sallied out and hastened to
the old bootman's. I resolved to ascertain
how far he had been a partner in this false
scheme of guilt against me and mine. I
soon found he had been deceived, and when
I told him what had been done he was
overcome with surprise and indignation.
He advised me to take the law of Temple.

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Leaving him I went straight to the dwelling
of the imposter, hoping to find him in,
and resolved to compel him to marry my
child honestly. For the purpose of enforcing
my resolution, I armed myself with
a small hatchet, that I took from my workshop.
I had no intention of using it, but
only to intimidate and compel him to do
as I wished. He was not home. The
servant said he had not been in since the
the day previous, and had probably gone
to New York. I left the house filled with
grief and a burning desire of vengeance
upon the head of the despoiler. More
than once I resolved to start at once for
New York, and I was only deterred from
going by a suspicion that the villain was
still in the city. I wandered about all
day. I could not bear to return to my now
wretched home. I went into every resort
frequented by dissipated youth, in hopes to
meet him. Night came upon me, and I
slowly sought my dishonoured roof. I
entered and sat down in silence. My wife
seeing my distressed looks did not speak.
But I observed she wished to say something,
and I at length asked what it was.—
She asked me if I had seen Ann. This
was the name of my poor child. I inquired
if she was not home; she said that
she had left soon after breakfast, saying
she would soon be back. There was new
cause for grief, sir. The idea flashed upon
my mind that she had gone to drown herself.
This I suggested to my wife, and
thus filled my house with lamentations.—
`Better die, than live a dishonored life,'
said I; but I rose up and went forth to
seek her, not knowing where to go. But
walking, and the air out of doors helped
the pressure upon my heart.'

`Sir,' said Mr. Gustavus, pressing his
hand in his, `be assured I deeply feel for
you.'

`If I ever pitied a man in my life,' said
David Dalton, `it is you, William Nelson.
I don't blame you now, if you had met and
killed the villain. He deserved it.'

`No man, Mr. Dalton,' said Mr. Gustavus,
should take the law into his own
hands. Whatever may be the grievance,
the law of the land should be appealed to
for protection.'

`You are right, sir,' said William Wilson,
`I feel that you are right. I should
have left my case in the hands of my country;
but you shall hear what followed.—
After I left my house I bent my steps instinctively
towards the residence of Henry
Temple. I came opposite the house and
stood in the shade of the building, on
the other side of the street watching it.
I stood there an hour brooding over my
wrongs. I felt that the destroyer of my
peace was there concealed; I resolved to
enter the house by force and search for
him. I crossed the street with my hatchet
in my hand to batter the door in; for I believe,
sir, I was not exectly in my sane
mind, else I should not have adopted such
a course which would at once have placed
me under arrest, but I did not reflect. I
had but one idea, that of my child's disgrace,
and vengeance upon the wrongdoer;
just as I was about to ascend the
steps, I heard two persons coming along
the walk: I drew back into a recess adjoining
the house to wait till they should
pass. As they came near, I overheard
their conversation, and hearing Temple's
name uttered I was all ears. They stopped
at the door and continued to talk, for
they were to separate there; from their
words I learned that Temple was in town,
and that my daughter had taken up with
a life of prostitution She had fled, it
appeared, from my house, for the purpose
of finding Temple, to urge him to redress
her great wrong hy marrying her—instead
of meeting him, she met at the house of one
of his friends who deceitfully promised
to see her righted; and told her if she
would go to his rooms he would send for
Temple, and there compel him to marry
her. She believed him, and went along
with him, but the result was that she soon
found herself deceived. She, at length,
finding her ruin inevitable, and dreading to
return to home consented, in a sort of despair,
to remain with him upon the terms
he proposed to her. Gladly would I pass
over this revelation of my child's sudden
descent into depravity. These facts I
learned from the conversation I overheard,
for it was wholly about Temple and my
lost child. One of the young men was the
person who had thus beguiled her—they
parted, and the young fellow went on,
while the other entered the house. I followed
the former to ascertain where my
child was, and saw him go to his house.—
As he entered, I entered with him, and
found my child, but she fled on seeing me.
I implored her to return with me, when
she answered that her destiny was fixed,
and that all I could say would not move
her; she said she was lost, and that she
could never dishonour my roof by returning
to it.

`I then left the house in despair, and my
bosom on fire with vengeance, and thus
lost my child for ever, and I had but one
desire left, and this was to avenge myself
upon her destroyer. I knelt in the street,
and raising my hands to heaven, swore that
I would neither eat nor drink until I had
avenged my dishonour.

`I went back to his house, for I was

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fully persuaded he was there; I did not
approach by the street but in the rear; I
climbed the area fence, and descended into
the yard, and then stole up the steps
of the back piazza. I took off my shoes
and noiselessly crossed it; I could see the
faint glow of a light through the crimson
curtains of the back parlour windows.—
These windows reached to the floor of the
piazza.

`I listened at one of them. I heard
laughter. Temple's voice reached my ears.
It had a terrible effect upon me. I heard
him boasting of his deed of villainy. I was
maddened. I did not stop to see whether
the window was fastened. I raised my
hatchet, and in three blows dashed in the
sash, and, amid the wreck of glass I leaped
into the room. He had been seated at a
supper table with two of his companions,
but all three sprung with alarm to their
feet on my entrance in this manner. He at
once recognized me, and seeing me armed
with the gleaming hatchet, uttered a cry of
alarm, and fled from the room followed by
his friends. I pursued. I came up with
him in the hall. I seized him by the throat
and with one blow of my hatchet I struck
him to the floor. I clove his skull. He fell
dead without a groan, at my feet. What
followed I hardly recollect, till I found myself
wandering on the Common. Doubtless
the instinct of self-preservation had led
me to effect my escape as soon as I found
I had killed him; but I do not recollect escaping.
I had reached the Common, I
know not how. I still held the bloody weapon
in my hand. I threw it far from me
into the pond. I then conceived the idea of
surrendering myself to justice. I felt glad
at the act. My revenge had been satisfied.
I had punished with death the despoiler of
my house. I had wiped off the dishonor in
his blood. I walked towards Tremont
street. I saw a watchman and approached
him to tell him what I had done, and surrender
myself. But the thought of my poor
wife and children came over me. I hesitated.
I turned aside, resolving at first to go
home and see them, and do something to
provide for their safety and support, ere I
left them destitute. My wife was sitting up.
I told her all that I had done—of the utter
loss of our child, and of the murder of her
destroyer.

`She prevailed on me, at length, to conceal
myself. I yielded to her tears and
prayers and those of my children. For several
weeks, I have been hiding under various
disguises. I have been on the verge
of arrest repeatedly. No less than nine
times have the officers of justice been
searching the house; but the devotion of
my wife has saved me from discovery. In
the meanwhile my family has been reduced
to poverty and want. I resolved this morning
that I would hide no longer, but give
myself up and bear the worst. Your goodness,
gentlemen, to my family, has inspired
me to make a full disclosure to you. Mr.
Gustavus, I have now made all known
to you. Your advice I will abide by, as I
know that you will advise me wisely. I do
not seek to palliate my crime. I have told
you the whole of the circumstahces, that I
may show you that the deed I have committed
was not unprovoked.'

`Your account, Mr. Wilson, said Mr.
Gustavus, has been listened to by me with
the deepest interest. I am glad you have
told me all. Your guilt is greatly extenuated
by the circumstances. Believe me
that a jury of your country will acquit you
when they have heard all the circumstances
as I have heard them. My advice to you
is, that you surrender yourself to-day into
the hands of justice. I will see the judge
at once, and inform him of all you have told
me, and an officer shall call for you and
take you quietly away to prison. During
your detention there I pledge myself so see
that your family is in want of nothing.'

`Sir, you are too generous.'

`By no means. I will see that you have
able counsel. Your case shall be managed
with justice and equity, and I promise you
an acquital before the tribunal of the land.
Are you willing to abide a trial?'

`I will do it most cheerfully, sir. I shall
feel far better, whether I am condemned or
acquitted, than I do now. So long as I
have nothing to fear on my poor wife's account,
I will cheerfully go to jail.'

`I think this is your best course, William,
' said David Dalton. `You will have
every husband and father in town on your
side, believe me. I don't blame you. I
should have done the same. He deserved
death; but I wish it had been by the hangman
rather than by your hand. But as his
crime was not capital, he would have escaped
with a fine, which he was well able to
pay. I agree with Mr. Gustavus, that a
man better not take the law in his own
hands, 'specially such a serious thing as
killing a villain: but as you have done so,
I think for one you will be justified, and a
jury will acquit you on what is called justifiable
homicide.'

`Hardly, Mr. Dalton,' said Mr. Gustavus,
smiling, `hardly on that ground. Mr. Wilson
will be acquitted I trust, on the ground
of mercy and sympathy with a father who
in a state of phrenzy, and under excitement
of mind amounting to insanity, punished
with death the dishonorer of his child.'

`So he is acquitted I care not how it is,'
answered David stoutly, rising up as Mr.

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Gustavus had done, to go. `Take heart,
ma'am. Nobody blames your husband.—
He will come out bright. Don't doubt it.'

`Indeed, sir, I cannot doubt it. It was a
fearful thing for him to take the life of
another, but I do hope and believe he will
be acquitted when all the provocation he
had is known. It is better he should give
himself up. His mind will feel easier; and
since you speak so encouragingly, I shall
not say a word against his going to prison.'

Mr. Gustavus in a few moments left, after
bidding William Wilson to keep up good
courage. David went with him, saying he
meant to be back again after he had been
to his family, and go with him and the officer
to the prison.

We shall not describe the feelings of
mingled sadness and hope which filled the
hearts of this family after the departure of
their two kind benefactors William Wilson
dressed himself in his ordinary male
attire, shaved, and calmly waited for the officer
to whom he was to deliver himself.—
Anny busied herself in mending some of
his clothing, and in preparing something
for him for him to eat before he should go.
Charles plead earnestly to be permitted to
accompany him, but was finally content to
remain when his father told him how useful
he would be to his mother.

At length the carriage arrived, and Mr.
Gustavus, David, and a pleasant looking officer
came in together. William rose, and
going up to the officer, said,

`I surrender myself to you, as I suppose
you have come for me.'

The parting was sorrowful with his family;
but when Mr. Gustavus assured his
wife and children that they could see him
every day, they dried their tears and surrendered
him with hope and prayers of
faith to the custody of the law. In a few
minutes afterwards they all entered the carriage
and drove away towards the prison.

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Ingraham, J. H. (Joseph Holt), 1809-1860 [1847], Blanche Talbot, or, The maiden's hand: a romance of the war of 1812 (Williams Brothers, New York) [word count] [eaf205].
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