CHAPTER I.
“Sing on! sing on! my mountain home,
The paths where erst I used to roam,
The thundering torrent lost in foam,
The snow-hill side all bathed in light, —
All, all are bursting on my sight!”
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Towards night, on the twelfth of March, 1775, a richly-equipped
double sleigh, filled with a goodly company of well-dressed
persons of the different sexes, was seen descending from
the eastern side of the Green Mountains, along what may now
be considered the principal thoroughfare leading from the upper
navigable portions of the Hudson to those of the Connecticut
River. The progress of the travellers was not only slow, but
extremely toilsome, as was plainly evinced by the appearance of
the reeking and jaded horses, as they labored and floundered
along the sloppy and slumping snow paths of the winter road,
which was obviously now fast resolving itself into the element of
which it was composed. Up to the previous evening, the dreary
reign of winter had continued wholly uninterrupted by the advent
of his more gentle successor in the changing rounds of the
seasons; and the snowy waste which enveloped the earth would,
that morning, have apparently withstood the rains and suns of
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months before yielding entirely to their influences. But during
the night there had occurred one of those great and sudden
transitions from cold to heat, which can only be experienced in
northern climes, and which can be accounted for only on the supposition,
that the earth, at stated intervals, rapidly gives out large
quantities of its internal heats, or that the air becomes suddenly
rarefied by some essential change or modification in the state of
the electric fluid. The morning had been cloudless; and the
rising sun, with rays no longer dimly struggling through the
dense, obstructing medium of the dark months gone by, but, with
the restored beams of his natural brightness, fell upon the smoking
earth with the genial warmth of summer. A new atmosphere,
indeed, seemed to have been suddenly created, so warm and
bland was the whole air; while, occasionally, a breeze came over
the face of the traveller, which seemed like the breath of a
heated oven. As the day advanced, the sky gradually became
overcast — a strong south wind sprung up, before whose warm
puffs the drifted snow-banks seemed literally to be cut down,
like grass before the scythe of the mower; and, at length, from
the thickening mass of cloud above, the rain began to descend
in torrents to the mutely recipient earth. All this, for a while,
however, produced no very visible effects on the general face of
nature; for the melting snow was many hours in becoming
saturated with its own and water from above. Nor had our
travellers, for the greater part of the day, been much incommoded
by the rain, or the thaw, that was in silent, but rapid
progress around and beneath them; as their vehicle was a covered
one, and as the hard-trodden paths of the road were the last
to be affected. But, during the last hour, a great change in the
face of the landscape had become apparent; and the evidence
of what had been going on unseen, through the day, was now
growing every moment more and more palpable. The snow
along the bottom of every valley was marked by a long, dark
streak, indicating the presence of the fast-collecting waters beneath.
The stifled sounds of rushing streams were heard issuing
from the hidden beds of every natural rill; while the larger
brooks were beginning to burst through their wintry coverings,
and throw up and push on before them the rending ice and
snow that obstructed their courses to the rivers below, to which
they were hurrying with increasing speed, and with seemingly
growing impatience at every obstacle they met in their way.
The road had also become so soft, that the horses sunk nearly to the
flank at almost every step, and the plunging sleigh drove heavily
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along the plashy path. The whole mass of the now saturated
and dissolving snow, indeed, though lying, that morning, more
than three feet deep on a level, seemed to quiver and move,
as if on the point of flowing away in a body to the nearest
channels.
The company we have introduced consisted of four gentlemen
and two ladies, all belonging, very evidently, to the most wealthy,
and, up to that time, the most honored and influential class of
society. But though all seemed to be of the same caste, yet
their natural characters, as any physiognomist, at a glance,
would have discovered, were, for so small a party, unusually
diversified. Of the two men occupying the front seat, both
under the age of thirty, the one sitting on the right and acting as
driver was tall, showily dressed, and of a haughty, aristocratic
air; while his sharp features, which set out in the shape of a
half-moon, the convex outline being preserved by a retreating
forehead, an aquiline nose, and a chin sloping inward, combined
to give him a cold, repulsive countenance, fraught with expressions
denoting selfishness and insincerity. The other occupant
of the same seat was, on the contrary, a young man of an unassuming
demeanor, shapely features, and a mild, pleasing countenance.
The remaining two gentlemen of the party were much
older, but scarcely less dissimilar in their appearance than the
two just described. One of them was a gaunt, harsh-featured
man, of the middle age, with an air of corresponding arrogance
and assumption. The other, who was still more elderly, was a
thick-set and rather portly personage, of that quiet, reserved, and
somewhat haughty demeanor, which usually belongs to men of
much self-esteem, and of an unyielding, opinionated disposition.
The ladies were both young, and in the full bloom of maidenly
beauty. But their native characters, like those of their male
companions, seemed to be very strongly contrasted. The one
seated on the left was fair, extremely fair, indeed; and her
golden locks, clustering in rich profusion around her snowy neck
and temples, gave peculiar effect to the picture-like beauty of her
face. But her beauty consisted of pretty features, and her countenance
spoke rather of the affections than of the mind, being of
that tender, pleading cast, which is better calculated to call forth
sympathy than command respect, and which showed her to be
one of those confiding, dependent persons, whose destinies are in
the hands of those whom they consider their friends, rather than
in their own keeping. The other maiden, with an equally fine
form and no less beautiful features, was still of an entirely different
appearance. She, indeed, was, to the one first described,
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what the rose, with its hardy stem, is to the lily leaning on the
surrounding herbage for its support; and though less delicately
fair in mere complexion, she was yet more commandingly
beautiful; for there was an expression in the bright, discriminating
glances of her deep hazel eyes, and in the commingling
smile that played over the whole of her serene and benignant
countenance, that told of intellects that could act independently,
as well as of a heart that glowed with the kindly affections.
“Father,” said the last described female, addressing the eldest
gentleman, for the purpose, apparently, of giving a new turn to
the conversation, which had now, for some time, been lagging, —
“father, I think you promised us, on starting from Bennington
this morning, not only a fair day, but a safe arrival at Westminster
Court-House, by sunset, did you not?”
“Why, yes, perhaps I did,” replied the person addressed; “for
I know I calculated that we should get through by daylight.”
“Well, my weatherwise father, to say nothing about this
storm, instead of the promised sunshine, does the progress, made
and now making, augur very brightly for the other part of the
result?”
“I fear me not, Sabrey,” answered the old gentleman, “though,
with the road as good as when we started, we should have
easily accomplished it. But who would have dreamed of a thaw
so sudden and powerful as this? Why, the very road before us
looks like a running river! Indeed, I think we shall do well to
reach Westminster at all to-night. What say you, Mr. Peters, —
will the horses hold out to do it?” he added, addressing the
young man of the repulsive look, who had charge of the team,
as before mentioned.
“They must do it, at all events, Squire Haviland,” replied
Peters. “Sheriff Patterson, here,” he continued, glancing at the
hard-featured man before described, “has particular reasons for
being on the ground to-night. I must also be there, and likewise
friend Jones, if we can persuade him to forego his intended
stop at Brattleborough; for, being of a military turn, we will
give him the command of the forces, if he will go on immediately
with us.”
“Thank you, Mr. Peters,” replied Jones, smiling. “I do not
covet the honor of a command, though I should be ready to go
on and assist, if I really believed that military forces would be
needed.”
“Military forces needed for what?” asked Haviland, in some
surprise.
“Why, have you not heard, Squire Haviland,” said the sheriff,
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“that threats have been thrown out, that our coming court would
not be suffered to sit?”
“Yes, something of the kind, perhaps,” replied Haviland, contemptuously;
“but I looked upon them only as the silly vaporings
of a few disaffected creatures, who, having heard of the rebellious
movements in the Bay State, have thrown out these idle threats
with the hope of intimidating our authorities, and so prevent the
holding of a court, which they fear might bring too many of them
to justice.”
“So I viewed the case for a while,” rejoined Patterson; “but
a few days ago, I received secret information, on which I could
rely, that these disorganizing rascals were actually combining, in
considerable numbers, with the intention of attempting to drive
us from the Court-House.”
“Impossible! impossible! Patterson,” said the squire; “they
will never be so audacious as to attempt to assail the king's
court.”
“They are making a movement for that purpose, nevertheless,”
returned the former; “for, in addition to the information I have
named, I received a letter from Judge Chandler, just as I was
leaving my house in Brattleborough, yesterday morning, in which
the judge stated, that about forty men, from Rockingham, came
to him in a body, at his house in Chester, and warned him
against holding the court; and had the boldness to tell him, that
blood would be shed, if it was attempted, especially if the sheriff
appeared with an armed posse.”
“Indeed! why, I am astonished at their insolence!” exclaimed
the squire. “But what did the judge tell them?”
“Why the judge, you know, has an oily way of getting along
with ugly customers,” replied the sheriff, with a significant wink;
“so he thanked them all kindly for calling on him, and gravely
told them he agreed with them, that no court should be holden
at this time. But, as there was one case of murder to be tried,
he supposed the court must come together to dispose of that;
after which they would immediately adjourn. And promising
them that he would give the sheriff directions not to appear with
any armed assistants, he dismissed them, and sat down and wrote
me an account of the affair, winding off with giving me the directions
he had promised, but adding in a postscript, that I was such
a contrary fellow, that he doubted whether I should obey his
directions; and he should not be surprised to see me there with a
hundred men, each with a gun or pistol under his great-coat!
Ha! ha! The judge is a sly one.”
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“One word about that case of murder, to which you have alluded,
Mr. Patterson,” interposed Jones, after the jeering laugh,
with which the sheriff's account was received by Haviland and
Peters, had subsided. “I have heard several mysterious hints
thrown out by our opponents about it, which seemed to imply
that the prosecution of the prisoner was got up for private purposes;
and I think I have heard the name of Secretary Brush
coupled with the affair. Now, who is the alleged murderer? and
where and when was the crime committed?”
“The fellow passes by the name of Herriot, though it is suspected
that this is not his true name,” responded the sheriff.
“The crime was committed at Albany, several years ago, when
he killed, or mortally wounded, an intimate friend of Mr. Brush.”
“Under what circumstances?”
“Why, from what I have gathered, I should think the story
might be something like this: that, some time previous to the
murder, this Herriot had come to Albany, got into company
above his true place, dashed away a while in high life, gambled
deeply, and, losing all his own money, and running up a
large debt to this, and other friends of Brush, gave them his obligations
and absconded. But coming there again, for some purpose,
a year or two after, with a large sum of money, it was
thought, which had been left or given him by a rich Spaniard,
whose life he had saved, or something of the kind, those whom
he owed beset him to pay them, or play again. But he refused
to play, pretending to have become pious, and also held back
about paying up his old debts. Their debts, however, they determined
to have, and went to him for that purpose; when an affray
arose, and one of them was killed by Herriot, who escaped, and
fled, it seems, to this section of the country, where he kept himself
secluded in some hut in the mountains, occasionally appearing
abroad to preach religion and rebellion to the people, by
which means he was discovered, arrested, and imprisoned in
Westminster jail, where he awaits his trial at the coming term
of the court. And I presume he will be convicted and hung,
unless he makes friends with Brush to intercede for a pardon,
which he probably might do, if the fellow would disgorge enough
of his hidden treasures to pay his debts, and cease disaffecting
the people, which is treason and a hanging matter of itself, for
which he, and fifty others in this quarter, ought, in justice, to be
dealt with without benefit of the clergy. — What say you, Squire
Haviland?”
“I agree with you fully,” replied the squire. “But to
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return to Judge Chandler's communication: what steps have you
taken, if any, in order to sustain the court in the threatened
emergency?”
“Why, just the steps that Chandler knew I should take — sent
off one messenger to Brush, there on the ground at Westminster;
another to Rogers, of Kent; and yet another to a trusty friend
in Guilford, requesting each to be on, with a small band of resolute
fellows; while I whipped over to Newfane myself, fixed
matters there, and came round to Bennington to enlist David Redding,
and a friend or two more; as I did, after I arrived, last
night, though I was compelled to leave them my sleigh and horses
to bring them over, which accounts for my begging a passage with
you. So, you see, that if this beggarly rabble offer to make any
disturbance, I shall be prepared to teach them the cost of attempting
to put down the king's court.”
“Things are getting to a strange pass among these deluded
people, that is certain. I cannot, however, yet believe them so
infatuated as to take this step. But if they should, decided measures
should be taken — such, indeed, as shall silence this alarming
spirit at once and forever.”
“I hope,” observed Miss Haviland, who had been a silent but
attentive listener to the dialogue, “I hope no violence is really
intended, either on the part of the authorities or their opponents.
But what do these people complain of? There must be some
cause, by which they, at least, think themselves justified in the
movement, surely. Do they consider themselves aggrieved by
any past decisions of the court?”
“O, there are grumblers enough, doubtless, in that respect,”
answered the sheriff. “And among other things, they complain
that their property is taken and sold to pay their honest debts,
when money is so scarce, they say, that they cannot pay their
creditors in currency — just as if the court could make money
for the idle knaves! But that is mere pretence. They have
other motives, and those, too, of a more dangerous character to
the public peace.”
“And what may those motives be, if it be proper for me to
inquire, sir?” resumed the fair questioner.
“Why, in the first place,” replied the sheriff, “they have an
old and inveterate grudge against New York, whose jurisdiction
they are much predisposed to resist. But to this they might have
continued to demur and submit, as they have done this side of
the mountain, had New York adopted the resolves of the Continental
Congress of last December, and come into the American
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Association,
as it is called, which has no less for its object, in
reality, than the entire overthrow of all royal authority in this
country. But as our colony has nobly refused to do this, they
are now intent on committing a double treason — that of making
war on New York and the king too.”
“Well, I should have little suspected,” remarked Haviland,
“that the people of this section, who have shown themselves
commendably conservative, for the most part, had any intention
of yielding to the mob-laws of Ethan Allen, Warner, and others,
who place the laws of New York at defiance on the other side
of the mountains; and much less that they would heed the resolves
of that self-constituted body of knaves, ignoramuses, and
rebels, calling themselves the Continental Congress.”
“Are you not too severe on that body of men, father?” said
Miss Haviland, lifting her expressive eye reprovingly to the face
of the speaker. “I have recently read over a list of the members
of the Congress; when I noticed among them the names of
men, who, but a short time since, stood very high, both for learning
and worth, as I have often heard you say yourself. Now,
what has changed the characters of these men so suddenly?”
“Why is it, Sabrey,” said the old gentleman, with an air of
petulance, and without deigning any direct answer to the troublesome
question, — “why is it that you cannot take the opinion of
your friends, who know so much more than you do about these
matters, instead of raising, as I have noticed you have lately
seemed inclined to do, questions which seem to imply doubts of
the correctness of the measures of our gracious sovereign and
his wise ministers?”
“Why, father,” replied the other, with an ingenuous, but somewhat
abashed look, “if I have raised such questions, in relation
to the quarrel between the colonies and the mother country, I
have gone on the ground that the party which has the most
right on its side would, of course, have the best reasons for its
measures; and as I have not always been able to perceive good
reasons for all the king's measures, I had supposed you would be
proud to give them.”
The old gentleman, though evidently disturbed and angry at
this reply, did not seem inclined to push the debate any further
with his daughter. The other gentlemen, also, looked rather
glum; and for many moments not a word was spoken; when
the other young lady, who had not yet spoken, after glancing
round on the gentlemen in seeming expectation that those better
reasons would be given, at length ventured to remark, —
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“Well, for my part, it is enough for me that my friends all
belong to the loyal party; and whatever might be said, I know I
should always feel that they were in the right, and their opposers
in the wrong.”
“And in that, Jane, I think you are wise,” responded Jones,
with an approving smile. “The complaints of these disaffected
people are based on mistaken notions. They are too ill informed,
I fear, to appreciate the justice and necessity of the measures of
our ministers, or to understand very clearly what they are quarrelling
about.”
“Ah, that is it,” warmly responded Haviland. “That is what
I have always said of them. They don't understand their own
rights, or what is for their own good, and should be treated accordingly.
And I think some of our leading men miss it in trying
to reason with them. Reason with them! Ridiculous! As if the
common people could understand an argument!”
“You are perfectly right, squire,” responded Peters, with eager
promptness. “My own experience among the lower classes fully
confirms your opinion. My business, for several years past, has
brought me often in contact with them, in a certain quarter; and
I have found them not only ignorant of what properly belongs to
their own rights and privileges, but jealous and obstinate to a
degree that is excessively annoying.”
“Friend Peters probably alludes to his experience in the great
republic of Guilford,” said Jones, archly.
“There and elsewhere,” rejoined the former; “though I have
seen quite enough of republicanism there, for my purpose. One
year, the party outvoting their opponents, and coming into power,
upsets every thing done by their predecessors. The next year
the upsetters themselves get upset; and all the measures they
had established are reversed for others no better; and so they go
on from year to year, forever quarrelling and forever changing.”
“And yet, Peters,” resumed Jones, banteringly, “I doubt
whether you have been much the loser by their quarrels.”
“How so, Mr. Jones?” asked Haviland, who noticed that
Peters had answered only by a significant smile.
“Why, you know, Squire Haviland,” replied Jones, “that I
have been on to attend several of the last sessions of your court,
as the agent of Secretary Fanning,* to see to his landed interests in
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this quarter. Well, friend Peters, here, who has gone considerably
into land speculations east of the mountains, you know, had
brought, it seems, several suits for the possession of lands, mostly
in this same Guilford; and among the rest, one for a right of land
in possession of a sturdy young log-roller, whom they called Harry
Woodburn, who appeared in court in his striped woollen frock,
and insisted on defending his own case, as he proceeded to do
with a great deal of confidence. But when he came to produce
his deed for the land he contended was his own, it was found, to
his utter astonishment, to bear a later date than the one produced
by Peters. This seemed to settle the case against him.
But he appeared to have no notion of giving up so; and, by favor
of court, the further hearing of the case was deferred a day or
two, to enable him to procure the town records, which, he contended,
would show the priority of his deed. So he posted back
to Guilford for the purpose; but, on arriving there, found, to
his dismay, that the records were nowhere to be found. One of
the belligerent parties of that town, it seems, had broken into the
clerk's office, stolen the records, and buried them somewhere in
the ground. The fellow, therefore, had to return, and submit to a
judgment against him. Still, however, he clung to his case, and
obtained a review of it, in expectation that the records would be
found before the next court. But the poor fellow seemed doomed
to disappointment. At the next court, no records were forthcoming;
and though he defended his case with great zeal, he
was thrown in his suit again; when he concluded, I suppose, to
yield to his fate without further ado.”
“Not by any means,” said Peters, in a tone of raillery. “He
has petitioned for a new trial; and the question is to come on at
this court.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Jones, laughing. “Well, I must confess
I have never seen so much dogged determination exhibited
in so hopeless a case. And I really could not help admiring the
fellow's spirit and uncultured force of mind, as much misapplied
as, of course, I suppose it to have been. Your lawyer, Stevens,
really appeared, once or twice, to be quite annoyed at his home
thrusts; while lawyer Knights, or Rough-hewn Sam, as they call
him, who, either from a sly wish to see his friend Stevens bothered,
or from a real wish to help Harry, volunteered to whisper a
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few suggestions in his ear occasionally, sat by, and laughed out
of his eyes, till they ran over with tears, to see a court lawyer so
hard pushed by a country bumpkin.”
“Pooh! you make too much of the fellow,” said Peters, with
assumed contempt. “Why, he is a mere obstinate boor, whose
self-will and vanity led him to set up and persevere in a defence
in which he knows there is neither law nor justice.”
“And yet, Mr. Peters,” observed Miss Haviland, inquiringly,
“the young man must have known that he was making great expense
for himself, in obtaining delays and new trials, in the hope
that the lost records would be found. If he was not very confident
those records would have established his right, why should
he have done this?”
“O, that was a mere pretence about the records altering the
case, doubtless,” replied Peters, with the air of one wishing to
hear no more on the subject.
“It may have been so,” rejoined the former, doubtfully; “but
I should have hardly inferred it from Mr. Jones's description of
the man and his conduct.”
“Nor I,” interposed the other lady, playfully, but with considerable
spirit. “Mr. Jones has really excited my curiosity by his
account of this young plough-jogger. I should like to get a sight
of him — shouldn't you, Sabrey?”
But the latter, though evidently musing on the subject, and
mentally discussing some unpleasant doubts and inferences which
it seemed to present to her active mind, yet evaded the question,
and turned the conversation, by directing the attention of her
companion and the rest of the company to a distant object in the
wild landscape, which here opened to their view. This was the
tall, rugged mountain, which, rising from the eastern shore of the
Connecticut, was here, through an opening in the trees, seen
looming and lifting its snowy crest to the clouds, and greeting the
gladdened eyes of the way-worn travellers with the silent but
welcome announcement that they were now within a few miles
of the great river, and in the still more immediate vicinity of their
intended halting-place — the thriving little village which was then
just starting into life, under the auspices of the man from whom
its name was derived — the enterprising Colonel Brattle, of Massachusetts.
Having now the advantage of a road, which, as it received the
many concentrating paths of a thicker settlement, here began to
be comparatively firm, the travellers passed rapidly over the descending
grounds, and, in a short time, entered the village. As
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they were dashing along towards the village inn, at a full trot,
a man, with a vehicle drawn by one horse, approaching in an
intersecting road from the south, struck into the same street a
short distance before them. His whole equipment was very
obviously of the most simple character, — a rough board box,
resting on four upright wooden pins inserted into a couple of
saplings, which were bent up in front for runners — the whole
making what, in New England phrase, is termed a jumper, constituted
his sleigh. And this vehicle was drawn by a long switchtailed
young pony, whose unsteady gait, as he briskly ambled
along the street, pricking up his ears and veering about at every
new object by the way-side, showed him to be but imperfectly
broken. The owner of this rude contrivance for locomotion was
evidently some young farmer from the neighboring country.
But although his dress and mode of travelling seemed thus to
characterize him, yet there was that in his personal appearance,
as plain as was his homespun garb, which was calculated to command
at once both attention and respect. And as he now rose
and stood firmly planted in his sleigh, occasionally looking back
to watch the motions of the team behind him, with his long, togalike
woollen frock drawn snugly over his finely-sloping shoulders
and well-expanded bust, and closely girt about at the waist by a
neatly-knotted Indian belt, while the flowing folds below streamed
gracefully aside in the wind, he displayed one of those compact,
shapely figures, which the old Grecian sculptors so delighted to
delineate. And in addition to these advantages of figure, he
possessed an extremely fine set of features, which were shown
off effectively by the profusion of short, jetty locks, that curled
naturally around his white temples and his bold, high forehead.
“Miss McRea — Jane,” said Jones, turning round to the amiable
girl, and tapping her on the shoulder, with the confiding
smile and tender playfulness of the accepted lover, as he was, —
“Jane, you said, I think, that you should like to get a sight of
that spunky opponent of Mr. Peters, whom we were talking of a
little while since — did you not?”
“O, yes, yes, to be sure I did,” replied the other briskly; “but
why that question, just at this time?”
“Because, if I do not greatly mistake, that man who is pushing
on before us, in yon crazy-looking establishment, is the self-same
young fellow. Is it not so, Peters?”
“I have not noticed him particularly, nor do I care whether it
is he or not,” answered Peters, with an affected indifference, with
which his uneasy and frowning glances, as he kept his eye keenly
fixed on the person in question, but illy comported.
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“Well, that is the fellow — that is Harry Woodburn, you may
rely on it, ladies,” rejoined Jones, gayly, as he faced about in his
seat.
Both young ladies now threw intent and curious glances forward
on the man thus pointed out to them, till they caught, as
they did the next moment, a full and fair view of his personal
appearance; when they turned and looked at each other with
expressions of surprise, which plainly indicated that the object of
their thoughts was quite a different person from what they had
been led to expect.
“His dress, to be sure, is rather coarse,” observed Miss Haviland
to her companion, in a low tone; “but he is no boor; nor
can every one boast of —” Here she threw a furtive glance at
Peters, when she appeared to read something in his countenance
which caused her to suspend the involuntary comparison which
was evidently passing in her mind, and to keep her eye fixed on
his motions.
The arrogant personage last named, wholly unconscious of
this scrutiny, now began to incite his horses afresh, frequently
applying the lash with unwonted severity, and then suddenly
curbing them in, till the spirited animals became so frantic that
they could scarcely be restrained from dashing off at a run. The
young farmer, in the mean while, finding himself closely pressed
by those behind him, without any apparent disposition on their
part to turn out and pass by him, now veered partly out of the
road, to give the others, with the same change in their course to
the opposite side, an opportunity, if they chose, of going by, as
might easily have been done with safety to all concerned.
“Mr. Peters!” suddenly exclaimed Miss Haviland, in a tone of
energetic remonstrance, at the same time catching at his arm, as
if to restrain him from some intended movement, which her watchful
eye had detected.
This appeal, however, which was rather acted than spoken,
was unheeded, or came too late; for, at that instant, the chafing
and maddened horses dashed furiously forward, directly over the
exposed corner of the young man's vehicle, which, under the iron-bound
feet of the fiercely-treading animals, and the heavy sleigh
runners that followed, came down with a crash to the ground, leaving
him barely time to clear himself from the wreck, by leaping
forward into the snow. Startled by the noise behind him, the frightened
pony made a sudden but vain effort to spring forward with the
still connected remains of the jumper, which were, at the instant,
confined down by the passing runners of the large sleigh; when,
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snorting and wild with desperation, he reared himself upright on
his hinder legs, and fell over backwards, striking, with nearly the
whole weight of his body, upon his doubled neck, which all saw
at a glance was broken by the fall.
With eyes flashing with indignation, young Woodburn bounded
forward to the head of the aggressing team, boldly seized the
nearest horse by his nostrils and bridle curb, and, in spite of his
desperate rearing and plunging, under the rapidly applied whip
of the enraged driver, soon succeeded, by daring and powerful
efforts, in bringing him and his mate to a stand.
“Let go there, fellow, on your peril!” shouted Peters, choking
with rage at his defeat in attempting to ride over and escape
his bold antagonist.
“Not till I know what all this means, sir!” retorted Woodburn,
with unflinching spirit.
“Detain us if you dare, you young ruffian!” exclaimed the
sheriff, protruding his harsh visage from one side of the sleigh.
“Begone! or I will arrest you in the king's name, sir!”
“You will show your warrant for it first, Mr. Sheriff,” replied
the former, turning to Patterson with cool disdain. “I have
nothing to do with you, sir; but I hold this horse till the outrage
I have just received is atoned for, or at least explained.”
“My good friend,” interposed Jones, in a respectful manner,
“you must not suppose we have designedly caused your disaster.
Our horses, which are high-mettled, as you see, took a sudden
start, and the mischief was done before they could be turned or
checked.”
“Now, let go that horse, will you, scoundrel?” again exclaimed
Peters, still chafing with anger, but evidently disturbed
and uneasy under the cold, searching looks of the other.
“Hear me first, John Peters!” replied Woodburn, with the
same determined manner as before. “I care not for your abusive
epithets, and have only to say of them, that they are worthy of
the source from which they proceed. But you have knowingly
and wickedly defrauded me of my farm; unless I obtain redress,
as I little expect, from a court which seems so easily to see merits
in a rich man's claim. Yes, you have defrauded me, sir, out of
my hard-earned farm; and there,” he continued, pointing to his
gasping horse, — “there lies nearly half of all my remaining
property — dead and gone! ay, and by your act, which, from
signs I had previously noticed, and from the tones of that young
lady's exclamation at the instant, (and God bless her for a heart
which could be kind in such company,) I shall always believe
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was wilfully committed. And if I can make good my suspicions,
and a court of law will not give me justice, I will have it elsewhere!
There, sir, go,” he added, relinquishing his hold on the
horse, and stepping aside, — “go! but remember I claim a future
reckoning at your hands!”
The sleigh now passed on to the yard of the inn, where the
company alighted, and soon disappeared within its doors, leaving
the young man standing alone in the road, gazing after them with
that moody and disquieted kind of countenance which usually
settles on the face on the subsidence of a strong gust of passion.
“Poor pony!” he at length muttered, sadly, as, rousing himself,
he now turned towards his petted beast, that lay dead in his
rude harness, — “poor pony! But there is no help for you now,
nor for me either, I fear, as illy as I can afford to lose you. But
it is not so much the loss, as the manner — the manner!” he repeated,
bitterly, as he proceeded to undo the fastenings of the
tackle, with the view of removing the carcass and the broken
sleigh from the road.
While he was thus engaged, a number of men, most of them
his townsmen, who being, like himself, on their way to court, had
stopped at the inn, or store, near by, where the noise of the fray
had aroused them, now came hastening to the spot.
“What is all this, Harry?” exclaimed the foremost, as he
came up and threw a glance of surprise and concern on the ruins
before him.
“You can see for yourselves,” was his moody reply, as others
now arrived, and, with inquiring looks, gathered around him.
“Yes, yes; but how was it done?”
“John Peters, who just drove up to the tavern, yonder, with a
load of court gentry, run over me — that's all,” he answered, with
an air that showed his feelings to be still too much irritated to be
communicative.
But the company, among whom he seemed to be a favorite,
were not to be repulsed by a humor for which they appeared to
understand how to make allowance, but continued to press him
with inquiries and soothing words, till their manifestations of sympathy
and offers of assistance had gradually won him into a more
cheerful mood; when, throwing off his reserve, he thanked them
kindly, and frankly related what he knew of the affair, the particulars
of which obviously produced a deep sensation among the
listeners. All present, after hearing the recital of the facts, and
on coupling them with the well-known disposition of Peters, and
his previous injuries to Woodburn, at once declared their belief
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that the aggression was intentional, and warmly espoused the
cause of their outraged friend and townsman. A sort of council
of war was then holden; the affair was discussed and set down as
another item in the catalogue of injuries and oppressions of which
the court party had been guilty. Individuals were despatched
into all the nearest houses, and elsewhere, for the purpose of discovering
what evidence might be obtained towards sustaining a
prosecution. It was soon ascertained, however, that no one had
seen the fracas, except the parties in interest, — all Peters's company
being so accounted, — and that, consequently, no hope remained
of any legal redress. On this, some proposed measures
of club-law retaliation, some recommended reprisals on the same
principle, and others to force Peters, as soon as he should appear
in the street, to make restitution for the loss he had occasioned.
And so great was the excitement, that had the latter then made his
appearance, — which, it seemed, he was careful not to do, — it is
difficult to say what might have been his reception. But contrary
to the expectations of all, Woodburn, who had been thoughtfully
pacing up and down the road, a little aloof from the rest, during
the discussion, now came forward, and, in a firm and manly manner,
opposed all the propositions which had been made in his
behalf.
“No,” said he, in conclusion, “such measures will not bear
thinking of. I threatened him myself with something of the
kind you have proposed. But a little reflection has convinced me
I was wrong; for should I take this method of obtaining redress,
however richly he might deserve it at my hands, I should but be
doing just what I condemn in him, and thus place myself on a
level with him in his despicable conduct. No, we will let him
alone, and give him all the rope he will take; and if he don't
hang for his misdeeds, he will doubtless, by his conduct, aid in
hastening on the time, which, from signs not to be mistaken,
cannot, I think, be far distant, when a general outbreak will
place him, and all like him, who have been riding over us here
rough-shod for years, in a spot where he and they will need as
much of our pity as they now have of our hatred and fear.”
“Ay, ay,” responded several, with significant nods and looks;
“that time will come, and sooner than they dream of.”
“And then,” said one, “it will not be with us as it was with
me last fall; when, just as winter was coming on, and milk was
half our dependence for the children, our only cow was knocked
off by a winking sheriff, for eleven and threepence, to this same
Peters.”
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“Nor as it was with me,” said another poorly-clad man of the
crowd, “when for a debt, which, before it was sued, was only the
price of a bushel of wheat I bought to keep wife and little ones
from starving, my pair of two-year-olds and seven sheep were all
seized and sold under the hammer, for just enough to pay the debt
and costs, to Squire Gale, the clerk of the court, who is another
of those conniving big bugs, who are seen going round with the
sheriff, at such times, with their pockets full of money to buy up
the poor man's property for a song, though never a dollar will
they lend him to redeem it with.”
“No, my friends,” said a tall, stout, broad-chested man, with a
clear, frank, and fearless countenance, who, having arrived at the
spot as Woodburn began to speak, had been standing outside of the
crowd, silently listening to the remarks of the different speakers,—
“no, my friends; when the time just predicted arrives, it will no
longer be as it has been with any of us. We shall then, I trust,
all be allowed to exercise the right which, according to my notions,
we have from God — that of choosing our own rulers, who, then,
would be men from among ourselves, knowing something about
the wants and wishes of the people, and willing to provide for
their distresses in times like these. I have little to say about individual
men, or their acts of oppression; for such men and such
acts we may expect to see, so long as this accursed system of
foreign rule is suffered to remain. We had better, therefore, not
waste much of our ammunition on this or that tool of royalty, but
save it for higher purposes. And, for this reason, I highly approve
of the course that my young neighbor, Woodburn, has just
taken, in his case; although, from what I have heard, I suspect
it was an outrageous one.”
“Thank you, thank you, Colonel Carpenter,” said Woodburn,
coming forward and cordially offering the other his hand; “the
approbation of a man like you more than reconciles me to the
course which, I confess, cost me a hard struggle to adopt.”
“Ay, you were right, Harry,” rejoined the former, “though a
hard matter to bear; and though I am willing this, and all such outrages,
should go in to swell the cup of our grievances, that it may
the sooner overflow, yet you were right; and it was spoken, too,
like a man. But let me suggest, whether you, and all present,
had not better now disperse. The powers that be will soon have
their eyes upon us, and I would rather not excite their jealousy,
at this time, on account of certain measures we have in contemplation,
which I will explain to you hereafter.”
“Your advice is good,” returned Woodburn, “and I will see
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that it is followed, as soon as I can find some one to dispose of
the body of my luckless pony; for then I propose to throw the
harness into some sleigh, and join such of the company here as
are on foot on their way to court.”
“Put your harness aboard my double sleigh standing in the
tavern yard yonder, Harry. And I am sorry I have too much of a
load to ask you to ride yourself. But where shall I leave the
harness?”
“At Greenleaf's store, at the river, if you will; for I conclude
you are bound to Westminster, as well as the rest of us.”
“I am, and shall soon be along after you, as I wish to go
through to-night, if possible, being suspicious of a flood, that may
prevent me from getting there with a team, by to-morrow. Neither
the rain nor thaw is over yet, if I can read prognostics. How
strong and hot this south wind blows! And just cast your eye
over on to West River mountain, yonder — how rapidly those
long, ragged masses of fog are creeping up its sides towards the
summit! That sign is never failing.”
Woodburn's brief arrangements were soon completed; when
he and his newly-encountered foot companions, each provided
with a pair of rackets, or snow-shoes, — articles with which foottravellers,
when the snow was deep, often, in those times, went
furnished, — took up their line of march down the road leading to
the Connecticut, leaving Peters and his company, as well as all
others who had teams, refresing themselves or their horses at the
village inn.
But, before we close this chapter, in order that the reader not
versed in the antiquarian lore of those times may more clearly
understand some of the allusions of the preceding pages, and
also that he may not question the probability that such a company
as we have introduced should be thus brought together, and
be thus on their way to a court so far into the interior of a new
settlement, it may not be amiss here to observe, that the sale and
purchase of lands in Vermont at this period constituted one of the
principal matters of speculation among men of property, not only
those residing here, but those residing in the neighboring colonies,
and especially in that of New York; and that the frequent controversies,
arising out of disputed titles, made up the chief business
of the court, which, on the erection of a new county by the legislature
of New York, embracing all the south-eastern part of the
Grants, and known by the name of Cumberland, had here, several
years before, been established. And it was business of this
kind, and the personal, in addition to the political, interest they
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[figure description] Page 019.[end figure description]
had in sustaining a court, the judges of which were themselves
said to be engaged in these speculations, and therefore expected
to favor, as far as might be decent, their brother speculators, that
led to the journey of the present company of loyalists, consisting,
as before seen, of Haviland, a large landholder of Bennington;
Peters, an unconscientious speculator in the same kind of property,
belonging to a noted family of tories of that name, residing
in Pownal, and an adjoining town in New York; and Jones, the
agent of Fanning, from the vicinity of Fort Edward; the fated
Miss McRea, of sad historical memory, from the same place,
having been induced to come on with her lover, at the previous
solicitation of her friend, Miss Haviland, to join her, her father,
and Peters, to whom she was affianced, in their proposed excursion
over the mountains to court.
eaf721n1* Edward Fanning, secretary to Governor Tryon, New York, before
the revolution, obtained, by an act of favoritism from his master, a grant
of the township of Stratton, which, in 1780, Fanning having been appointed
a colonel of a regiment of tories, was confiscated, and re-granted, by
the legislature of Vermont, to William Williams and others. Kent, afterwards
Londonderry, which had been granted to James Rogers, who
has been introduced, and who became a tory officer, was also, in like
manner, confiscated and re-granted.
-- 020 --
CHAPTER II.
“Now forced aloft, bright bounding through the air,
Moves the blear ice, and sheds a dazzling glare;
The torn foundations on the surface ride,
And wrecks of winter load the downward tide.”
[figure description] Page 020.[end figure description]
After travelling a short distance in the road, Woodburn and his
companions halted, put on their snow-shoes, and, turning out to the
left into the woods, commenced, with the long, loping step peculiar
to the racket-shod woodsman, their march over the surface of
the untrodden snow. The road just named, which formed the
usual route from the village they had quitted to their place of destination,
led first directly to the Connecticut, in an easterly direction,
and then, turning to the north, passed up the river near its
western banks, thus describing in its course a right angle, at the
point of which, resting on the river, stood the store of Stephen
Greenleaf, the first, and, for a while, the only merchant in Vermont;
whose buildings, with those perhaps of one or two dependants,
constituted the then unpromising nucleus around which has
since grown up the wealthy and populous village of East Brattleborough.
Such being the course of the travelled route, it will
readily be seen, that the main object of our foot company, in
leaving it, was the saving of distance, to be effected by striking
across this angle to some eligible point on the northern road.
And they accordingly pitched their course so as to enter the road
near its intersection with the Wantastiquet, or West River, — one
of the larger tributaries of the Connecticut, — which here comes
rolling down from the eastern side of the Green Mountains, and
pours its rock-lashed and rapid waters into the comparatively quiet
bosom of the ingulfing stream below.
After a walk of about half an hour, through alternating fields
and forest, they arrived, as they had calculated, at the banks of
the tributary above named, where it was crossed on the ice by
the winter road, which, owing to the failure of the rude bridge
near the mouth of the stream, and the difficulty of descending the
bank in its immediate vicinity, had been broken out through the
adjoining meadow and over the river at this point, which was consequently
a considerable distance above the ordinary place of crossing.
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On reaching this spot, it was found that the flood, which, on the
high grounds, where we have last been taking the reader, was but
little observable, had made, and was evidently still making, a
most rapid progress. The rising waters had already forced themselves
through the small but constantly widening outlets of their
strong, imprisoning barriers, and were beginning to hurry along,
in two dark, turbid streams, over the surface of the ice, beneath
the opposite banks, where it was still too strongly confined to the
roots and frozen earth to permit of its rising; while the uplifting
mass, in the middle of the river, had nearly attained the level of
the surrounding meadows. And, although the main body still
remained unbroken, yet the deep, dull reports that rose in quick
succession to the ear from the cracking mass in every direction
around, and the sharp, hissing, gurgling sounds of the water,
which was gushing violently upwards through the fast multiplying
fissures, together with the visible, tremor-like agitation that pervaded
the whole, plainly evinced that it could not long withstand
the tremendous pressure of the laboring column of waters beneath.
The travellers, who were not to be turned back by a foot or
two of water in their path over the ice, so long as the foundation
remained firm, drew up a long spruce pole from a neighboring
fence, and, shooting it forward through the first stream of water,
passed over upon it to the uncovered ice; and then, drawing
their spar-bridge to the water next the other bank, went through
the same process, till they had all reached the opposite shore unwet
and in safety.
Here they again paused to note the appearance of the disturbed
elements; for, in addition to the threatening aspect which the
river was here fast assuming, a slight trembling of the ground began
occasionally to be perceptible; while unusual sounds seemed to
come mingling from a distance, with the roaring of the wind and
the noise of rushing waters, as if earth, air, and water were all
joining their disturbed forces for some general commotion.
“The water and ice are strangely agitated, it appears to me,”
observed Woodburn to his companions, as they stood looking on
the scene before them. “See how like a pot the water boils up
through that crevice yonder! Then hear that swift, lumbering
rush of the stream beneath! The whole river, indeed, seems
fairly to groan, like some huge animal confined down by an insupportable
burden, from which it is laboring to free itself. I
have noticed such appearances, I think, when the ice was on the
point of breaking up; but that can hardly be the case here, at
present, can it?”
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“On the point of breaking up, now?” said one of the company,
in reply. “No, indeed! Why, the ice is more than three feet
thick, and as sound and solid as a rock. Should it rain from this
time till to-morrow noon, it won't start.”
“Well, now, I don't know about that,” remarked an observant
old settler, who had been silently regarding the different portents
to which we have alluded. “I don't know about the ice staying
here twenty hours, or even one. This has been no common thaw,
that we have had for the last six or eight hours, let me tell you.”
“And still,” observed Woodburn, “I should not think the water
high enough as yet to cause a breaking up, should you?”
“With a slow rise, and in a still time, perhaps not, Harry.
But when the water is rising rapidly, as now, and especially if
there is a strong wind, like this, to increase the motion, as it does
either by outward pressure, or by forcing the air through the
chinks in under the ice, I have always noticed that the stream
acts on the ice at a much less height, and much more powerfully,
than when the rise is slow and the weather calm.”
“Then you look upon the appearances I named as indications
that such an event is soon to take place here, do you?”
“I do, Harry, much sooner than you are expecting; for the signs
you name are not the only ones which tell that story, as I will
soon convince you all, if you will be still and listen a moment.”
This remark caused the company to pause and place themselves
in a listening attitude.
“There,” resumed the speaker, pointing up to the bold, shaggy
steeps of the mountain, which we have before alluded to, and
which, from the opposite side of the Connecticut, and within a
few furlongs from the spot where they now stood, rose, half con
cealed in its “misty shroud,” like some huge battlement, to the
heavens — “there! do you hear that dull roar, with occasionally
a crashing sound, away up there among those clouds of fog near
the top peaks of the mountain?”
“Ay, ay, quite distinctly.”
“Well, that is an echo, which, strangely enough, we can hear
when we can't the original sound, and which is made by the
striking up there of the roar of the river above us; that of course
must be open, having already broken up and got the ice in motion
somewhere. But hark again! Now, don't you hear that
rumbling noise? Can't you, now, both hear and feel those quick,
irregular, deep, jarring sounds?”
“Yes, plainly — very plainly, now — you are right. Sure
enough, the ice in the river above us is on the move!” responded
all, with excited looks.
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“To be sure it is; and from the noise it makes, it must be coming
down upon us with the speed of a race-horse! Let us all to
the hills, boys, where we can get a fair view of the spectacle.”
The company, accordingly, now all ran to gain the top of a
neighboring swell, which commanded a view of West River for a
long distance up the stream, as well as one of a considerable
reach of the more distant Connecticut, both of which views were
obstructed, at the spot they had just left, by a point of woods and
turn in the river in the former instance, and by intervening hills
in the latter.
Among the many wild and imposing exhibitions of nature, peculiar
to the mountainous regions of our northern clime, there is
no one, perhaps, of more fearful magnificence, than that which
is sometimes presented in the breaking up of one of our large
rivers by a winter flood; when the ice, in its full strength, enormous
thickness, and rock-like solidity, is rent asunder, with loud,
crashing explosions, and hurled up into ragged mountains, and
borne onward before the raging torrent with inconceivable force
and frightful velocity, spreading devastation along the banks in
its course, and sweeping away the strongest fabrics of human
power which stand opposed to its progress, like the feeble weeds
that disappear from the path of a tornado.
Such a spectacle, as they reached their proposed stand, now
burst on the view of the astonished travellers. As far as the eye
could reach upwards along the windings of the stream, the whole
channel was filled with the mighty mass of ice, driving down
towards them with fearful rapidity, and tumbling, crashing, grinding,
and forcing its way, as it came, with collisions that shook the
surrounding forest, and with the din and tumult of an army of
chariots rushing together in battle. Here, tall trees on the bank
were beaten down and overwhelmed, or, wrenched off at the roots
and thrown upwards, were whirled along on the top of the rushing
volume, like feathers on the tossing wave. There, the changing
mass was seen swelling up into mountain-like elevations, to
roll onward a while, and, then gradually sinking away, be succeeded
by another in another form; while, with resistless front,
the whole immense moving body drove steadily on, ploughing
and rending its way into the unbroken sheet of ice before it,
which burst, divided, and was borne down beneath the boiling
flood, or hurled upwards into the air, with a noise sometimes
resembling the sounds of exploding muskets, and sometimes the
crash of falling towers.
But the noise of another and similar commotion, in an opposite
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direction, now attracted their attention. They turned, and their
eyes were greeted with a scene, which, though less startling from
its distance, yet even surpassed, in picturesque grandeur, the one
they had just been witnessing. Through the whole visible reach
of the Connecticut, a long, white, glittering column of ice, with
its ridgy and bristling top towering high above the adjacent banks,
was sweeping by and onward, like the serried lines of an army
advancing to the charge; while the broad valley around, even
back to the summits of the far-off hills, was resounding with the
deafening din that rose from the extended line of the booming
avalanche, with the deep rumblings of an earthquake mingled
with the tumultuous roar of an approaching tempest.
The attention of the company, however, was now drawn from
this magnificent display of the power of the elements, by an
object of more immediate interest to their feelings. This was
an open double sleigh, approaching, on the opposite side of the
river, towards the place at which they had just crossed over, in
the manner we have described. The mountain mass of ice that
was still forcing its way down the river before them, with increasing
impetus, was now within three hundred yards of the pass,
to which those in the sleigh were hastening, with the evident
design of crossing. And though the latter, owing to a point of
woods that intervened at a bend in the stream a short distance
above, could not see the coming ice, yet they seemed aware of its
dangerous proximity; for, as they now drove down to the edge
of the water, they paused, and a large man, who appeared to
have control of the team, rose to his feet, and with words that
could not be distinguished in the roaring of the wind and the noise
from the scene above, made an appealing gesture, which was
readily understood by our foot travellers as an inquiry whether the
team would have time to cross before the ice reached the spot.
“It is Colonel Carpenter and his company,” said Woodburn.
“He will have no time to spare, but enough, I think, if he instantly
improves it, to get safely over. He has smart horses, and
is anxious to be on this side of the river. Let him come.”
Accordingly, they returned him encouraging gestures, which
being seen and understood by him, he instantly whipped up his
horses, and, forcing them on to the ice, soon effected his passage
in safety, and drove rapidly down the road, leading along the
northern bank of the stream to the Connecticut, the object of his
speed being obviously to keep forward of the icy flood, by which
his progress might otherwise be soon obstructed.
“There,” resumed Woodburn, breaking the silence with which
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he and his companions had been witnessing the rather hazardous
passage of their friends, — “there, the colonel is well over; but
his is the last sleigh to cross this year, unless it be drawn by
winged horses.”
“Well, winged, or not winged, there is another, it seems, about
to make the attempt,” said one of the company, pointing across
the river, where a covered double sleigh, with showy equipage,
was dashing at full speed down the road towards the stream.
“It is a hostile craft!” “Peters and his gang!” “We owe
them no favors!” “Let the enemy take care of themselves!”
were the exclamations which burst from the recently-incensed
group, as all eyes were now turned to the spot.
“O, no! no!” exclaimed Woodburn, with looks of the most
lively concern. “Be they foes or friends, they must not be suffered
to enter upon that river. Why, the breaking ice has already
nearly reached the bend, and unless it stops there, that path
across the stream, within five minutes, will be as traceless as
the ocean! Run down to the bank, and hail them!” he continued,
turning to those around him. “I fear they would not listen
to me. Will no one go to warn them against an attempt which
must prove their destruction?” he added, reproachfully glancing
around him.
“Shall we interfere unasked?” said one, who was smarting
under a sense of former injuries; “ay, and interfere, too, to save
such a man as Peters, that he may go on robbing us of our
farms?”
“And save such a man as Sheriff Patterson, also, that he may
hang the innocent and pious Herriot?” said another, bitterly.
“And save them all, that they may keep up the court which will
soon hang or rob the whole of us?” added a third, in the same
spirit.
“O, wrong — wickedly wrong! and, if no one will go, I must,”
cried Woodburn, turning hastily from the spot, and making his
way down the hill towards the river with all the speed he was
master of.
A few seconds sufficed to bring him to the edge of the stream;
when, in a voice that rose above the roar of the wind and waters
around, he called on Peters, who was already urging his reluctant
and snorting horses down the opposite bank into the water, warned
him of the situation of the ice, and begged him, as he valued the
lives of his friends, to desist from his perilous attempt.
“Do you think to frighten me?” shouted Peters, who, perceiving
the speaker to be his despised opponent, became
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suspicious, as the latter had feared, that the warning was but a ruse to
prevent him from going on that night, — “do you think to frighten
me back, liar, when a heavy team has just passed safely over
before my eyes?”
And, in defiance of the timely caution he had received, and the
warning sounds, of which his senses might have apprised him,
had he paused a moment to listen, he furiously applied the whip,
and plunged madly through the water towards the middle ice.
But as rapidly as he drove, the team had not passed over more
than one third of the distance across, before he and all with him
became fully aware of the fearful peril they had so recklessly
incurred; for, at this critical moment, with awful brunt, the
mountain wave of icy ruins came rolling round the screening
point into full view, and not fifty yards above them. A cry of
alarm at once burst from every occupant of the menaced vehicle;
and Peters, no less frightened than the rest, suddenly checked
the horses, with the half-formed design of turning and attempting
to regain the shore he had just left. But on glancing round, he
beheld, to his dismay, the ice burst upward from its winter moorings
along the shore, leaving between them and the bank a dark
chasm of whirling waters, over which it were madness to think
of repassing. At that instant, with a deep and startling report,
the broad sheet of ice confining the agitated river burst asunder,
parted, and was afloat in a hundred pieces around them. Another
piercing cry of terror and distress issued from the devoted sleigh;
and Miss Haviland, with an involuntary impulse at the fearful
shock, leaped out on to the large cake of ice on which the sleigh
and horses were resting. She seemed instantly to perceive her
error; but before she could regain the sleigh, or even be caught
by the extended hands of her friends, the frightened horses made
a sudden and desperate lunge forward, and, with a speed that
could neither be checked nor controlled, dashed onward over the
dissevering mass, leaping from piece to piece of their sinking
support, and each in turn falling in, to be drawn out by his mate,
till they reached the shore, and rushed furiously up the bank, beyond
the sweep of the dreadful torrent from which they had so
miraculously escaped.
“O God of heaven, have mercy on my daughter!” exclaimed
Haviland, in a piteous burst of anguish, as he sprang out of the
sleigh among the company, who, with horror-stricken looks, stood
on the bank mutely gazing on the fast receding form of the luckless
maiden, thus left behind, to be borne away, in all human
probability, to speedy destruction.
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For a moment no one stirred or spoke, all standing amazed,
and seemingly paralyzed at the thought of her awful situation,
having no hope of her rescue, and expecting every instant to
see her crushed, or ingulfed among the ice that was wildly
heaving and tumbling on every side around her. But fortunately
for her, the broad, solid block, on which she had alighted, and on
which she continued still to retain her stand, was, by the submerged
and rising masses beneath, gradually and evenly forced
upwards to the top of the column, with which it was moving
swiftly down the current. And there she stood, like a marble
statue on its pedestal, sculptured for some image of woe, her
bonnet thrown back from her blanched features, and her loosened
hair streaming wildly in the wind; while one hand was extended
doubtfully towards the shore, and the other lifted imploringly
to heaven, as if in supplication for that aid from above, which
she now scarcely hoped to receive from her friends below.
“O Sabrey, Sabrey! must you indeed perish?” at length
burst convulsively from Miss McRea, in the most touching accents
of distress.
“Is there no help? Can no one save her?” added the agonized
father.
“Yes, save her — save her!” exclaimed Peters, now eagerly
addressing the men he affected so to despise. “Can't some of
you get on to the ice there, and bring her off? Five guineas to
the man who will do it; yes, ten! Quick! run, run, or you'll be
too late,” he added, turning, from one to another, without offering
to start himself.
Throwing a look of silent scorn on his contemptible foe, Woodburn,
having been anxiously casting about him in thought for some
means of rescuing the ill-fated girl from her impending doom,
now, with the air of one acting only on his own responsibility,
hastily called on his companions to follow him, and led the way, with
rapid strides, down along the banks of the stream, as near the main
channel as the water and ice, already bursting over the banks into
the road, would permit. But although he could easily keep abreast
of the fair object of his anxiety, of whom he occasionally obtained
such glimpses through the brushwood here lining the banks
as to show him that she still retained her footing on the same
block of ice, which still continued to be borne on with the surrounding
mass, yet he could perceive no way of reaching her —
no earthly means by which she could be snatched from the terrible
doom that seemed so certainly to await her; for along the
whole extent of the moving ice, and even many rods in advance
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of it, the water, dammed up, and forced from the choked channel,
was gushing over the banks, and sweeping down by their
sides in a stream that nothing could withstand. And, to add to
the almost utter hopelessness with which he was compelled to view
her situation, he now soon began to be admonished that she was
immediately threatened by a danger from which she had thus far
been so providentially preserved — that of being crushed or
swallowed up at once in the broken ice. He could perceive, from
the increasing commotion of the ice around her, that her hitherto
level and unbroken support was growing every moment more
insecure and uncertain. And as it rose and fell, or was pitched
forward and thrown up aslant, in the changing volume, he could
plainly hear her piteous shrieks, and see her flying from side to
side of the plunging body, to avoid being hurled into the frightful
chasms which were continually yawning to receive her.
“Lost! lost!” he uttered with a sigh; “no earthly aid can now
avail her. But stay! stay!” he continued, as his eye fell on the
two or three remaining beams or string-pieces of the old bridge
still extended across the river a short distance below. “If she
reaches that place alive, and I can but gain the spot in time, I
may yet save her. O Heaven, help me to the speed and the
means of rescuing her from this dreadful death!”
And calling loudly to his companions, whom he had already
outstripped, to come on, he now set forward, with all possible
speed, for the place which afforded the last chance for the poor
girl's rescue. The banks of the river, at the point which it was
now his object to gain, were so much more elevated than those
above, that he had little fear of finding the path leading on to the
bridge obstructed by the water. And it had glanced through his
mind, as he descried this forgotten spot, and saw the remains of
the bridge still standing, that the maiden might here be assisted
to escape on to the bank, or be drawn up by a cord, or some other
implement, to the top of the bridge, which, being high above the
ordinary level of the water, would not probably be swept away by
the ice, at least not till that part of it on which she was situated
should have passed under it. There was an occupied log-house
standing but a short distance from the place, and the owner, as
Woodburn drew near, was, luckily, just making his appearance at
the door.
“A rope, a rope! be ready with a rope,” shouted Woodburn,
pointing to the scene of trouble, as soon as he could make himself
understood by the wondering settler.
The man, after a hurried glance from the speaker to the
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indicated scene, and thence to the bridge below, during which he
seemed to comprehend the nature of the emergency, instantly
disappeared within the door. In another moment Woodburn
came up, and burst into the house, where he found the settler and
his wife eagerly running out the rope of their bedstead, which had
been hastily stripped of the bed and clothing, and the fastenings
cut, for the purpose. The instant the rope was disengaged, it
was seized by the young man, who, bidding the other to follow,
rushed out of the house, and bounded forward to the bridge,
which they both reached just as the unbroken ice was here beginning
to quake and move from the impulse of the vast body
above, which, now scarcely fifty paces distant, was driving down,
with deafening crash, towards them.
“Thank Heaven, she yet lives, and is nearing us!” exclaimed
Woodburn, as he ran out on to the partially covered beams of the
bridge, where he could obtain a clear view of the channel above.
“She is there, hedged in, though as yet riding securely in the
midst of that hideous jam, but, if not drawn up here, will be the
next moment lost among the spreading mass, as it is disgorged
into the Connecticut here below.”
“Shall we throw down an end of the rope for her to catch?”
said the settler, hastening to Woodburn's side.
“I dare not risk her strength to hold on to it; I must go down
myself,” said Woodburn, hurriedly knotting the two ends of the
cord round his body. “Now stand by me, my friend. Brace
yourself back firmly on this string-piece; let me down, and the
instant I have secured her in my arms, draw us both up together.”
“I can let you down; but to draw you both up —” replied
the other, hesitating at the thought of the hazardous attempt.
“You must try it,” eagerly interrupted the intrepid young man.
“My friends will be here in a moment to aid you. There she
comes! be ready! Now!”
Accordingly, sliding over the edge of the bridge, Woodburn was
gradually let down by the strong and steady hands of the settler,
till he was swinging in the air, on a level with that part of the
approaching mass on which stood the half-senseless object of his
perilous adventure. The foremost of the broken ice was now
sweeping swiftly by, just beneath his feet. Another moment,
and she will be there! She evidently sees the preparation for
her deliverance; a faint cry of joy escapes her lips, and her
hands are extended towards the proffered aid. And now,
riding high on the billowy column, she is borne on nearer and
nearer towards those who wait, in breathless silence, for her
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[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]
approach. And now she comes — she is there! She is caught
in the eager grasp of the brave youth; and, the next instant, by
the giant effort of the strong man above them, they are together
drawn up within a few feet of the bending and tottering bridge.
But with all his desperate exertions, he can raise them no higher;
and there they hang suspended over the dark abyss of whirling
waters that had opened in the disrupturing mass beneath, at the
instant, as if to receive them; while a mountain billow of ice,
that must overwhelm them with certain destruction, is rolling
down, with angry roar, within a few rods of the spot. A groan
of despair burst from the exhausted man at the rope; and his
grasp was about to give way.
“Hold on there, an instant! one instant longer!” cried a loud
voice on the right, where a tall, muscular form was seen bounding
forward to the spot.
“Quick, Colonel Carpenter! quick! O, for God's sake, quick!”
exclaimed the settler, throwing an anguished and beseeching
glance over his shoulder towards the other.
The next instant, the powerful frame of the new-comer was
bending over the grasped rope; and, in another, both preservers
and preserved were on the bridge, from which they had barely
time to escape, before it was swept away, with a loud crash, and
borne off on the top of the mighty torrent. They were met on
the bank by the companions of Woodburn, and the friends of the
rescued maiden, who came promiscuously running to the spot;
when loud and long were the gushing acclamations of joy and
gratitude that rang wildly up to heaven at the unexpected deliverance.
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CHAPTER III.
“The king can make a belted knight,
Confer proud names, and a' that;
But pith of sense and pride of worth
Are brighter ranks than a' that.”
[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]
The village of Westminster yields, perhaps, in the tranquil
and picturesque beauty of its location, to few others in New England.
In addition to the advantage of a situation along the banks
of that magnificent river, of which our earliest epic poet, Barlow,
in his liquid numbers, has sung,
“No watery glades through richer valleys shine,
Nor drinks the sea a lovelier wave than thine,”
it stands upon an elevated plain, that could scarcely have been
made more level had it been smoothed and evened, by the instruments
of art, to fit it for the arena of some vast amphitheatre,
which the place, with the aid of a little fancy, may be very easily
thought to resemble; for, from the principal street, which is
nearly a mile in extent, broad and beautiful fields sweep away in
every direction, till they meet, in the distance, that crescent-like
chain of hills, by which, with the river, the place is enclosed.
It was probably this natural beauty of the place, together with
its proximity to the old fort at Walpole, at which a military establishment
was once maintained by the government of New Hampshire
for the protection of its frontier, that led to the early settlement
and rapid growth of this charming spot, which, having
been entered by the pioneers as far back as 1741, continued so to
increase and prosper, though on the edge of a wilderness unbroken,
for many years, for hundreds of miles on the north, that,
at the opening of the American revolution, it was the most populous
and best built village in Vermont.
This place, at the period chosen for the beginning of our tale,
had been, for several years, the seat of justice for all the southern
part of this disputed territory, under the assumed jurisdiction
of New York, in which a majority of the inhabitants seemed to
have tacitly acquiesced. And the most prominent of its public
buildings, as might be expected, was the Court House, embracing
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the jail under the same roof. This was a spacious square edifice,
conspicuously located, and of very respectable architecture for
the times. The village, also, contained a meeting-house, school-house,
and the usual proportion of stores and taverns. The whole
place, indeed, had now nearly passed into the second stage of
existence, in American villages, when the pioneer log-houses have
given place to the more airy and elegant framed buildings; and,
compared with other towns, which, in this new settlement, were
then just emerging from the wilderness, it wore quite an ancient
appearance.
Among the most commodious and handsome of the many
respectable dwellings which had here been erected, was that of
Crean Brush, Esquire, colonial deputy secretary of New York,
and also an active member of the legislature of that colony for
this part of her claimed territory. This house, at the sessions
of the courts, especially, was the fashionable place of resort for
what was termed the court party gentry, and other distinguished
persons from abroad. To the interior of this well-furnished and
affectedly aristocratic establishment, we will now repair, in order
to resume the thread of our narrative.
In an upper chamber of the house, at a late hour of the same
evening on which occurred the exciting scenes described in the
preceding pages, sat the two young ladies, to whom the reader
has already been introduced, silently indulging in their different
reveries before an open fire. They had safely arrived in town,
about an hour before, with all their company, except Jones, who
had been left at Brattleborough; and having been consigned to the
family of this mansion, with whom they had formed a previous
acquaintance at Albany, where Brush, the greater part of the
year, resided, and where both of the young ladies were educated,
they had taken some refreshment, and retired to the apartment
prepared for their reception. The demeanor of these fair companions,
always widely different, was particularly so at the present
moment. Miss Haviland, with her chin gracefully resting on one
folded hand, and her calm and beautiful, but now deeply-clouded
brow, shaded by the white, taper fingers of the other, was abstractedly
gazing into the glowing coals on the hearth before her;
while the gentle, but less reflective McRea, with a countenance
disturbed only by the passing emotions of sympathy that occasionally
flitted over it, as she glanced at the downcast face of her
friend, sat quietly preparing for bed, by removing her ornaments,
and adjusting those long, golden tresses, with which, in after
times, her memory was destined to become associated, in the
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minds of tearful thousands, while reading the melancholy history
of her tragic fate.
“Come, Sabrey,” at length said the latter, soothingly, “come,
cheer up. I cannot bear to see you so dejected. I would not
brood over that frightful scene any longer, but, feeling grateful
and happy at my escape, would dismiss it as soon as possible from
my mind.”
“I am, Jane,” responded the other, partially rousing herself
from her reverie; “I am both grateful and happy at my providential
escape. But you are mistaken in supposing it is that scene
which disquiets me to-night.”
“Indeed!” replied the former, with a look of mingled surprise
and curiosity. “Why, I have been attributing your dejection and
absence of mind, this evening, to that cause alone. What else
can have occurred to disturb your thoughts to-night, let me
ask?”
“Jane, in confidence, I will tell you,” replied Miss Haviland,
looking the other in the face, and speaking in a low, serious tone.
“It is the discovery which I have made, or at least think I have,
this day, made, respecting the true character of one who should
command, in the relation I stand with him, my entire esteem.”
“Mr. Peters? Though of course it is he to whom you allude.
But what new trait have you discovered in him, to-day, that leads
you to distrust his character?”
“What I wish I had not; what I still hope I may be deceived
in; but what, nevertheless, forces itself upon my mind, in spite of
all my endeavors to resist it. You recollect Mr. Jones's account
of the lawsuit, in which Mr. Peters succeeded in obtaining the
farm of this Mr. Woodburn, whose gallant conduct we have all
this afternoon witnessed?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“Well, did you think that story, when rightly viewed, was very
creditable to Mr. Peters?”
“I am not sure I understood the case sufficiently to judge; did
you?”
“Well enough, Jane, with the significant winks that passed
between Peters and the sheriff, to convince me that an unjust
advantage had been taken. But perhaps I could have been
brought to believe myself mistaken in this conclusion, had I seen
nothing else to confirm it, and lower him still more in my
esteem.”
“What else did you see?
“An exhibition of malice, Jane, which astonished as much as
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it pained me. That pretended accident, in running over Woodburn,
was designed — ay, coolly designed.”
“Why, Sabrey Haviland! how can you talk, how can you
believe, so about one whose betrothing ring is now on your finger?”
“It is indeed painful to do so; but truth compels me.”
“Might you not have been mistaken?”
“No; I saw the whole movement. I had been watching him
some time, and I noticed how he prepared those fiery horses of
his for a sudden spring, and saw the look of malicious exultation
accompanying the final act. And even now, I shudder to think what
guilt he might have incurred! Even as it resulted, only in the
destruction of property, how can I help being shocked at the discovery
of a secret disposition which could have prompted such
a deed? O, how different has been the conduct of him who has
thus been made the victim of his misusage!”
“Different! Why, what has he done? I was not aware —”
“True, I am reminded that I have not told you. That loquacious
landlady, where we stopped to dine, told me, as we were
coming away, that there had been a great excitement among the
people in the street, about the outrage; and that Peters would
certainly have been mobbed, if Woodburn had not interfered and
prevented it.”
“Indeed! I should have hardly expected so much magnanimity
in one of his class. It was truly a noble return for the injuries
he had received from Peters.”
“Ay, and by this last act of saving my life, he has still more
nobly revenged himself upon Peters, and upon us all.”
“Assisted to save you, I conclude you mean; for I heard Peters
tell your father, that it was the settler who lived in the house
near by, and Colonel Carpenter, who finally rescued you.”
“Did he tell my father that story, without mentioning Woodburn?”
asked Miss Haviland, with a look of mingled surprise
and displeasure.
“Yes, as he came back to meet us with the news, while we
were getting round with the sleigh to the spot.”
“Well, my father shall know the truth of the case; and Mr.
Woodburn, though he did not boast of his services, nor even stay
to give me an opportunity to thank him for what he had done,
shall also know that we are not insensible to his gallant conduct;
for, whatever they may say, Jane, I am indebted to him for my
life. As dreadful as was my situation among that crashing mass
of ice, with which I was borne onward down the stream, I saw
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[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]
all that was done. He led the way from the first, contrived the
plan, and with the assistance of the hesitating settler, carried it
into execution, with a promptitude that alone could have saved
me. It is true, that we both must have perished but for the timely
arrival of Colonel Carpenter; but that detracts nothing from the
merits of Mr. Woodburn, who, as we hung suspended over that
frightful abyss, I knew and felt, was throwing his life to the
winds to save mine. O, why could it not have been, as I have
often said to myself during our cheerless ride this evening, — why
could it not have been Peters, to perform all that I have this day
seen in that poor, despised, and persecuted young man?”
“Why, Mr. Peters certainly appeared much alarmed, and anxious
that something should be done to save you,” replied Miss
McRea, after a thoughtful pause, produced by the words and fervid
manner of her companion.
“Then why did he leave it to another to save me?” responded
the former, severely.
“That I do not know, certainly,” replied the other; “but he
at once bestirred himself, and I heard him offer five guineas, and
I think he doubled the price the next moment, to any one who
would go on to the ice and bring you off.”
“Five guineas!” exclaimed Miss Haviland, starting to her
feet, with a countenance eloquent with scorn and contempt; “five
guineas, and at a pinch, ten! What a singular fountain must that
be, from which such a thought, at such a time, could have flowed!
Had it been one of those favorite horses, it would have sounded
well enough, perhaps, though I think he would have offered more.
It is well, however, that I now know the price at which I am estimated,”
she added, bitterly.
“It does sound rather strangely, now you have named it,” responded
Miss McRea, abashed at the unexpected construction put
on what she had communicated, and mortified and half vexed,
that every attempt she had made to remove her friend's difficulties
only made the matter worse: “it sounds oddly, to be sure;
but I presume he did not mean any thing.”
“O, no, I dare say; nor did he do any thing, as I can learn,
through the whole affair, except attempt to deprive Woodburn of
the credit he had gained. Jane,” she continued, with softened
tone, “what would you have thought, had you been in my situation,
and your lover had acted such a part?”
“I should have thought — I don't know what I should have
thought,” replied the other, with a feeling which showed how
quickly the appeal had taken effect. “But I should have had no
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[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]
occasion to have any thought about it; for I know he would have
been the one to save me, or die with me. O, I wish Mr. Jones
had come on with us, for had he been there, so good and so brave
as he is, I am sure even you need not have become so deeply
indebted to this low young fellow.”
“Low, Jane, low?” said the former, reprovingly. “Was it low
to overlook so easily the injury and affront he had received from
Peters, and then return good for evil? And was it low to rescue
me from the raging flood, by exertions and risk of life, which
would have done credit to the first hero in the land?”
“O, no, not that; I did not mean that; for his conduct has been
generous and noble indeed; and from the first, when I heard Mr.
Jones's account of him, I was disposed to think highly of the
man, for one in his situation of life. I only meant that he did
not belong to our party, but was one of the lower classes of
society.”
“It is true he may not belong to our party, Jane; but how
much should that weigh in the argument? Perhaps at this very
hour, two thirds of the American people would count it as weight
in the other part of the balance. And even I, trained as I have
been by and among the highest toned loyalists, wish I could help
doubting that our party is the only one that has right and reason
on its side. And as to the claim of belonging to what is called
the first society, I can only say that I wish many, who are allowed
that claim among us, were as worthy of the place as I think
Woodburn is. I have always loved Justice for her beautiful self,
and hated her opposite; and I never could see how those who are
guided by her and the kindred virtues, could be accounted low,
or how, or why, those who lack these qualities could claim to be
called high. Is it any wonder then, Jane, that I should feel
troubled and distressed at discoveries which, in my mind, reverse
the situation that my friends assign to the two individuals of
whom we have been speaking?”
“O, you are too much of a philosopher for me in all that,”
replied Jane. “Come, be a woman now, Sabrey, and I will discuss
the matter with you, claiming, perhaps, a little, a very little
of the right of the confessor. I can easily understand how painful
it would be to have doubts of the character of one's lover;
and I can also understand,” she continued, looking a little archly,
“how one, who did not love a suitor very hard, could feel grateful—
yes, very grateful — to a good-looking young man who had
behaved gallantly. And I have a good mind to half suspect —”
“Hark!” interrupted the other, hurriedly, while a slight tinge
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[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]
became visible on her cheek — “hark! did you hear the striking
of the house clock below? It is telling the hour of midnight.
Let us dismiss these embarrassing thoughts, and retire to our repose.
Your prospects, Jane,” she continued, rising and speaking
in a sad and gently expostulatory tone — “your prospects are
bright with love and happiness; and it will be ungenerous and
cruel in you to say aught which will deepen the shade that I fear
is coming over mine.”
“O, I will not, Sabrey,” warmly returned the kind-hearted
Jane. “I did not intend it. Forgive me, do; and we will dismiss
the subject for something which will give us pleasanter dreams,
and then, as you say, go to rest and enjoy them.”
Leaving these fair friends to their slumbers, disquieted or
sweetened by the various visions which the incidents of the day
had been calculated to excite in the bosom of each, we will now
repair to a lower apartment of the house, to note the doings of a
select band of court dignitaries there assembled, for a purpose
concerning which a spectator, at the first glance, might, from the
appearances, be at a loss to decide whether it was one of revelry
or secret consultation, so much did it partake of the character of
both.
Around a long table, well furnished with wine and glasses, sat
a select company of gentlemen, whose dress and deportment
denoted them to be persons of the first consequence. And such,
indeed, may be said to have been the fact, till the present time;
for the party embraced the judges and officers of the court, and
such of the most stanch and influential of their supporters as
could be convened for a special consultation, which, it was considered,
the portents of the times demanded. Here was the aristocratic
and haughty Brush, the host, and leading spirit of the
party, with his florid face, cracking his jokes and ridiculing “the
boorish settlers,” in which he was sure to find a ready response
in the boisterous laugh of Peters and other young supporters of
the court and loyal party. Here, too, sat the fiery and profane
Gale, the clerk of the court, with his thin, angular features, and
forbidding brow, occasionally exploding with his short, bitter,
barking laugh, as, with many an oath, he dealt out anticipated
vengeance on all those who should dare cross the path of the
established authorities. And here also was Chandler, the chief
judge of the court, with his plausible manners, affectedly sincere
look, and deferential smile, as he exchanged the whisper and
meaning glance with his colleague, Judge Sabin, a stern, reserved,
and bigoted loyalist, or as he nodded approbation to the
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remarks, whatever they might be, of those around him. These,
with Stearns, a tory lawyer of some note, Rogers, a tory landholder,
Haviland, and a few others, all leading and trusty supporters
of the court party, constituted the company, or rather the
cabinet council, here convened, all of whom, as appeared by the
entire freedom of their remarks, were fully in each other's confidence.
There was one person in the room, however, who had no
thought or feeling in common with the rest of those present, but
who did not appear to be deemed by them of sufficient consequence
to be interrogated in relation to his opinions, or of sufficient
capacity to comprehend what was said in his presence, at
least not to any degree which might render it unsafe that he
should hear the discussion so unreservedly going forward. This
person, who was acting in the capacity of waiter to the company,
being under a temporary engagement to the master of the house,
to serve him in such work as might be wanted about the house
and stables, was a youth, of perhaps eighteen, of quite an ordinary,
and even singular appearance. His figure was low and
slight, and he was made to appear the more diminutive, perhaps,
by his dress, which consisted of short trousers, a long, coarse
jacket, and a flat woollen cap, drawn down to the eyebrows. His
hair, hanging, in lank locks, to his shoulders, was light and sandy,
and his face was deeply freckled; while a pair of long, falling
eyelashes contributed to add still further to the peculiarity of his
looks, and to give his countenance, with those who did not note
the keen, bright orbs that occasionally peeped from their usually
impenetrable coverts, a sleepy and listless appearance. He now
sat on the top of a high wood-box, placed near one corner of the
chimney, with his legs dangling over one end of the box, and his
head drooping sluggishly towards the fire, apparently as unconscious
of what was said and done in the room, as the little black
dog that lay sleeping on the floor beneath his feet.
“Here, Bart,” exclaimed Brush, as the company, having
dropped the discussion of all weighty matters, were now briskly
circulating the bottle, and beginning to give way to noisy merriment—
“here, Bart, you sleepy devil, come and snuff these candles.
Our chap here,” he continued, winking archly to those
around him — “our chap Bart, or Barty Burt, to give the whole of
his euphonious name, gentlemen, may be considered an excellent
specimen of the rebel party, who talk so wisely about self-government,
sitting under one's own vine and fig-tree, and all that
sort of thing; for, in the first place, he has a great deal of
-- 039 --
[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]
wisdom, handy to be got at, it all lying in his face. And then he is
so much for self-government that no one can govern him in
any thing. Then again, as to the idea of sitting under a fig-tree,
I think it is one that Bart would most naturally entertain; for had
he a tree to sit under, be it fig or bass-wood, and enough to eat,
he would sit there till he was gray, before he would think of
moving.”
“Not badly drawn, that similitude,” said Stearns, after the
burst of laughter, by which these remarks were greeted, had a
little subsided; “but methinks I see a flaw therein, friend Brush:
you said our young republican's wisdom, alias ideas, all lay in
his face; and then, in the matter of the fig-tree, you go on to
intimate he has one distinct idea in his head, thereby lessening
the force and exactness of the comparison, as I think you will
allow.”
“I crave pardon, gentlemen,” cried the secretary; “I should
have qualified; for, really, I have several times seriously suspected
Bart to have ideas, or, at least, one whole idea of his
own; and if you think that is too much to allow the individuals
of the party generally, with whom I have compared him, why,
then I must knock under, that's all.”
“You are down! you are down, then, Brush!” shouted several,
with another uproarious burst of laughter.
Bart, the chief butt of this ridicule, in the mean while, was moving
quietly about the room in performance of his bidden tasks,
without appearing to notice a word that was uttered; and but for
a certain rapid twinkling that might have been seen in his eyes,
which, as he deliberately returned to his seat in the corner, were
opened to an unusual extent, one would have supposed him utterly
insensible to all the taunts and jeering laughter of which he had
thus publicly been made the victim.
“Ah! Patterson, here you are then, at last,” exclaimed Gale,
as the former, with a disturbed and angry countenance, now
came pushing his way into the midst of the company. “We
have done nothing but drink and joke since you went out,
scarcely; at all events, we have concluded on nothing, except to
wait and learn the result of your discoveries: so now for your
report.”
“Ay, ay, Mr. Sheriff,” responded Brush. “But stay, take
breath, and a glass of this glorious old Madeira, first. There!
now tell us how the land lies abroad to-night.”
“It lies but little to my liking,” growled the sheriff, with an oath.
“The rascally dogs have altogether stolen the march of us. They
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[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]
have been swarming into town all the evening, as thick as bees;
while not more than a dozen of our flint-and-steel men have yet
got on to the ground. It beats Belzebub! —”
“Our witnesses,” quickly interposed Judge Chandler, bowing
with a significant smile and cautionary wink, while he threw a
sidelong glance towards Bart, whom the wary eye of the judge
had detected in slightly changing his position, so as to bring his
ear more directly towards the speakers — “our witnesses and
quarrelling suitors in court you mean, of course?”
“Why, yes — yes, your honor — if you think that necessary,”
replied Patterson, following the direction of the other's glance,
and then looking inquiringly at Brush, as if to ask whether there
was any danger to be apprehended from talking before the servant.
“Pooh! — nonsense!” said Brush, readily understanding the
mute appeal. “Nonsense! You could not make him comprehend
what we are talking about in six weeks, if you should do
your prettiest. Why, the fellow has not two ideas above a jackass!—
so talk out.”
“Well, then,” resumed the sheriff, in a lower tone, “I have
satisfied myself that the rebels are plotting like so many Satans,
and are in earnest about carrying their threat into execution.
Now, the question is, what shall be done — yield the point and
submit to be turned out of the Court House to-morrow, as if we
were a pack of unruly boys, or what?”
“Yield!” fiercely exclaimed Gale — “not till my pistol
bullets have drank the heart's blood of the d—d rascals, first.”
“Ay, Gale,” responded Brush, “that would be well enough,
but for one small difficulty, which is, that these demi-savages understand
quite as much of that kind of play as we do; and so long
as they outnumber us so greatly, the fun of doing what you would
propose might be less than talking about it. Let us have Chandler's
opinion. What course is it best to take, judge?”
“Temporize!” replied the latter, in a low, emphatic tone, and
with a look of peculiar significance — “temporize till —”
“Till we can help ourselves,” said Patterson, taking up the
sentence where the other left it, or rather finishing in words what
had been expressed by looks.
“That's just my notion,” remarked Stearns. “Let them see
and be assured that we are for peace, and want nothing but
what is right; all of which may be said truly. And in this manner,
if the thing is well managed, their suspicions can be allayed;
and we can get possession of the Court House as soon as our
friends get on, which will be by to-morrow noon — will it not,
Patterson?”
-- 041 --
[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]
“Yes, unless this cussed flood has carried away all the roads,
as well as bridges,” gruffly replied the sheriff. “Yes, and if
these mobbing knaves can be kept quiet till then, we shall be in a
situation to ask no favors.”
“And grant none,” said Sabin, with cool bitterness.
“You don't learn,” asked Chandler, with feigned indifference —
“you don't learn that the people have brought any offensive implements
with them, do you, Patterson? It might be done
covertly, you know. Has this been seen to, by proper measures,—
such as examining the straw in the bottoms of their sleighs, and
the like?”
“Yes, thoroughly,” returned the former; “they have brought
no arms with them, at any rate. We are undoubtedly indebted to
your honor's skilful management with them at Chester for that.”
“Ay, ay,” interposed Stearns, “nobody but the judge could
have executed that piece of diplomacy with the fellows. And no
one but he can carry out the business successfully now. His
honor must be the one to undertake it.”
“Certainly.” “The very man.” “He must do it.” “They
would listen to none of us.” “The thing is settled, and he must
go,” unanimously responded the company.
“I really feel flattered, gentlemen,” replied Chandler, bowing
and waving his hand towards the company — “highly flattered
by your opinion of my capacity to negotiate in this delicate affair.
But you will understand, in case I accede to your wishes, gentlemen,”
he continued, with a look of peculiar meaning — “you
will understand that I am to be considered, on all hands, as utterly
opposed to coercive measures — to all — I am understood, I suppose,
gentlemen?”
“Yes, yes, judge,” returned the others, with knowing winks
and laughter, “we will all understand that you are opposed to
the whole move.”
Having thus arranged business for the morrow to their satisfaction,
these astute personages, who, like their party generally in
America, at that period, seemed to have acted on an entirely
false estimate of the intelligence and spirit of the common people,
now rose and retired to their respective lodgings, inwardly chuckling
at their sagacity, in being able to concoct what they believed
would prove a successful scheme of overreaching and putting
down their opponents, and, at the same time, of establishing their
own tottering authority on a basis which might bid defiance to all
future attempts to overturn it.
-- 042 --
CHAPTER IV.
“But here, at least, are arms unchained,
And souls that thraldom never stained.”
[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]
As soon as the company, described in the preceding chapter, had
all retired from the room, Brush, bidding Bart to rake up the fire
and go to bed, proceeded to lock all the outer doors of the house,
muttering to himself as he did so, “It can't be as Chandler fears,
I think, about this fellow's going out to blab to-night; but as this
will put an end to the possibillity of his doing it, I may as well
make all fast, and then there will be no chance for blame for
suffering him to remain in the room.”
So saying, and putting the different keys in his pocket, he at
once disappeared, on his way to his own apartment. When the
sound of his retiring footsteps had ceased to be heard, Bart, who
had lingered in the room, suddenly changed his sleepy, abject
appearance for a prompt, decisive look and an erect attitude.
“Two ideas above a jackass! — two ideas above a jackass,
eh?” he said, and slowly repeated, as with flashing eyes he
nodded significantly in the direction his master had taken. “You
may yet find out, Squire Brush, that my ears aint sich a disput
sight longer than yourn, arter all.”
With this he blew out the last remaining light, and groped his
way to his own humble sleeping-room, in the low attic story of
the back kitchen. Here, however, he manifested no disposition
to go to bed, but sitting down upon the side of his miserable pallet,
he remained motionless and silent for fifteen or twenty minutes,
when he began to soliloquize: “Jackass! — sleepy devil! — not
wit enough to see what they are at in six weeks, eh? Barty
Burt, you are one of small fishes, it is true; but, for all that, you
needn't be walloped about at this rate, and bamboozled, and
swallowed entirely up by the big ones of this court-and-king party.
You know enough to take care of yourself; yes, and at the same
time, you can be doing something towards paying these gentry
for the beautiful compliments you have had from them to-night,
and at other times. The fact is, Bart, you are a rebel now —
honestly one of them — you feel it in you, and you may as well
let it out. So here goes for their meeting, if it is to be found, if
I am hanged for it.”
-- 043 --
[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]
Having, in this whimsical manner, made a sort of manifesto of
his principles and intentions, as if to give them, with himself, a
more fixed and definite character, he now rose, buttoned up his
jacket, carefully raised the window of his room, let himself down
to the roof of a shed beneath it, and from that descended to the
ground, with the easy and rapid motions of a squirrel engaged in
nut-gathering. Here he cast a furtive glance around him, and
paused some moments, in apparent hesitation, respecting the
course to be taken to find those of whom he was in quest. Soon,
however, appearing to come to a determination, he struck out
into the main street, and, with a quick step, proceeded on, perhaps
a furlong, when he suddenly stopped short, and exclaimed,
“Hold up, Bart. What did that sly judge say about searching
in folks' sleighs, for — what was that word now? — But never
mind, it meant guns. And what did the sheriff say about a dozen
flint-and-steel men having come? Put that and that together
now, Bart, and see if it don't mean that the only guns brought into
town to-night are packed away in the straw, in the bottom of the
sleighs of the court party understrappers? Let's go and mouse
round their stopping-place a little, Bart. Perhaps you'll get more
news to carry to the rebels,” he added, turning round and making
towards the tavern at which those in the interests of the loyalists
were known generally to put up.
On reaching the tavern, and finding all there still and dark, he
proceeded directly to the barn shed, and commenced a search,
which was soon rewarded by finding, in the different sleighs
about the place, twelve muskets, carefully concealed in hay or
blankets. With a low chuckle of delight at his discovery, Bart
took as many as he could conveniently carry at one load, and,
going with them into the barn, thrust them one by one into the
hay mow, under the girts and beams, so as effectually to conceal
them. He then returned for others, and continued his employment
till the whole were thus disposed of; when he left the place,
and resumed his walk to the northerly end of the village. After
pursuing his way through the street, and some distance down the
road beyond the village, he paused against a low, long log-house,
standing endwise to the road. This house was occupied by a
middle-aged, single man, known by the name of Tom Dunning,
though often called Ditter Dunning, and sometimes Der Ditter,
on account of his frequent use of these terms as prefixes to
his words and sentences, arising from a natural impediment of
speech. He was a hunter by profession, and passed most of his
time in the woods, or round the Connecticut in catching salmon,
-- 044 --
[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]
which, at that period, were found in the river in considerable
numbers, as far up as Bellows Falls. Though he mingled but
little in society, yet he was known to be well informed respecting
all the public movements of the times; and it was also believed
that he had enrolled himself among the far-famed band of Green
Mountain Boys, and often joined them in their operations against
the Yorkers, on the other side of the mountains. Very little,
however, was known about the man, except that he was a shrewd,
resolute fellow, extremely eccentric, and perfectly impenetrable
to all but the few in whom he confided.
Bart, from some remark he had overheard in the street, in the early
part of the evening, had been led to conclude that the company
he now sought were assembled at this house. And though he
was personally unacquainted with the owner, and knew nothing
of his principles, yet he was resolved to enter and trust to luck
to make his introduction, if the company were present, and, if
not, to rely on his own wit to discover whether it were safe to
unfold his errand.
As he was approaching the house, Dunning hastily emerged
from the door, and, advancing with a quick step, confronted him
in the path with an air which seemed to imply an expectation
that his business would be at once announced. Bart, who was
not to be discomposed by any thing of this kind, manifested no
hurry to name his errand, and seemed to prefer that the other
should be the first to break the silence.
“Ditter — seems to me I have seen you somewhere?” at length
said Dunning, inquiringly.
“Very likely. I have often been there,” replied Bart, with
the utmost gravity.
“Ditter — devil you have! And what did you — der — ditter—
find there, my foxy young friend?”
“Nothing that I was looking for.”
“Der — what was that?”
“The meeting.”
“Der — what meeting?”
“The one I'd like to go to, may be.”
“You are a bright pup; but — der — don't spit this way; it
might be der — ditter — dangerous business to me; for you must
have been eating razors to-night.”
“No, I haven't; don't love 'em. But you haven't yet told
me where the meeting is?”
“Ditter — look here, my little chap,” said Dunning, getting impatient
and vexed that he could not decide whether the other was
-- 045 --
[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]
a knave, simpleton, or neither — “ditter — look here; — der —
don't your folks want you? Hadn't you better run along now?”
“Reckon I shall, when you tell me where to go and not run
against snags.”
“Ditter well, der go back the way you come, about ditter as
far again as half way; der then, ditter turn to the ditter right,
then to the ditter left, then der — ditter — ditter — ditter — go
along! you'll get there before I can tell you.”
“In no sort of hurry; will wait till you get your mouth off;
may be it will shoot near the mark, arter all.”
“Ditter, dog, my cat, if I — der — don't begin to believe you are
considerable of a critter; and I've half a mind to risk you a
piece; so come into the house, and, der — let me take a squint at
your phiz in the light.”
Taking no exceptions to the character of the invitation, Bart
now followed the other into the house, and, sitting down on a
bench by the fire, began very unconcernedly to whistle, on a
low key, the tune of Yankee Doodle, which was then just beginning
to be considered a patriotic air. Dunning, in the mean time,
taking a seat in the opposite corner, commenced his proposed
scrutiny, which he continued, with one eye partly closed, and
with a certain dubious expression of countenance, for some moments,
when he observed,
“You are a ditter queer chicken, that's a fact. But I der find,
now that I know you, as the ditter divil did his pigs, by sight; I
know also the sort of folks you have been living amongst lately;
and der knowing all that, it's reasonable that I should be a snuffing
a little for the ditter smell of brimstone. So now, if you are a
court party tory, and come here for mischief, you've got into a
place that will ditter prove too hot for you; but if, as I rather
think, you are, or der want to be, something better, and can let
us into the shape and fix of matters and things over there at ditter
head-quarters, you may be the chap we would like to see. Ditter
speak out therefore, like a man, and no more of your ditter
squizzling.”
After a few more evasive remarks, in which he succeeded in
drawing out the other more fully, and causing him the more completely
to commit himself, Bart threw aside all bantering, and
proceeded to relate all his discoveries relative to the contemplated
movement of the court party.
“Ditter devils and dumplings!” exclaimed the hunter, as, with
eyes sparkling with excitement, he sprang to his feet, as the
other finished his recital. “This must be made known directly.
-- 046 --
[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]
Come — der follow me, and I'll take you to the company you
ditter said you wished to see.”
So saying, he immediately led the way through a dark entry to
a room in the rear of the house, which the two now entered;
when Bart found himself in a company of nearly twenty grave
and stern-looking men, deliberating in a regularly organized
meeting.
“Ditter here, Captain Wright,” eagerly commenced Dunning,
as he entered, addressing the chairman, a prompt, fine-looking
man, and the leading whig of the village; “here is one,” he
continued, pointing to Bart, “one who brings ditter news that —”
“Esquire Knowlton, of Townsend, has the floor now,” said
the chairman, interrupting the speaker, and directing his attention
to a middle-aged man of a gentlemanly, intelligent appearance,
who was standing on one side of the room, having suspended the
remarks he was making at the entrance of Dunning and his companion.
“As I was remarking, Mr. Chairman,” now resumed the gentleman
who had been thus interrupted in his speech, “the tory
party, acting under various disguises, have been, for several
months past, secretly using every means within their reach to
strengthen their unrighteous rule in this already sadly oppressed
section of the country. They aim to bring the people into a state
of bondage and slavery. When no cash is stirring, with which
debts can be paid, they purposely multiply suits, seize property,
which they well know can never be redeemed, and take it into
their hands, that they may make the people dependent on them,
and subservient to their party purposes. And just so far as they
find themselves strengthened by these and other disguised movements,
so far they betray their intention to curtail all freedom of
opinion, and to overawe us by open acts of oppression. Here,
one man has been thrown into prison on the charge of high treason;
when all they proved against him was the remark, that if
the king had signed the Quebec bill, he had broken his coronation
oath. There, another, a poor harmless recluse, as I have
ever supposed him, is dragged from his hut in the mountains,
and imprisoned to await his trial for an alleged murder, committed
long ago, and in another jurisdiction; when his only
crime, with his prosecutors, probably, is his bold denunciations of
their tyranny, unless, as some suspect, even a baser motive actuates
them. They even proclaim, that all who dare question the
king's right to tax us without our consent, are guilty of high treason,
and worthy of death! For myself, I seek not, the suspension
-- 047 --
[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]
of this court at this time, on account of the questionable jurisdiction
of New York merely, but because the court, itself bitterly
tory in all its branches, is sustained by a colony which refuses to
adopt the resolves of the Continental Congress, and thereby continues
to force upon us the royal authority, which our brethren of
the other colonies have almost every where put down, and which
in our case, Heaven knows, is not the least deserving the fate it
has met elsewhere. And the question, then, now comes home
to us, Shall we tolerate it any longer? The hearts of the people,
though their tongues may often be awed into silence — the hearts
of the people are ready to respond their indignant no! And I, for
one, am ready to join in the cry, and stepping into the first rank
of the opposers of arbitrary power, breast the storm in discharging
my duty to my country.”
“Amen!” was the deep and general response of the company.
“Mr. Dunning will now be heard,” said the chairman, motioning
to the former to come forward.
“Ditter well, Captain — der — ditter Mr. Moderator, I mean.
I, being on the watch against ditter interlopers, you know, have
just picked up an odd coon, here, who ditter seems to have ears
in one place and tongue in another; and his story is a ditter loud
one. But let him tell it in his own way. So now, Barty Burt,”
he continued, going up to the other, who stood by the fire, kicking
the fore-stick with his usual air of indifference; “come forward,
and tell the meeting all you have der seen and heard, in the
ditter camp of the Philistines.”
Bart, then, mostly in the way of answers to a series of rapid
questions, put by the chairman, who seemed to know him, and
understand the best way of drawing him out, — Bart then related
his discoveries to his astonished and indignant auditors, giving
such imitations of the manner of each of the company, whose
words he was repeating, as not only showed their meaning in its
full force, but at once convinced all present of the truth of his
story.
No sooner had Bart closed, than a half dozen of the company
sprang to their feet, in their eagerness to express their indignation
and abhorrence of the bloody plot, which their opponents,
under the garb of peace and fair promises, had, it was now evident,
been hatching against them.
“Order, gentlemen!” cried the chairman: “I don't wonder
you all want to denounce the detestable and cowardly conduct
of the tyrants. But one only can be heard at a time, and Mr.
-- 048 --
[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]
French, I rather think, was fairly up first, and he will therefore
proceed.”
While all others, on hearing this remark of the chairman,
resumed their seats, the person thus named, as privileged to
speak first, remained standing. He was a young man, of about
twenty-two, of a ready, animated appearance, while every look
and motion of his ardent countenance and restless muscles proclaimed
him to be of the most sanguine temperament and enthusiastic
feelings. An almost unnatural excitement was sparkling
in his kindling eyes, and a sort of wild, fitful, sad, and prophetic
air characterized his whole appearance as he began.
“It has come at last, then! I knew it was coming. I have
felt it for months; waking and sleeping, I have felt it. In my
dreams I have seen blood in the skies, and heard sounds of battle
in the air and earth. Dreams of themselves, I know, are generally
without sign or significance; but when the spirit of a dream
remains on the mind through the waking hours, as it has on
mine, I know it has a meaning. Something has been hurrying
me to be ready for the great event. I could not help coming
here to-night. I cannot help being here to-morrow. The event
and the time are at hand! I see it now — resistance, and battle,
and blood! Let it come! the victims are ready; and their blood,
poured out on the wood on the altar of liberty, will bring down
fire from heaven to consume the oppressors!”
There was a short silence among the company, who seemed to
pause, in surprise and awe, at the strange words and manner of
the young man, which evidently made an impression on his hearers
at the time, and which were afterwards remembered, and
often repeated, at the fireside, in recounting his untimely fate.”
“Mr. Fletcher,” at length observed the chairman, breaking
the silence — “Mr. Fletcher, of Newfane, is next entitled to
speak, I believe.”
“I rose, Mr. Chairman,” said the latter, a fine specimen of the
hardy, resolute, and intelligent yeoman of the times — “I rose but
to ask whether the news just received can be relied on: “can it
be, that Judge Chandler, after his pledge to us at Chester, would
be guilty of conduct reflecting so deeply on his character as a
man?”
“I am not wholly unprepared to believe the story myself,”
replied the chairman; “our young friend here may have his peculiarities;
but I consider him a thousand times more honest and
honorable, than some of those whose sly hints and treacherous
conduct he has so well described.”
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[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]
“Ditter, look here, Mr. Moderator,” interposed Dunning. “I
was once, ditter travelling, in the Bay State, with a friend, when
we came across a meeting-house with eight sides, and my friend
asked me what order of architecture I called it. Ditter well, I
was fairly treed, and couldn't tell. But I should be able to tell
now. I should ditter call it the Chandler order.”
A desultory but animated debate now arose. Various methods
of accomplishing what appeared to be the settled determination of
all — that of preventing the sitting of the court — were suggested.
Some proposed to dismantle or tear down the Court House; others
were for arming the people, seizing the building, and bidding
open defiance to their opponents. At this stage of the deliberations,
Colonel Carpenter, whose character had secured him great
influence, rose, and requested to be heard.
“From the gathering signs of the times,” said he, “we have
good reason to believe that the smouldering fires of liberty will
soon burst forth into open revolution throughout these oppressed
and insulted colonies. Our movements here may lead to the
opening scene of the great drama; and we must give our foes
no advantages by our imprudence. If we are the first to appear
in arms, it may weaken our cause, while it strengthens theirs.
Let them be the first to do this — let us place them in the wrong,
and then, if they have recourse to violence and bloodshed, we
will act; and no fear but the people will find means to arm themselves.
Let us, therefore, go into the Court House to-morrow, in
a body, but without a single offensive implement, and resist
peacefully, but firmly; and then, if they dare make a martyr,
his blood will do more for our cause than would now a regiment
of rifles.”
Although this prudent and far-sighted proposal was for a while
opposed, by the more ardent and unthinking part of the company,
yet it was at length adopted by the whole; and having made arrangements
to carry it into effect, the meeting broke up, and all
retired to their respective lodgings.
-- 050 --
CHAPTER V.
“Thou ever strong upon the strongest side.”
[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]
Although many were the anxious consultations, and deep plottings,
among the belligerent parties within doors, during the fore
part of the memorable 13th of March, yet it was not till the afternoon
of that day had considerably advanced, that any indications
of the events which followed became observable in the streets of
Westminster. About this time, one of the doors of Crean Brush's
guest-filled mansion suddenly flew open, and the crouched and
cringing form of our humble friend Barty Burt, hotly pursued
by his recent employer with uplifted cane, was seen coming
down the steps of the entrance, in flying leaps, to the ground.
“There, you infernal booby! please consider this caning
and kicking as a farewell to my house and employ forever!” exclaimed
the enraged master, standing in the door-way, and looking
down with ineffable scorn upon the prostrate person of the
ejected Bart, as he lay sprawled out upon the spot where he
landed, without manifesting any disposition to rise.
“I should like to know what I've done criminal, squire?”
responded the latter, looking back over his shoulder at the other,
with a doleful grimace.
“What have you done?” sharply retorted Brush. “Why,
you impertinent puppy, you have done every thing wrong, and
nothing right, ever since you got your lubberly carcass out of
bed, at the fine time of eight o'clock this morning! and now, to
crown all, in clearing off the table, you must go, with your load
of meats and half-filled gravy dishes, through the parlor, where
you had no business to go, and there, like a blundering jackass,
as you are, you must fall down and ruin the best carpet in the
house! I've had quite enough of you, sir: so up with you there,
and clear out, you vagabond!”
“Well, I 'spose I know what you want,” muttered Bart, by
way of reply to this tirade — “you want to accuse, and drive me
away, so you won't have to pay me the two crowns you owe me
for work, and other things.”
-- 051 --
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“I don't owe you half that sum, you lying lout,” returned
Brush, fiercely. “But to get rid of such a pest, and prevent
your going round town with that lie in your mouth, I'll give you
all you ask; and there they are!” he continued, pulling out and
disdainfully tossing the coins down at the other's feet. “Your
dirty rags, if you have any in the house, shall be thrown out to
you; and then, if you aint off, I'll set the dogs on ye.”
With this, and an expressive slam of the door behind him, the
secretary returned into the house; and in a few moments, the
sash of a garret window was thrown up, and a pair of shoes, a
pair of old summer pantaloons, a spare coarse shirt, and pair of
stockings, were successively flung down into the yard, near where
the owner was still lying, by the hand of a grinning and blushing
servant maid, while her dainty-fingered master stood by, directing
the operation.
“Well, Bart,” now soon began to mutter this singular being, in
his usual manner of addressing himself as a second person, when
alone — “well, Bart, your plan of getting driv away has worked
to a shaving. You've got your pay, too, jest in the way you calculated
would fetch it; yes, all your honest pay, and one crown
more; but you charged that, you know, when you told him two
crowns, as damage for the kick and cane lick you got. So that's
settled. And as to the other accounts against him, and the rest
of 'em there, you'll be in a way to square all, fore long, guess;
for you will be your own rebel, now, Bart, you know.”
While thus communing with himself, he had slowly, and with
many winces of affected pain, gathered up his limbs, risen on to
his feet, pocketed his two crowns, and collected and tied up his
clothes. And he was now, with a grieved look, as if sorrowing
for the loss of his home, looking back to the house, where several
curious, half-laughing, half-pitying countenances were seen peering
through the windows to witness his departure. He then
looked hesitatingly abroad, one way and then the other, with the
sad and despairing air of one who feels there is no place in the
wide world where he can find a friendly shelter. After this,
with a wince and groan at every step, he slowly hobbled off up
the street, losing his lameness, and converting his groans into
snickers of low, exulting laughter, as soon as he was out of eyeshot
of the company he had left behind him.
“Kinder 'pears to me, Bart,” he at length said, resuming his
soliloquy, as he glanced keenly at the tavern, which was the
scene of his last night's exploit, and which he was now passing —
“'pears to me, there's a good many heads rather close together,
-- 052 --
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in spots, round that tory nest over yonder. They act as if they
were in a sort of stew about something. I wonder if they lost
their guns last night, or any thing, that puts them in such a
pucker,” he continued, with a chuckle. “But suppose, Bart, as
going this way is only a sham, suppose we now haul up here,
and edge over there among 'em a little, to learn what they are
up to, before you go to join the company at the Court House.”
On reaching the yard of the tavern, Bart found that the company,
numbering perhaps twenty in all, had broken from the
separate groups in which they had been conversing, and had
now gathered round one man, who, having just come out of the
tavern, appeared to be communicating to the crowd something
that obviously produced considerable sensation. This person
was a man of the ordinary size, of fair complexion, light eyes,
and an unsettled and vacillating countenance, rendered the more
strikingly so, perhaps, by the quick, eager, and restless motions
and manner by which his whole appearance was characterized.
Bart soon contrived to work his way into this circle, till he gained
a position from which he could hear what was said.
“You may rely on what I have told you,” said the speaker, as
Bart came within hearing; “for I have just had it from the
sheriff and lawyer Stearns. The rebels have been in possession
of the Court House about an hour, posted sentinels at all the
doors, and openly declare, that the judges and officers shall never
enter to hold another court. Nobody dreamed of their daring
on such a bold step, or we should have been before them in
taking possession of the house, even with the force we had on
the ground. But, thinking it best to go strong-handed, the judges
concluded they would not go in to open the court till enough
of friends should arrive to put down all opposition at a blow.
The rebels think now, doubtless, that they have got an advantage
which they will be able to maintain. But they will find themselves
a little mistaken, I fancy; for Patterson says he has now
got them in just the spot he wanted. This act both he and
Stearns decide to be overt treason, which will justify him in
taking the course he intends, unless they yield and scatter, on
the first summons. But as they won't do that, and our forces will
shortly be here, you can all guess what we shall now soon see
follow,” he added, with a significant wink.
“Then why not be getting out our guns at once?” asked
one of the company.
“No,” resumed the speaker; “the plan is to leave that till
the last thing before we march upon them, lest the rebels
-- 053 --
[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]
should take alarm, and go and arm themselves, and we thus
thwart our own intention of taking them by surprise. You,
however, can be kinder carelessly looking up clubs for such as
may have no arms, and a few axes and crowbars for breaking
into the Court House, if that should be necessary. But, as I said,
let the guns remain hid in the sleighs till you have orders to take
them out. For it is not exactly settled yet whether we shall
march upon them as soon as our reënforcements arrive, and
besiege them in the house, or coax them out, and so get possession
ourselves. But, at any rate, you will have work on hand
soon; and if we don't see fun before to-morrow morning, my
name aint David Redding. But come, let's all adjourn to the
bar-room, and take a drop to warm us up a little.”
Leaving Redding to his despicable task of endeavoring, in
compliance with the directions of those whose base tool he was,
to inflame the company he had collected, and work up their
feelings to such a pitch of enmity and recklessness as should
prepare them to imbrue their hands in the blood of their neighbors
and countrymen, we will now proceed to note the conduct
of more important personages in the events of the day.
While the scene above described was transpiring, Patterson,
Gale, Stearns, and one or two other tory leaders, who had been
consulting at this tavern, and making their arrangements for
active movements, left the house, and, with hasty steps, took their
way to the mansion of the haughty secretary, which, by his
special invitation, at this crisis, was made the permanent quarters
of the judges and principal officers of the court, as well as of his
numerous guests.
“Upon the whole, perhaps you are right, Stearns,” said Patterson,
as they were about to enter the house. “We will start
off Chandler to the Court House to make one of his smooth
speeches, and play Sir Plausible with the rebel rascals, as agreed
on last night, and though he should have done it before, yet he
may, even now, succeed in flattering them to quit the house
long enough for us to get possession; if not, we will take the
other course.”
In a few moments after these worthies had disappeared within
the house, the door was again opened, and Chief Justice Chandler,
the man to whose singularly compounded character, made up
of timidity, selfishness, vanity, thirst of power, kindness, and
duplicity, or rather the conduct that flowed from it, may be
mainly attributed the bloody tragedy that ensued, now made his
appearance in the street. He wore a powdered wig, according
-- 054 --
[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]
to the fashion of the times among men of his official station,
and his whole toilet had evidently been made with much attention.
Carelessly flirting a light cane in his hand, and assuming
an air of easy unconcern, he leisurely took his way along the
street, towards the Court House, bowing low, and blandly smiling
to every one he met, and often even crossing to the opposite
side of the street to exchange salutations with the passers-by;
to each of whom, whatever his party or station, he was sure
to say something complimentary, and aimed with no little sagacity
to reach the peculiar feelings and interests of the person
addressed.
“This is Mr. French, I believe,” he said, turning out of his
course to speak to the young man introduced in the last chapter,
who, with the same restless, anxious look he then wore, was
unobservantly hurrying by the other, on his way to the Court
House.
“Yes, yes, sir,” replied French, slightly checking his speed,
and looking back, with a half-surprised, half-vacant expression.
“Ay, I was sure I knew you,” rejoined the judge. “How are
the times with you, Mr. French? You will pardon my freedom,
sir, but the great interest I take in the success of our enterprising
and intelligent young men like yourself — But no matter now.
I see you are in haste. I will not detain you, sir. A very good
day to you, Mr. French.”
“Well, upon my word, now, here is my friend Colonel Carpenter!”
he again exclaimed, as, turning from the person he
had just saluted with such poor success, his quick and wary eye
caught sight of the gentleman thus addressed coming up behind
him. “Most happy to fall in with you, colonel,” he continued,
grasping and warmly shaking the hand of the other. “How are
your family, sir? Shall I confess it, colonel? I have really
sometimes greatly envied you.”
“Why so, sir?” asked Carpenter, with a little coolness.
“Envied you your well-deserved appellation — that of Friend
of the People, as they call you,” replied the judge.
“The people need a friend at this crisis, I think, sir,”
responded the unbought yeoman, with cold dignity.
“If there is one title that I should covet above all others,”
resumed the judge, without appearing to notice the drift of the
other's remark, “it would be the one I have named. What can
be a more truly honorable distinction? I have often regretted
being so trammelled by my station on the bench, as to prevent
me from acting as I would otherwise like to do. But a judge,
-- 055 --
[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]
you know, colonel, in party times, must not act openly on any
particular side.”
“He had better do that, however, than act secretly on all sides,”
returned the other, with biting significance.
“O, doubtless, doubtless, sir,” rejoined the judge, with a
forced laugh, but with the air of one perfectly unsuspicious of
any intended personalities. “Yes, indeed. But, ah!” he continued,
slightly motioning towards the Court House, against
which they had now arrived. “What have we here? A public
meeting?”
“Quite possible. At all events I think of going in myself,”
said Carpenter, quietly turning from the other into the Court
House yard, but soon pausing a little, though without looking
round, to hear the remarks which the other seemed intent on
making.
“Indeed! Why, I had not heard of it, else I should have been
pleased to have dropped in. I came out, be sure, only for a
little exercise, but —”
Here he paused, in expectation that the other would speak; but
finding himself disappointed, and left alone in the street, he resumed
his walk, while his now unguarded countenance very plainly
showed the disquiet he felt at the rebuffs he had received in his
attempts to conciliate Colonel Carpenter, and obtain from him an
invitation to go into the meeting, which, in reality, it was his only
object in coming out to attend.
While digesting his mortification, and occupied in conjecturing
how he could have become an object of suspicion among the
opponents of the court party, as every thing now seemed to indicate,
his attention was again arrested by the sounds of approaching
footsteps; and, looking up, his eyes encountered the sarcastic
countenance of Tom Dunning, who, coming from an opposite
direction, was also on his way to join the company at the Court
House.
“Ah, Mr. Dunning!” exclaimed the judge, starting from his
reverie and downcast attitude, while his face instantly brightened
into smiles summoned for the occasion; “right glad to meet you,
sir. I have been thinking I must engage some such expert and
lucky sportsman, as they say you are, to catch and send me up
a fresh salmon, occasionally. I suppose your never-failing spear
will be put in requisition again, when the spring opens; will it
not?”
“Der — yes, your worship, unless I turn my attention to the
catching — ditter — eels, or other slippery varments,” returned the
-- 056 --
[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]
hunter, with a sly, significant twinkling of his eyes, as he brushed
by the rebuked cajoler, and pushed on without waiting for a
reply.
The judge did not pursue his walk much farther; but now, soon
facing about, began, with a quickened step and a look of increasing
uneasiness, to retrace his way to his quarters.
While these little incidents were occurring in the streets, about
one hundred sturdy and determined men had collected within the
walls of the Court House. As the construction of this building
was somewhat peculiar, for one designed for such purposes, it
may be necessary, for a clear understanding of the descriptions
which follow, to say a few words respecting its interior arrangements.
The court-room was in the upper story, which was all
occupied as such, except the east and south corners, that had been
partitioned off for sleeping apartments. In the lower story, there
was a wide passage running through the middle of the building,
with doors at both ends; while the stairs leading up into the court
room faced the principal entrance, on the north-east side of the
house. After passing by the stairs, there was a small passage
leading from the large one, at right angles, and running back
between prison-rooms, whose doors opened into it. The part of
this lower story, on the opposite side of the main passage, consisted
also of two rooms, with doors opening into it, and an entry,
or short passage, leading out into the street. One of these rooms
was used as a common, or bar-room, and the other as a sort of
parlor, being both occupied by the jailer and his family.
Although there had been, for many weeks, a growing disposition
among the party here assembled to prevent the session of a
court avowedly acting under royal authority, and spurning all the
recommendations of Congress, yet there had been no settled intention
among them to resort to any other than the peaceful measures
of petition and remonstrance, which they believed would be
sufficient to effect the desired result. It had been decided, therefore,
that the court should be permitted to come together; when
such representations and arguments were to be laid before them,
as could not fail, it was supposed, to convince any reasonable men
of the wisdom of listening to the voice of the people. But when,
on the preceding evening, it was discovered, in the way before
related, and from other sources, that the people had been duped
by the duplicity of Chandler, and that it was the secret purpose
of the court, in defiance of all pledges to the contrary, to hold a
full session, under the protection of an armed force, the hitherto
modest and quiet spirit of patriotism was at once aroused among
-- 057 --
[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]
this resolute little band of revolutionists, and they came to the
bold determination, as we have before seen, of seizing the Court
House in advance of their opponents, and holding it till their
remonstrances should be heard and heeded.
This object, so far as respected the possession of the building,
being now obtained, the company proceeded to organize and
make arrangements for maintaining their advantage through the
night. Their possession, however, was not destined to remain
long undisputed. In a short time after they had begun to act,
their new recruit, Barty Burt, who could not forego his desire of
remaining among the tories (where we left him acting the unsuspected
spy on their movements) till they should look for their
guns, that he might have the pleasure of witnessing their discomfiture
on discovering their loss, now arrived with news, that the
latter, as soon as they made the discovery that their arms had
been abstracted, were thrown into the greatest commotion; and
that under the direction of Patterson and Gale, both foaming with
rage, they had hastily collected all the offensive implements they
could find, with the avowed determination of making an immediate
assault on their opponents at the Court House. But notwithstanding
this startling intelligence, no one manifested the least
disposition of quitting his post. And although there was not a
weapon of defence, beyond a cane, in the whole company, yet
they seemed none the less inclined to maintain their position in
consequence of the threatening aspect which the affair was beginning
to assume; but resolving, by acclamation, to keep possession
of the house till compelled by force of arms to relinquish
it, they placed a few strong and resolute men as guards at every
door, and quietly awaited the result. And they were not kept
long in suspense. In a short time, Patterson and his posse, armed
with several old muskets, swords, pistols, and clubs, made their
appearance, and, with many hostile manifestations, came rushing
up within a few yards of the door. Commanding a halt, the
sheriff then, in a loud and arrogant tone, summoned the company
within to come forth and disperse. No voice, however, was heard
to respond to the summons. Gale, the clerk, then proceeded,
upon the intimation of the former, to read the king's proclamation
to the outward walls of the house, or the supposed listeners within,
with great form and solemnity.
“Ditter — dickins!” exclaimed Tom Dunning, after listening
a moment to the reading of the riot act, or proclamation, as it was
usually called, as, with several others, he stood just within the
-- 058 --
[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]
entrance. “Now I wonder if they expect to rout a body of Green
Mountain Boys with that sort of — ditter — ammunition?”
“There!” fiercely cried Patterson, as the reader concluded
his task. “There, you d—d rascals, now disperse, or, by
Heaven, I will blow a lane through ye!”
“Only — ditter — hear that!” again remaked the hunter, contemptuously,
at the menace and profanity of the haughty officer.
“Natural enough, though, mayhap, for a bag of wind to blow, if
it does any thing. He is rather smart at — der — swearing, too,
I think. But even at that, I guess he would have to haul in his
horns a little, if old Ethan Allen was here, as I wish he was, to
let off a few blasts of his — ditter — damnations at him.”
Captain Wright, after a brief consultation with the other leaders,
now coming down from the court-room, opened the door, (Dunning
and another strong-armed man having hold of it to guard
against a rush,) and addressed the besiegers.
“Why is all this, gentlemen?” he said, in a respectful, but
firm manner. “Are you come here for war? We are here for
no such purpose, ourselves. We came with none other than
peaceful intentions. And so long as we can say that, and say,
also, above all, that we have come together with the approbation
of the chief judge of your court, who has promised us a fair
hearing of our grievances; and so long as, in direct violation
of that judge's pledge to us, you appear here in arms, to intimidate
us, let me assure you, we shall not disperse under your
threats. We, however, will permit you to come in, if you will
lay aside your arms; or we will hold a parley with you as you
are.”
“D—n your parley!” exclaimed Gale, furiously. “D—n
the parley with such d—d rascals as you are! I will hold no
parley with such d—d rascals, but by this!” he added, drawing
a pistol, and brandishing it towards his opponents.
“Ay! ay!” cried Redding, who, next to the sheriff and
clerk, appeared to be the most violent and officious among the
assailants: “talk about being here without arms, and for peace, do
ye? when you have stolen a dozen of our guns, and have now
got them in there among you. Pretty fellows, to talk about parley?
We will give you a parley that will send you all to hell
before morning!”
Wright here began a denial of the charge made by the last
speaker; when he was interrupted by Dunning, who, jogging him,
said, in an undertone, —
-- 059 --
[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]
“Let 'em — der — believe it. They are such — ditter — cowards,
that the idea of a dozen guns among us will make 'em more
mannerly than all the preaching you could — ditter — do in a
month.”
Concluding to profit by this suggestion of the sagacious hunter,
Wright now retired within doors, followed by the hisses, curses,
and all manner of abusive epithets, of the assailants.
The besiegers, now finding that the king's proclamation, on
whose potency for quelling the risings of the rebellious colonists,
the tory authorities, at the commencement of the revolution,
seemed to have greatly counted, did not annihilate their opponents,
and, not seeing fit to attempt to carry their threats into
execution at present, they soon drew off a short distance, and
apparently held a consultation. While they were thus occupied,
a small deputation was sent out to them from the Court House,
with another offer to hold a conference. But their proposals
being received with fresh insults and abuse, they returned to the
house; while Patterson and his forces, evidently fearing to
venture an attack, with their present strength, on the other party,
whom they suspected to be armed with the lost guns, now moved
off to head-quarters, to report progress, and wait for the expected
reënforcement, to hasten whose arrival, expresses had been despatched
several hours before.
A short time after the disappearance of Patterson's band, Judge
Chandler unexpectedly came up to the Court House, wholly unattended,
and being readily admitted, he at once ascended into the
court-room, and entered the somewhat surprised, but unmoved
assembly, bowing low to individuals on the right and left, as he
passed on to an unoffered seat, with the gratified air of one, who,
after many detentions, has the satisfaction of getting at length
into the company of his friends.
After a rather embarrassing pause, the judge rose, and made
a short speech, which left his hearers but little the wiser respecting
his real wishes and intentions, though he had much to say
about his solicitude for the welfare of the people, and his anxiety
that they should do nothing to injure their cause. After he was
seated, Wright, Carpenter, and Knowlton, each in turn, addressed
him, stating, in general terms, the views and wishes of their
party, and reminding him of his pledge, that no arms should be
brought by the officers of the court, the recent violation of which
they hoped he would be able to explain.
Upon this, the former rejoined, declaring with great assurance,
and not a little to the surprise of many in the room, that the
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[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]
arms complained of had been brought without his knowledge,
and against his express wishes; and he concluded by assuring
his friends, as he said he was proud to believe he might safely
call them, that he would go and immediately secure the arms in
question; so that the company might now retire, in full confidence
that their petitions would obtain a fair hearing, when the
court came together the next morning. The speaker then resumed
his seat, and glanced persuasively around him for some
tokens of assent or approbation. But the men, whom he had
thus undertaken to wheedle, had been taught by experience to
heed the caution so well recommended by the tuneful Burns, —
“Beware the tongue that's smoothly hung,” —
and a chilling silence was the only response that greeted him.
“You hear his honor's remarks,” observed the chairman,
at length breaking the ominous silence. “Have you any propositions
to make before the judge retires.”
Another long interval of deep silence ensued; when Tom
Dunning's tall, sinewy form, and sharp, bronzed features, screwed
up with an expression of sly mischief, was seen rising from a
back seat in the room.
“Seeing no one else,” he said, “seems — ditter — disposed to
accept your invitation, Mr. Moderator, I don't — ditter — know but
I will make a small proposition on the occasion. Now, as I take
it, we are to remain here to-night; and as we have now learned
that the judge and the people here are the — ditter — best of friends,
I would just move, Mr. Moderator, that his honor be — der — ditter—
invited to take up lodgings with us in the Court House to-night;
so that, if the enemy comes,” he added, imitating the manner of
the judge, as described by Bart, “he can assist us to — ditter —
`temporize — temporize — till' —”
Here the hunter bobbed down into his seat, while explosive
bursts of laughter rose from several parts of the room, and a low,
half-smothered titter ran through the whole assembly, at this sly, but
cutting allusion to the part last night taken by the double-dealing
judge, who now sat before them, looking, for the moment, like a
suddenly detected criminal. He, however, while the chairman
was calling to order, recovered his command of countenance, and,
by the time the tumult had subsided into the less noisy expressions
of mirth, he was smiling as gayly as the rest, and affecting
to consider the remarks of the stammering humorist as merely a
pleasant joke.
“There is no cheating our friend Dunning out of his joke, I
-- 061 --
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perceive,” he said, rising and taking up his hat; “and, indeed, I
don't know that I can blame a hardy woodsman for laughing at the
idea of one of our in-door and tender professional men, like myself,
sleeping on floors and benches. I am afraid we deserve it for our
effeminacy. Yes, yes, a good joke, truly! and a good laughter-moving
joke is an excellent thing to go to bed upon, they say,”
he added, as with a merry, gleeful look, he bowed himself out
of the assembly.
No further comments were offered by any of the company
upon the communications of this official double-dealer, after his
departure; for all seemed to think that the single shot of Dunning
had rendered all further comments on his speech, and his
motives in coming there to make it, entirely superfluous. And
they therefore proceeded, as if nothing but an ordinary interruption
had occurred, to the business on which they were engaged
when the judge came in — that of passing some fresh
resolves expressive of their determination to hold the Court House
in defiance of the threats of their opponents, and of their now
settled purpose of no longer submitting, on any conditions, to the
continuance of a court which had proved itself so corrupt and
treacherous. After this, and making arrangements for the posting
and relieving of guards at the doors for the night, a part of the
company left the house to seek lodgings elsewhere, as the usual
hour of rest had now arrived.
When the nonplused and disconcerted Chandler left the Court
House, he rapidly took his way back to his quarters, from which
he had been started out by Patterson and Gale, to see if he
might not be able to accomplish by fair words what they had
failed to effect by foul. Although he had put the best possible
face upon the mortifying occurrence he had just been compelled
to meet, and had made, as he believed, a handsome exit from
the company, yet he felt keenly conscious that he had not only
utterly failed in the object of his visit, but that much of his late
base conduct was known. He perceived this in the allusions of
Dunning, the pith of which he had affected not to understand.
He had seen it, he had felt it, in the significant and knowing
glances that had been exchanged on every side around him, and
especially in the bitter derisive laugh that had assailed his tingling
ears. He had also been taught a new lesson in the interview!
He had seen, in the firm manner and determined looks of those
he had been confronting — he had seen that which told him of
a spirit at work among the people, that the loyal party, with
all their boasted strength, might not long be able to quell. He
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began now, with the instinctive sagacity of the true office-seeker,
to perceive the possibility, perhaps probability, that the power
of dispensing office and patronage was about to change hands;
and he inwardly trembled for his own safety. He found
himself, in short, in one of those straits, to which men of his
character are not unfrequently reduced — that of being wholly at
a loss to decide which side was most likely to become the strongest.
Could he have foreseen and decided this, his mind would
have been comparatively at ease; for he could have then trimmed
his sails, so as to steer clear of the political breakers which
he knew were somewhere ahead. Some course, however, he
must decide upon; and after lamenting his inability to pierce the
future, so far as to know which party was destined to prevail,
and thus secure the important advantages that might be derived
from shaping his present course accordingly, he at length resolved
to keep aloof, at present, from both parties, believing he
had so adroitly managed thus far, that whichever side might
triumph, he could put in a specious claim of having acted with it,
in reality, from the first.
And having now made up his mind to this course, he avoided
meeting the tory leaders again; and, seeking out a safe messenger,
and sending him to tell them, that “he had left the company
at the Court House as he found it,” and that “a forgotten
business engagement had compelled him to be absent from their
councils for a few hours,” he took his way to a distant part of
the village, where he called on an acquaintance of neutral politics.
And here becoming much engaged in conversation, and feigning
to have forgotten the hour of the night, he was at last prevailed
on to accept, as he did with great seeming reluctance, the invitation
of his host to tarry till morning.
After Patterson and his minions retreated from the Court House,
they returned to the tory tavern, and there remained several
hours, alternately cursing their opponents for rebellious obstinacy
in not yielding to their commands and menaces, and their expected
friends for their tardiness in reaching the place. And
affairs remaining in this situation till a late hour in the evening,
they were on the point of giving up all thoughts of renewing the
attack that night, when the long and anxiously looked for reenforcement,
consisting of thirty or forty armed men, came hurrying
on to the ground. The sinking spirits and waning courage
of the blustering sheriff and his confederates now instantly revived;
and, exulting that they now had the power to glut their
vengeance, they resolved on making an immediate assault. And,
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after fortifying their courage with liberal potations of brandy, the
whole party, now swelled, not only by the freshly arrived forces,
but by Brush, Peters, Stearns, and many others, who had declined
joining in the first sally, to nearly one hundred men, eagerly set
forward to the scene of action.
The other party, in the mean time, though still maintaining a
watchful guard at the doors of the Court House, had yet been
so long exempted from an attack of their foes, that they were
now in but little expectation of being any further molested till the
next morning. And some were lying stretched upon the benches
in the court-room, asleep; some, with their great-coats under their
heads, were reposing on the floors of the different passages of the
house; while others were sitting round the fires, engaged in
smoking and conversation.
Among those taking their turns as sentries, at this juncture,
were Woodburn and Bart, who, with each a stout cane or cudgel
in his hand, were now stationed at the principal entrance.
“They are coming!” cried Bart, who, having gone out into
the street to ascertain what might be the noise which they had
heard at a distance, now came running up, with an excited air,
to his companion; “they are upon us again, with twice as many
men as before, and plenty of guns!”
“In with the news!” said Woodburn, as the appearance of
the hostile party wheeling up towards the Court House the next
instant confirmed the other's statement — “in with the news,
and tell them to man the doors, or in two minutes we shall be
routed.”
Instantly springing into the door, which he unfortunately left
open, Bart made the announcement to French, who was restlessly
moving about in the passage, and who repeated the same in a
voice which started all, both above and below to their feet.
“They are coming for our blood!” he added, in a tone of
strange, wild glee. “Ay, there they come! I see them levelling
their guns in the yard! Now for the victims! Let us die
like —”
The report of two or three muskets, and the whistling of bullets
through the passage just over his head, cut short the speaker.
A moment of breathless silence ensued; when the harsh, ruffian
voice of Patterson was heard from without, —
“Damn ye, why don't you fire?”
A general discharge of the fire-arms of the assailants, flashing
fiercely on the surrounding darkness, and sending their deadly
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missiles through the passage, windows, and sides of the house, in
every direction, instantly followed the ferocious order. And, in
the expiring light, the fated French was seen to leap into the air;
and then, spinning giddily round and round an instant, fall, with
a low, short screech, prostrate on the floor; while mingled groans,
rising from a half dozen others along the passage, told also the
fearful effect of the murderous volley.
With the discharge of their arms, the assailing force, guided
by their torch-bearers, made a rush for the Court House. As
they approached the door, Woodburn, who had kept his post,
unhurt, on one side of the steps, sprang forward to dispute their
passage, and, after knocking up the swords and bayonets that
were aimed at his breast, laid about him so lustily with his cudgel,
that the whole party were, for some moments, kept at bay.
At length, however, Peters, who was near the rear of the hostile
column, perceiving it was his hated opponent who was disputing
the pass so resolutely, stealthily crept round those in front, and
coming up partly behind his intended victim, with a protruded
sabre, aimed a deadly lunge at his body, exultingly exclaiming
with the supposed fatal thrust, —
“There! d—d rebel, take that!”
“And you that!” cried the other, who, having, from a
lucky turn in his body at the instant, received only a flesh-wound
on the inner side of his arm, now, with an upward sweep of his
cudgel, knocked the sword of the detestable assassin twenty feet
into the air — “and you that! ay, and that!” he added, as,
with a quickly repeated blow over the head, he sent his foe
reeling to the earth.
But the weapon of the intrepid young man being now caught,
and his body fiercely grappled by four or five of his exasperated
foes, he was soon disarmed, and, in spite of his desperate struggles,
borne into the court-house with the crowd, who now rushed
furiously along the passages, wounding with their swords, and
beating down with their guns and clubs, without distinction or
mercy, all whom they met in their way.
“Guard the doors instantly!” shouted Patterson, who perceived
that numbers of the vanquished party were retreating through the
different doors; “don't let another of the d—d rascals escape!
And, hallo there, jailer! bring on the keys of the prison-rooms;
we will cage the whole lot, dead or alive, and let 'em be enjoying
a few of the fruits of their rebellion now, and the blessed anticipations
of being hung for high treason hereafter.”
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The obsequious jailer soon appeared with the required keys;
and the doors of both prison-rooms were speedily unlocked and
thrown open by the directions of the sheriff.
“Now, tumble them in, boys!” resumed the sheriff, with look
and tone of savage exultation.
Eager to obey, the supple tools of arbitrary power now commenced
driving all those of their prisoners who had not been too
much disabled by their wounds to stand, together into the prison-rooms.
They then seized hold of the wounded, who lay weltering
in their blood in different parts of the floor of the long passage,
and began dragging them along by their limbs to the same
destination.
“Monster!” exclaimed Woodburn, looking back from the
felon's cell which he was about to enter, and addressing Redding,
who stood mimicking, with fiendish glee, the groans and contortions
of French, as he lay gasping and writhing in mortal agony
on the spot where he fell, just beyond the short passage dividing
the prison-rooms — “monster,” he repeated, “would you insult
the dying?”
“Yes, d—n you!” savagely interposed Gale, stepping forward;
“he has got just what he deserved; and I wish there were forty
more of you in the same predicament. Drag him along in there
with the rest of 'em, Redding!”
“Ay, ay,” responded Patterson, “in with him! And I can tell
the rest of them, they had better be saving their pity for themselves,
for they will all be in hell before to-morrow night!”
It is needless to say that this brutal order was promptly obeyed.
And when the dying and insensible victim, pierced through head
and body, and all the wounded, had been drawn in and thrown
promiscuously together, on the cold, damp floors of the prison-rooms,
the keys were turned upon them; and their remorseless
butchers, making not the least provision for the sufferers, by way
of medical aid or otherwise, returned, after posting a strong guard
at the doors, to the tavern or the house of Brush, to celebrate their
victory in a drunken carousal.
-- 066 --
CHAPTER VI.
“The brand is on their brows,
A dark and guilty spot;
'Tis ne'er to be erased,
'Tis ne'er to be forgot.”
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Whatever may be the result of the present public movement
for the abolition of capital punishment, and however far future
experiments may go towards establishing the expediency and
safety of such a change in criminal jurisprudence, the history of
every nation and people will show, we believe, the remarkable
fact, that ever since Cain stood before his Maker with his hands
reeking with the blood of his murdered brother, and his heart so
deeply smitten with the consciousness of having justly forfeited
his own life by taking the life of another, that he could not divest
himself of the belief that all men would seek to slay him, no one
principle has been found to be more deeply implanted in the
human breast than the desire to see the wilful shedding of blood
atoned for by the blood of the perpetrator. So strong, so active,
and so impelling, indeed, seems this principle, that no sooner goes
forth the dread tale of homicide, than all community rise up,
as one man, instinctively impressed with the duty of hunting down
the guilty and bringing them to justice; while the guilty themselves
seem no less instinctively impressed with the abiding consciousness
that the doom, which heaven and earth has decreed to
their crimes, must inevitably overtake them.
Deep and fearful was the excitement, in the hitherto quiet and
peaceful village of Westminster, as from mouth to mouth, and
house to house, spread the startling intelligence, that a meeting
of unarmed citizens, assembled at the Court House, had been
assailed, and numbers shot down in cold blood by the minions of
British authority. The whole town was soon in commotion. No
loud noise or clamor of voices, it is true, was heard proclaiming
the deed on the midnight air; but the rapid footfalls of men hurrying
along the streets, the hastily exchanged inquiry, the eager,
suppressed tones of those conversing in small groups at the corners
and by-places around the village, the hasty opening and shutting of
doors, and the dancing of lights in every direction, gave ominous
indication of the feeling that had every where been awakened,
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and the secret movement which was every where afoot among the
people.
A small band, who had gathered in the yard of what was called
the People's Tavern, were listening, with many a demonstration
of horror and indignation, to the account of one who had escaped
from the Court House after the tories had got possession.
“Where are our leaders, Morris?” asked one of the listeners,
as the speaker, a fluent, energetic young man, closed his recital
of the atrocities he had witnessed. “Did they escape, or are they
among the wounded and prisoners?”
“Wright and Carpenter had gone off before we were attacked,”
was the reply; “the rest, not among the wounded I have named,
escaped in the confusion, I think, except Dr. Jones, of Rockingham,
who was driven into the felon's hole with other prisoners; and
it may be well that he was, perhaps, as those bloodthirsty brutes
would have suffered no surgeon to be sent for to attend those who
are not past help.”
“And Tom Dunning, whose rifle we shall need, — what became
of him?”
“He got out in the same manner I did. We stood in a dark
corner, at the head of the stairs, taking note of the proceedings
below; when that crafty little chap, that joined us from Brush's,
came wriggling like an eel out from between the legs of the
crowding tories, in the passage; and, working himself up stairs
unnoticed, in the same way, beckoned us to follow him, as we did,
into the court-room, where, at his suggestion, we stripped off the
sheets of a bed, in one of those corner sleeping cuddies, made a
rope, and by it let ourselves down through a window to the
ground in the rear of the house; when we separated, Dunning
going home, as he said, to arm himself. But here he comes,”
added the speaker, peering out towards the street, from which
several forms were dimly seen approaching — “here he comes;
and those just behind him I should judge to be Carpenter and
Fletcher, by their gait.”
“Well, Dunning,” asked one of the company, as the hunter
came striding up to the spot, “what is your response to all this?”
“Der — sixty bullets, and a — ditter — pound of powder!”
was the stern and significant reply of the other, as with one hand
he struck his rattling bullet-pouch and huge powder-horn, and
with the other brought down the breech of his rifle with a heavy
blow upon the ground.
“That's the man for me!” exclaimed Fletcher, now coming
up with Carpenter.
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“Ay, Dunning is right!” said Carpenter, with emphasis; “if
we hold our peace now, the very stones will cry out for vengeance!
But talking is only a small part of what must be done. We must
act. And first of all, this tale of murder and outrage must instantly
be thrown upon the four winds of heaven, and carried into
every town in this part of the settlement. Who will volunteer to
ride express with the news? — news which, if I know any thing of
the spirit of the great mass of our people, will be taken as a call
to arms, and responded to accordingly.”
Several eager voices announced their readiness to start off at
once on the proposed mission.
“Follow me to the stables, then,” resumed the stanch patriot,
hastily leading the way to the barn, and throwing open a stable
door. “There!” he continued, pointing to a pair of large, active-looking
brutes, feeding together in one stall — “there are my two
horses — take them. Let one of their riders go north, the other
south; and spare no horse-flesh of mine in an emergency like
this; but ride and rally, till you have sent the bloody tale to
every house and hut this side the mountains. And you, Morris
and Dunning, accompany me to Captain Wright's. More messengers
must be despatched west and east, into the borders of
New Hampshire, and much other business done before morning.”
A far different scene, in the mean while, was in progress among
the inmates of the loyal mansion, which we have before described,
and which was destined to give shelter that night to the last conclave
of royal office-holders ever known in the Green Mountains.
Although the leaders of the court party had returned from the
sanguinary scene they had enacted, in high exultation at the
decisive victory they supposed they had achieved over their
despised opponents, yet neither their own vain boastings, nor the
deeply-quaffed wines of their host, could long keep up their spirits.
Conscience soon began to be busy among them; and their hearts
waxed faint and fearful at the thought of what they had done.
They instinctively drew close together, conversed in subdued
tones, or sat uneasily listening to the sounds that occasionally
reached them from without. And whatever they might have
said to keep up their own and each other's courage, it soon became
apparent that secret misgivings, fears, and forebodings of a
coming retribution had taken possession of their guilt-smitten
bosoms.
And there was another person in that house, to whom the
tragical events of the night brought deep disquietude; but it was
a disquietude of quite a different character from that which was
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experienced by the troubled wretches we have named: that
person was the Tory's Daughter — the pure, guileless, and noble-minded
Sabrey Haviland.
Having been apprised of the intention of Patterson and his
confederates to make an assault upon their opponents as soon as
the expected reënforcements arrived, her anxieties on the subject
had prevented her from retiring to rest, as her less concerned companion
did, at the usual hour. And when the startling report of fire-arms
broke upon the stillness of the night, she was not, like many
others in the village, at loss to know the cause; and her fears led
her to divine but too well the fatal result. And after an interval
of painful suspense, which was terminated by the return of the
tory leaders to the house, she stole softly out of her chamber to
the head of the stairs, and there listened with mingled emotions
of horror and disgust to the boastful recital of their sanguinary
deeds, as given by the heartless Gale and others, to her father and
Judge Sabin, who had remained in the house, but who, she perceived
with sorrow, were warm approvers of all that had been done.
But, as revolting to her gentle nature as was the general description
of the event, the particulars the exulting narrators soon proceeded
to give were much more so. And when she heard them
relate the affray between Woodburn and Peters, and heard the
latter, while making light of his own hurts, boast that he had
first given the other a thrust with his sword through the body,
which must finish him before morning, she could listen no longer,
but, hastily retiring to her room, she walked the apartment for
nearly an hour in the deepest agitation and distress.
Among the many excellent traits of Miss Haviland's character,
a lively sense of right and wrong, together with a deep and
abiding love of truth and justice, unquestionably predominated.
So strong and controlling, indeed, was this principle in her
bosom, that it exhibited itself in all her conversation, and seemed
to be the governing motive of all her actions. And when she
had once discovered the truth and the right, at which she appeared
to arrive with intuitive quickness, no wheedling or sophistry
could blind her to their force; and no inducements could be
offered sufficient to cause her to waver in their support. And
yet this peculiar trait, as deeply seated as it was, and as firmly
as it was ever exercised, was so beautifully tempered by the
benevolence of her heart, the equanimity of her mind, and the
engaging sweetness of her demeanor, that it never seemed to impart
the least tinge of arrogance to her character, or harshness
to her manners. On the contrary, she was all gentleness and
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affection, and ever ready to comply with the wishes of others,
when a compliance did not contravene, in her opinion, any of
the principles of even-handed justice; and, in case she felt
bound to refuse to yield to their requests, her refusal was made
and maintained with such mild firmness, that none could be
offended, none feel inclined to charge her with obstinacy or perverseness.
She was at this time the mistress of her father's
household, her exemplary and intellectual mother having several
years before deceased, and her elder and only sister, the year
previous, married one of the leading loyalists of Guilford. And
it had been mainly through the influence of this sister and her
husband, that she had been induced, the preceding fall, to take
the step which was destined to cause her years of sorrow and
perplexity — that of engaging herself in marriage to Peters.
She had found few or no opportunities of studying this man's
character, having known him only as a parlor acquaintance, of
easy manners and considerable intelligence. And although she
saw nothing particularly objectionable in him, and although she
knew that, in point of wealth and family distinction, he was considered
what is termed a desirable match, yet she had entered
into the engagement with many misgivings, and in compliance
rather with the wishes of her friends above named, seconded by
the urgent request of her father, than in accordance with the dictates
of her own judgment and inclination. But whatever her
doubts at that time, or during the months immediately following,
they had not been sufficient to disturb the usual even tenor of
her feelings, till she left home on her present excursion, during
which, as already intimated, she had seen the character of her
affianced in a new light — a light which showed him to be possessed
of traits as abhorrent to her feelings, as, to her mind, they
were base and reprehensible in themselves. And now, to crown
all, he had, by an act of deliberate, private malice, even according
to his own account, inflicted a mortal wound on the victim of his
former injuries — the man who, but the day before, had snatched
her, whom the other professed to hold as the highest object of his
earthly solicitude, from a watery grave. It was these painful
reflections that were now agitating her bosom; for the more she
pondered upon the conduct of Peters, the more did her heart
reject and despise him; and in proportion as her feelings rose
up against him were her sympathies drawn towards his victim,
Woodburn, whose noble act had created so strong a claim upon
her gratitude, and whose character and appearance had alike
awakened her interest and admiration.
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“Is it indeed thus,” she at length uttered, as if summing up
the thoughts that had been passing through her mind, “that he
who saved my life, at the risk of his own, must die by the hand
of one who should have been the first to thank and reward him?
Ay, and die, too, without receiving from me, or mine, one word
of acknowledgment, even, of the service he so nobly rendered?
Perhaps the thought of our ingratitude is now embittering his
dying moments! Can I, should I suffer this so to remain?”
Here she relapsed into silence, and, slowly resuming her walk
round the room, seemed for a while immersed in anxious thought;
when she suddenly paused, and, after a moment of apparent
irresolution, stepped to the wall, and gave two or three pulls at
the wire connected with the servants' bell in the kitchen. In a
few minutes the summons was answered by the appearance of
the chamber-maid.
“Will you go down to the gentlemen's sitting-room,” said Miss
Haviland, “ask out my father, and tell him I would see him a
moment in my own room?”
The girl disappeared, and, in a short time, Esquire Haviland,
with a slightly disturbed and anxious air, entered the room, and
said, —
“What's the matter, Sabrey? Are you sick to-night, that you
are yet up and send for me?”
“O, no,” replied the other; “nothing of that kind led me to
send for you, but my wish to make a request which I was unwilling
to delay.”
The squire cast a somewhat surprised and inquiring look at
his daughter, but remained silent, while the latter resumed: —
“You recollect that this morning, after apprising you of the
extent of our obligations to Mr. Woodburn, about which you
seem to have been so misinformed, I suggested that a personal
acknowledgment, with offers of some more substantial token of
our gratitude, should be immediately made to him. Has this
been done?”
“No,” replied he, with a gathering frown: “having understood
the fellow was assorting with the rebels in their treasonable
plots, I did not feel myself bound to seek him in such company.
Is that all you wish of me?”
“It is not, sir,” she answered seriously, and with the air of one
determined not to be repulsed. “I have accidentally become
apprised that Mr. Woodburn, in the affray of to-night, has been
dangerously wounded, and, in this condition, thrust into prison.
And, as we have now an opportunity of testifying our sense of
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his services, it is my earnest request that you procure his release
from prison, for which your influence here, I know, is sufficient;
that he may be brought out to-night and properly attended.”
“Insane girl!” muttered the father, angrily, “what can have
put that absurd project into your head? Had you been abed
hours ago, as you ought, instead of being up and prying into the
doings of our authorities, with which a woman has no concern, I
should have been spared this exhibition of folly. Why, the
wretched fellow is but receiving the just deserts of his crimes.
He is in prison for high treason; and had I the will, which I
have not, I could not procure his release.”
“I cannot believe these opposers of the court will be held to
answer for such a crime. Indeed, it has occurred to me that the
authorities themselves may be called to account for firing upon
these unarmed men; and therefore I still hope you will use your
exertions for Woodburn's release,” urged the fair pleader.
“You are to be the judge what is treason, then, hey? And
you are ready to side with these daring and desperate fellows,
and condemn our authorities, are you? What assurance! You
will hardly persuade me to favor your mad projects, I think,”
harshly retorted the bigoted old gentleman.
“You can, at least, go to the prison and return him the acknowledgments
which our character and credit require of us,”
still persisted the former.
“Well, I shall do no such thing,” replied the other, with
angry impatience; “for I consider the fellow's conduct to-night
has wholly absolved me from my obligations to him, if I was
ever under any,” he added, rising to depart.
“I do not view it so, father,” returned the unmoved girl, in a
mild, expostulating tone, “and I am sorry for your decision;
for, if those whose place it more properly is to do this, refuse to
perform it, I know not why I should not myself undertake the
duty.”
“You!”
“Yes, father.”
“What, to-night?”
“Certainly; another day may be too late.”
“Madness and folly! Why, who is to attend you, silly girl?”
“If no gentleman is to be found with courtesy enough to
attend me, I shall not hesitate to go alone, sir.”
“We will see if you do!” exclaimed the old gentleman, looking
back from the entrance at the other, with an expression of scornful
defiance — “we will see if you do, madam!” he repeated,
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closing the door after him, and turning the key on his daughter,
whom he thus left a prisoner in her own room.
As Miss Haviland listened to the springing bolt and her father's
departing steps, a slight flush overspread her face at the thought
of the indignity thus put upon her, and she rose, and, after putting
her hand to the door to assure herself that she was not mistaken,
proceeded, with a calm, determined air, to a table on one
side of the room, on which stood the materials for writing; and
here, taking pen and paper, she seated herself, and addressed
a brief note to Woodburn, delicately expressing her sense of
obligation to him, and concluding with the hope that she might
soon have it in her power to do something towards alleviating
his present situation. Having signed, sealed, and superscribed
the billet, she rose and stood some time hesitating and irresolute.
By what means could this note, now it was written, be made
to reach its destination? Should she again summon the
chamber-maid, she presumed her father had so managed that
the call would not be answered; besides, she felt a repugnance to
the thought of resorting to such means. What other method
could then be devised?
While thus casting about her for some expedient for effecting her
purpose, she thought she heard some one placing a ladder against
the side of the house, beneath a window, opening from the rear
end of the passage adjoining her room; and, after listening a
moment, she distinctly heard the person cautiously ascending.
Not being of a timid cast, she quickly removed the thick, heavy
curtains of the window in her room next and very near the one
under which the unknown intruder was mounting the ladder, and,
throwing up the sash, peered out; when, to her surprise, she
beheld, and at once recognized, the queer-looking figure of Barty
Burt, standing on the top round of the ladder, scratching his head,
and giving other tokens of embarrassment at being thus unexpectedly
caught in this situation.
“Master Bart,” said Miss Haviland, who had become somewhat
acquainted with the other, while supplying her room with
fuel, previous to his ejection from the house, to which she was
knowing, “your appearance, at this time, to say the least of it,
causes me much surprise.”
“I returns the compliment, miss,” replied Bart; “so that
makes us even, and no questions on ither side, don't it?”
“Perhaps not, sir,” returned the former, with seriousness:
“at all events, you should be able to give a good reason for your
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appearance here, under such circumstances: please explain your
object.”
“And if I don't, you will sing out for the squire, you said?
Well, I can get down, and off, before he can get here, I reckon,”
responded Bart, in a tone of roguish defiance.
“I did not say I would call Esquire Brush; but, unless you
explain—”
“Yes, yes, jest as lieves as not, and will, if you'll keep shut
till I can run up garret and back.”
“Your purpose there, sir?”
“An honest one — only to get my gun up there, which the
squire didn't have put out for me, when he dismissed me with
his high-heeled shoes, to-day, and which I darsent name then,
fear he'd have that thrown down, like my 'tother duds, and break
it — only that — and if you'll say nothing, and let me whip in,
and up to get it, I'll lay it up against you, as a great oblige, to
be paid for, by a good turn to you some time, miss.”
“If that is all, go — and I may wish to speak with you when
you come back.”
So saying, she gently let down the sash, and, withdrawing a
little from her window, stood awaiting the result; when she soon
heard the other, with the light and stealthy movements of a cat,
enter the house, and ascend into the garret, through a small sidedoor,
opening from the passage we have named. Scarcely a
minute had elapsed before she again heard his footsteps stealing
back by her door to the window, through which he had so noiselessly
entered; when, once more raising the sash of her own,
she found him already standing on the top of the ladder where she
last saw him, he having effected his ingress and egress with such
celerity, that but for the light fusil he now held in his hand, she
would have believed herself mistaken in supposing he had entered
at all.
“Well, miss, I am waiting for your say so,” he said, in a low
tone, peering warily around him.
“Have you been to the Court House to-night?” hesitatingly
asked the other.
“Well, now,” replied Bart, hesitating in his turn, “without
more token for knowing what you're up to, I'll say, may be so,
and may be no so.”
“You need not fear me, Bart,” replied Sabrey, conjecturing
the cause of his hesitation; “I am no enemy of those who
have suffered there to-night. But do you know Mr. Woodburn?”
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“Harry, who got you out of that river scrape? Yes; lived
in his town last summer.”
“He is among the wounded and prisoners in jail, it is said?”
“Dreadful true, miss.”
“Could you get this small letter to him to-night?” she timidly
asked.
“Yes, through the grate; glad to do it, glad of it, twice
over,” replied Bart, reaching out and grasping the proffered
billet.
“Why, why do you say that?” asked Sabrey, with an air of
mingled doubt and curiosity.
“Cause, in the first place, you'll now keep my secret of being
here; and nextly, glad to find there's one among the court folks
that feels decent about this bloody business. But I must be off.
Yes, I'll get it to him,” said Bart, beginning to descend.
“Stay, Barty. Is there any hope that Mr. Woodburn will survive
his wounds?”
“Survive? Live, do you mean? O, yes; though the lunge
which that — But no matter. It was well meant for the heart,
and the fellow wan't at all to blame that it didn't reach it, instead
of the inner part of the arm.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Miss Haviland, in a tone of joyful surprise;
which the next instant, however, gave way to one of
embarrassment. “Why, I heard — have written, indeed, under
the belief that — and perhaps — Barty, I think, on the whole,
I will not send that billet now.”
As Bart heard these last words of the fair speaker, so inconsistent
with all which both her words and manner had just expressed,
he looked up with a stare of surprise to her face, now
sufficiently revealed, by the glancing light standing near her in the
room, to betray its varying expressions. But, as he ran his keen
gray eyes over her hesitating and slightly confused countenance,
he soon seemed to read the secret cause of her sudden change
of purpose, arising from that curious and beautiful trait in
woman's heart, which, by some gush of awakened sympathy,
often unfolds all the lurking secrets of the breast, but which,
when the cause of that sympathy is removed, closes up the
avenue, and conceals them from view, in the cold reserve of
shrinking delicacy — the colder and more impenetrable in proportion
as the disclosure has been complete.
“O, yes, I will carry it,” said Bart, pretending to misunderstand
the other, while he pocketed the billet and began to glide
down the ladder.
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“No,” commenced Miss Haviland; “no, Bart, I said —”
“Yes, yes, I will have it there in a jiffy,” interrupted Bart,
hastening his descent, and the next instant dodging away in the
dark beneath the foot of the ladder.
“Well, let it go,” said the foiled and somewhat mortified
maiden to herself, after the disappearance of her strange visitor.
“If what I expressed, when I thought him dying, was right and
proper, it cannot be very wrong now.”
As soon as she had thus reconciled herself to the unexpected
turn which this matter had taken, Miss Haviland now began to
reflect more on Bart's motives in coming, at such an hour of the
night, for his gun; when it, for the first time, occurred to her
mind, that he had been induced to take this step in consequence
of some particular call for arms having reference to the events
of the evening. Fearing she might have done wrong in suffering
him to take away the gun, if it was to be used for hostile purposes,
and anxious to know whether her conjectures relative to a rising
of the people were well founded, she proceeded to an end window
of her room, which overlooked a range of buildings known
to her to be mostly occupied by the opposers of royal authority;
and removing the curtains and raising the sash, she leaned out
and listened for any unusual sounds which might reach her from
without. And it was not long before she became well convinced
that her apprehensions were not groundless. Some extraordinary
movement was evidently going on in the village. The low hum
of suppressed voices, mingled with various sounds of busy preparation,
came up, on the dense night air, from almost every direction
around her. Here, was heard the small hammer, the grating
file, with the occasional clicking of the firelock, undergoing repairs
by the use of the instruments just named. There, could be distinguished
the pecking of flints, the rattling of ramrods, and the
regularly repeated rapping of bullet-moulds to disengage the
freshly-cast balls. In other places could be perceived the hasty
movements of men about the stables, evidently engaged in leading
out and saddling horses, and making other preparations for
mounting; and then followed the sounds of the quick, short
gallop of their steeds, starting off, on express, in various directions,
under the sharply applied lashes of excited riders, and distinctly
revealing their different routes out of the village, by the streams
of fire that flew from their rapidly striking hoofs on the gravelly
and frozen ground. All, indeed, seemed to be in silent commotion
through the town. Bart's object in coming for his gun, at
such an hour of the night, was now sufficiently explained; for
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the quick and discerning mind of Miss Haviland at once told
her that the country was indeed rising in arms to avenge the
atrocities just committed by the party among whom were all her
relatives and friends; and she shuddered at the thought of to-morrow,
feeling, as she did, a secret and boding consciousness
that their downfall, brought about by their arrogance and crimes,
was now at hand.
-- 078 --
CHAPTER VII.
“A shout as of waters — a long-uttered cry:
Hark! hark! how it leaps from the earth to the sky!
From the sky to the earth, from the earth to the sea,
It is grandly reëchoed, We are free, we are free!”
[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]
Every thing, the next morning, seemed as quiet and peaceful in
the village, as if nothing unusual had occurred there. The commoiton
of the preceding night appeared to have wholly subsided. With
such secrecy and caution, indeed, had the revolutionists managed,
that no knowledge of their movements had yet reached the ears of
any of their opponents. And so guarded was their conduct, through
the whole morning, that the court party leaders, although their
spies had early been out, prowling round the whole village, were
yet kept in entire ignorance of all that had transpired among
the former during the night. Being consequently deceived by
the false appearance which every thing within the reach of their
observation had been made to wear, and feeling thus relieved of
their last night's guilty fears of a popular outbreak, these cruel
and dastardly minions of royalty now counted on their triumph
as complete; and, soon giving way to noisy exultation, they
began openly to boast of the sanguinary measure by which their
supposed victory had been achieved. And, about nine o'clock in
the forenoon, the judges and officers of court, with a select number
of their most devoted adherents, all in high spirits, and
wholly unsuspicious of the storm that was silently gathering
around them, formed a procession at the house of Brush, and,
attended by a strong armed escort, marched ostentatiously
through the street to the Court House, and entered the court-room
to commence the session.
After the judges had been ushered to their seats, and while
they were waiting for the crowd to enter and settle in their places,
Chandler, who had kept aloof till the procession had begun to
form, was seen to run his wary and watchful eye several times
over the assembly, to ascertain whether there were any discoverable
indications there pointing to any different state of things
from the one so confidently assumed by his confederates, when
he soon appeared to have noted some circumstance which caused
him suddenly to exchange the bland smile he had been wearing
for a look of thoughtfulness and concern.
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“Do you notice any thing unusual in the crowd this morning,
Judge Sabin?” he said to his colleague, in an anxious whisper,
as he closed his scrutiny.
“No, your honor,” replied the other, “unless it be the cheering
sight of encountering none but friendly faces, instead of the
hostile ones, which a man would have been led to expect to meet
here, after so much clamor about popular disaffection.
“Ay,” responded the former, with a dubious shake of the
head — “ay, but that is the very circumstance that puzzles me.
Had a portion of the assembly been made up of our opponents,
quietly mingling with the rest, as I had rather hoped, I should
have construed it into a token of submission; or, had a committee
been here to present a petition, or a remonstrance or two, I
should have been prepared for that, and could have managed,
by a little encouragement, and a good deal of delay, to give
every troublesome thing the go-by, till the storm had blown over.
But this entire absence of the disaffected looks a little suspicious,
don't it?”
“Why, no,” answered the stiff and stolid Sabin; “I can see
nothing suspicious about it. Indeed, it goes to show me that the
rebellion is crushed; for, as I presume, the honest but well-meaning
part of the rebels are ashamed, and their leaders afraid
to show their faces here to-day, after last night's lesson.”
“I hope it may be as you suppose; but I have my doubts in
the matter,” returned Chandler, with another dissenting shake
of the head, as he turned away to renew his observations on the
company before him.
On resuming his scrutiny, the uneasy judge soon perceived
that the assembly, during his conversation with his colleague,
had received an accession of several individuals, whom he recognized
as belonging to the party whose absence had awakened
his suspicions. But the presence of these persons, after he had
carefully noted their appearance, instead of tending to allay,
only went to confirm, his apprehensions; for, as he closely
scanned the bearing and countenance of each, and marked the
assured and determined look and covert smile which spoke of
anticipated triumph, attended with an occasional expectant
glance through the windows, he there read, with the instinctive
sagacity sometimes seen in men of his cast of character, enough
to convince him, with what he had previously observed, that a
movement of a dangerous magnitude was somewhere in progress,
and soon to be developed against the court party. And he instantly
resolved to lose no time before trimming his sails and
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preparing to meet the coming storm. And the next moment, to
the surprise of his colleague and the officers of the court, he was
on his feet, requesting silence that he might address the assembly.
He then proceeded to remark on the unfortunate occurrences of
the previous night, with a show of much feeling and regret, and
concluded by expressing his disapprobation of the course taken
in the affair by the sheriff and his abettors, in a manner that
would have given the highest offence to all implicated, had they
not believed that the speech was secretly designed only as a
game on their opponents, whom he might think it expedient to
quiet and delude a little longer. They, therefore, winked knowingly
to each other, and remained silent; while the speaker sat
down with the mental exclamation, —
“There, let it come now! That speech will do to be quoted.
I can refer them to it as the public expression of my views before
I knew what was coming.”
Having thus placed himself in a position, as he believed, where
he could easily turn himself to meet any contingency, — where, in
case the apprehended overthrow of the court party took place,
he could easily and safely leap the next hour to a favorable, if
not a high stand among the new dispensers of place and power,
or where, should the present authorities be able to sustain themselves,
he could as easily explain away his objectionable doings,
and retain his standing among them. Having done this, he then
turned his attention to the official duties of his place, and ordered
the crier to give the usual notice, that the court was now open
for business. This being formally done, the court docket was
called over, and the causes there entered variously disposed of
for the time being, by the judges, till they came to that of Woodburn
versus Peters; which was a petition for a new trial for the
recovery of the petitioner's alleged farm, that had been decided,
at the preceding term, to be the property of Peters, on the ground
and in the manner mentioned in a former chapter.
“Who answers for this Woodburn?” said Sabin, with a contemptuous
air. Significant glances were exchanged among the
tory lawyers and officers about the bar at the question, and a
malicious smile stole over the features of Peters, who had found
a seat among them.
“I move the court,” said Stearns, the attorney of Peters, “for
a judgment in favor of my client for his costs, and also for a writ
of possession of his land, of which he has been so unjustly kept
out by this vexatious proceeding. And, as the petitioner has not
entered his appearance according to rule, whereby he tacitly
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admits that his cause cannot be sustained, I will not permit myself
to doubt that the court will so order, even at this early hour —
they certainly have the power to do so.”
“They have also the power to postpone the hearing, even to the
last day of the term, before rendering judgment,” bluntly interposed
Knights, a large, plain-looking practitioner at the bar, who
had taken no active part either for or against the court party.
“We all know how this young man is debarred from appearing
here to-day; and it seems to me manifestly unjust that any power
which deprives a man of the opportunity of appearing at court,
should render judgment against him in consequence of his nonappearance.
I would, therefore, suggest a delay in this cause.
Perhaps, within a short time, he will employ counsel, or be liberated.”
“And perhaps be hung for treason,” said Stearns, in a sneering
under-tone.
“Do you answer for him or not, Mr. Knights?” demanded
Sabin, impatiently.
“No, your honor; he has not authorized me. I only made a
suggestion,” answered the former.
“Then judgment must go for Peters,” rejoined Sabin, with
ill suppressed warmth. “Traitors and rebels must look somewhere
else for favor, beside this court, while I hold a seat here.”
“Nobody has yet been convicted of treason, I believe,”
promptly responded Knights, while an expression of indignant
scorn flashed over his manly and intelligent countenance; “and
till such is the case, I take it the rights of all have an equal claim
on the court. I should be pleased to hear the opinion of the chief
justice in this matter.”
“Although I may have my doubts on this subject, Mr. Knights,”
graciously replied Chandler, “you could hardly expect me to be
guilty of so great a discourtesy to my colleague here, as to interfere,
after the intimation he has just given.”
“Make the entry, Mr. Clerk,” said Sabin, hastily; “judgment
for costs, and a writ of possession. I am not troubled with any
doubts in the matter, and will take the responsibility of the decision.”
Scarcely was the cause thus decided before Peters glided up
to the clerk, and whispered in his ear; when the latter, nodding
assentingly, opened his desk, and taking out two nicely-folded
papers, handed them slyly to the other, who, receiving them in
the same manner, immediately left the court-room and proceeded
down stairs. As the exulting suitor passed through the crowd
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gathered round the main entrance, he beckoned to a short, thick-set,
harsh-featured fellow, who immediately followed him around
a corner of the building.
“Well, Fitch,” said Peters, pausing as soon as they were out
of the reach of observation, “have you done up your business in
town, so as to be ready for a start for Guilford?”
“Yes; don't know but I have. But you can't have got your
decision, papers made out, and all, so soon as this?” replied the
other.
“All complete!” returned Peters, triumphantly.
“Why, the court has not been in session an hour!”
“True, but I had spoken to Judge Sabin to have my case taken
up this morning; and, as nobody was authorized to answer for
Woodburn, the case was disposed of in a hurry. And the clerk,
with whom I had also arranged matters, had made out the papers
before going into court, and got them all signed off and ready, in
anticipation; and here they are, ready for your hands, Mr. Constable.”
“Ay, I see; but what is the necessity of serving them so immediately?”
“Why, there's no knowing what may happen, Fitch. If the
rebels, in revenge for last night's peppering, should send over the
mountain for old Ethan Allen and his gang to come here to stir
up and lead on the disaffected, all legal proceedings might be
stopped. I know most of our folks think, this morning, that the
enemy are fairly under foot. But Chandler, who is as keen as a
fox for smelling out trouble, acts to me as if he was frightened;
and I think he must have scented mischief brewing, somewhere.”
“Some say he is a very timorsome man.”
“Yes; but watchful and sagacious, and therefore an index not
to be disregarded.”
“May be so. But what are your orders about these papers?”
“With this, the writ of possession, go, in the first place, and
turn the old woman, his mother, neck and heels, from the house;
and then get some stiff fellow in for a tenant, rent free the first
year, if you can do no better, provided he will defend the premises
against Woodburn, if he escapes unhung. And with this
paper, an execution for costs, as you will see, seize the fellow's
cow and oxen, and all else you can find, and sell them as soon as
the law will let you.”
“Why, you won't leave enough of the fellow for a grease spot!”
“Blast him; I don't intend to. But now is the time to do it,
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before he can get out of jail and back there to give fight and
trouble us. So you fix all these matters about right for me, Fitch,
and I'll do the handsome thing by you when I come over, after the
roads get settled, in the spring.”
“Never fear me, as long as I know what a friend's wishes
are,” replied the constable, with a significant wink, as he stuffed
the documents into his hat, and bustled off on the detestable mission
of his more detestable employer.
While Peters and his official minion was thus engaged, Tom
Dunning was seen coming, with hasty strides, along the road,
from the direction of his cabin, which was situated without the
village, about a half mile north of the Court House, from which
it would have been visible but for the pine thicket by which it
was partially enclosed. As the hunter was entering the village,
he met Morris, hastening up the street, from the opposite part of
the town.
“Well met,” said Morris; “for I was bound to your quarters
with a message, which —”
“Which I am ditter ready to receive, and give you one,
which I started to carry to your folks, in return. So, first for
yours.”
“Mine is, that we are now drawn up, two hundred strong, in
the first woods south of the village, and are ready to march.”
“And mine, that we are der ditto; besides being a hundred
better than you, all chafing, like ditter tied-up dogs, to
be let on.”
“I will back, then, to my post with the news; and in less than
a half hour, tell them, they shall hear our signal of entering the
village, as agreed, which we will expect you to answer, and then
rush on, as fast as you please, to effect a junction, as we wheel
into the court-yard. But stay: have the prisoners been apprized
that their deliverance is at hand?”
“Yes; I ran up at the time the court ditter went in, and,
in the bustle, got a chance to tell them through the grate.”
“All right; but how are the wounded doing?”
“Ditter well, except French, who is fast going.”
“Indeed! Poor fellow! But his blood will now soon be
avenged,” said Morris, as the two now separated and hastened
back to their respective posts.
After Peters had despatched the constable on his work of legal
plunder and revenge, he returned to the court-room for the purpose
of pressing to a hearing some other cases which he had
pending against political opponents, and which he hoped, through
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the favor of a biased and corrupt court, to carry as easily as the one
wherein he had just so wickedly triumphed. But he was not permitted
to reap any more of his despicable advantages; for he found that
another, actuated by motives no less unworthy than his own, had
already gained the attention of the court to a case of which he
had been the prime mover and complainant. This was Secretary
Brush; and the trial he had been urging on, through Stearns, the
acting state's attorney, was that of the alleged murderer, to
whose somewhat mysterious, as well as suspicious, arrest and imprisonment
allusion has already been made.
“As you say the witnesses are in court, Mr. Stearns,” observed
Chandler, after a moment's consultation with his colleague, “as
all the witnesses are here, we have concluded to take up the
criminal case in question. You may therefore direct the sheriff
to bring the prisoner into court without delay.”
The sheriff, accordingly, left the court-room, and, in a short
time, reappeared with the prisoner, followed by two armed men,
who closely guarded and conducted him forward to the criminal's
box.
The prisoner was a man of the apparent age of sixty, of rather
slight proportions of body, but with a large head, and coarse features,
that seemed to be kept almost constantly in play by a lively,
flashing countenance, in which meekness and fire, kindness and
austerity, were curiously blended. As he seated himself, he
turned round and faced the court with a fearless and even scornful
air, but promptly rose, at the bidding of the chief judge, to
listen to the information, which the clerk proceeded to read
against him at length, closing by addressing to the respondent the
usual question as to his guilt or innocence of the charge.
“I once,” calmly responded the prisoner — “I once knocked up
a pistol, pointed at my breast by a robber. It went off and killed
one of his fellows, and —”
“Say, guilty or not guilty?” sternly interrupted the clerk.
“Not guilty, then,” answered the other, determined, while
going through these preliminary forms, that his accusers, the
court, and audience, should hear what, under other circumstances,
he would have reserved for the more appropriate time of making
his defence, or left to his counsel. “Ay, not guilty; and that
gentleman,” he rapidly continued, pointing to Brush, “that gentleman,
who has offered to free me if I would submit to be robbed,
well knows the truth of what I say. The witnesses, whom he has
suborned, also know it, if they know any thing about that luckless
affray.”
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“Liar!” shouted Brush, springing up, in high excitement, as
soon as he could recover from the surprise and confusion into
which this bold and unexpected charge had thrown him.
“The man's insane — evidently insane, your honors!” cried
Stearns, who, in his anxiety to shield his friend Brush, thought
not of the effect of such a remark.
“I thank the attorney for the government for that admission,
may it please the court,” said Knights, rising, with a sarcastic
glance at Stearns. “I may wish to make use of it.”
“Are you counsel for the prisoner, sir?” sharply demanded
the other.
“I am, sir,” coolly replied Knights; “and you may find, before
we get through the trial, that what the prisoner has said, as
much out of place as it was, is not the only truth to be developed.
But before the case proceeds any further, I offer a plea to
the jurisdiction of this court, and at once submit, whether a man
can be tried here for an offence alleged to have been committed
in another county, without a special order from the governor for
that purpose.”
“That order is obtained and on file, sir. So that learned bubble
is burst, as will all the rest you can raise in favor of the miserable
wretch you have stooped to defend,” said Stevens, exultingly.
“Mr. Clerk, pass up that order to the court.”
“Are you satisfied now, Mr. Knights?” asked Sabin, with
undignified feeling, after glancing at the order which had been laid
before the judges. “Mr. Stearns, proceed with the cause.”
But that court, on whom the subservient attorney and his corrupt
and arrogant friend depended to convict an innocent man
of an infamous crime, that a private and nefarious object might
thereby be enforced — that court were now destined to be arrested
in their career of judicial oppression before they had time
to add another stain to their already blackened characters: for,
at this moment, a deep and piercing groan, issuing from one of
the prison-rooms beneath, resounded through the building so
fearfully distinct, as to cause every individual of the assembly to
start, and even to bring the judges and officers of the court to a
dead pause in their proceedings. A moment of death-like silence
ensued; when another and a sharper groan of anguish, bursting
evidently from the same lips, and swelling up to the highest
compass of the human voice, and ending in a prolonged screech
of mortal agony, rang through the apartment, sending a thrill of
horror to the very hearts of the appalled multitude!
“Who? What? For God's sake, what is that?” exclaimed
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a dozen eager and trembling voices at once, as nearly the whole
assembly started to their feet, and stood with amazed and perplexed
countenances, inquiringly gazing at each other.
“Don't your consciences tell you that?” exclaimed the prisoner,
Herriot, in a loud, fearless voice, running his stern, indignant
eye over the court, its officers, and leading partisans around the
bar. “Don't your consciences tell you what it was? Then I
will! It was the death-screech of the poor murdered French,
whose tortured spirit, now beyond the reach of your power, went
out with that fearful cry which has just assailed your guilty
ears!”
“Mr. Sheriff! Mr. Sheriff!” sputtered Sabin, boiling with
wrath, and pointing menacingly to the prisoner.
“Silence, there, blabbing miscreant!” thundered Patterson.
“Ah! No wonder ye want silence, when that name is mentioned,”
returned Herriot, unflinchingly.
Struck dumb with astonishment at the unexpected audacity of
the prisoner in thus throwing out, in open court, such bold and
cutting intimations of their guilty conduct, the judges and officers
seemed perfectly at a loss how to act, or give vent to their maddened
feelings, for some moments. Soon, however, the most
prompt and reckless among them found the use of their tongues.
“Shoot him down, Patterson!” exclaimed Brush, with an
oath.
“Treason! I charge him with treason, and demand that he
be ironed and gagged on the spot!” shouted Gale, bringing down
his clinched fist heavily on the desk before him!
“Yes, high treason; let us re-arrest him, and see if we can
hang him on that, should he escape on the other charge,”
chimed in Stearns.
“I have my doubts,” began Chandler, who was growing every
moment more wavering and uneasy.
“No doubts about it,” interrupted Sabin, almost choking with
rage. “I'll not sit here and see the king's authority insulted, and
his court treated with such contempt and treasonable defiance;
and I order him instantly in irons — chains — yes, chains, Mr.
Sheriff!”
“You can chain the body, but shall not fetter the tongue,”
responded Herriot, in no way dismayed by the threats of his
enraged persecutors, or their preparations to confine and torture
his person; “for I will speak, and you shall hear, ye tyrants!
Listen then, ye red-handed assassins! The blood of your murdered
victim has cried up to God for vengeance. The cry has
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been heard! the unseen hand has already traced your doom
on the wall! and this day, ay, within this hour,” he continued,
glancing through the window to a dark mass of men, who might
now be partially discerned drawn up behind the point of woods
at the north — “ay, within this very hour, that doom shall be
fulfilled! Hark!” he added, in startling tones, after a momentary
pause — “hark! do ye hear those signal guns, echoing from post
to post, round your beleaguered Babylon? Do you hear those
shouts? The avengers of blood are even now at your doors.
Hear, and tremble!”
As the speaker closed his bold denunciations, he descended
from the bench which he had mounted for the purpose, and, advancing
to the sheriff and his assistants, now standing mute and
doubtful with their hastily procured fetters in their hands, he
paused, and stood confronting them with an ironical smile, and
with folded arms, in token of his readiness now to submit himself
to their hands. But a wonderful change had suddenly come
over the whole band of these tory dignitaries. The dark and
angry scowls of meditated revenge, and the more fiery expressions
of undisguised wrath, which were bent on the dauntless old
man during the first part of his denunciations, had, by the time
he made his closing announcement, all given way to looks of
surprise and apprehension. No one offered to lay hands on him;
for, as the truth of what he said was every moment more strongly
confirmed by the increasing tumult without, no one had any
thoughts to spare for any but himself. And soon the whole
assembly broke from their places, and, in spite of the loud calls
of the officers for silence and order, began to cry out in eager
inquiries, and run about the room in the utmost confusion and
alarm. At this juncture, David Redding, who had been thus far
the most reckless and bloodthirsty tory of all, burst into the room,
hurriedly exclaiming, —
“The people have risen in arms, and are pouring in upon us,
by hundreds, from every direction! In five minutes this house
will be surrounded, and we in their power. Let every man look
to his own safety! I shall to mine,” he added, rushing back
down to the front door, where, instead of attempting to escape
through the back way, as he might then have done, he began to
shout, “Hurra for Congress!” and, “Down with the British
court!” at the very top of his voice.
“I resign my commission,” cried Chandler, jumping up in
great trepidation. “Let it be distinctly understood,” he repeated,
raising his voice in his anxiety to be heard — “yes, let it be
-- 088 --
[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]
distinctly understood, that I have resigned my commission as judge
of this court.”
“D—n him! what does he mean by that?” muttered Gale,
turning to Patterson.
“It means he is going to turn tail, as I always thought he
would, — the cursed cowardly traitor!” replied the latter, gnashing
his teeth. “But let him, and that pitiful poltroon of a Redding,
go where they please. We will see to matters ourselves. I don't
believe it is any thing more than a mere mob, who will scatter
at the first fire. So follow me, Gale; and all the rest of ye, that
aint afraid of your own shadows, follow me, and I'll soon know
what can be done.”
And, while lawyers and suitors were hastily snatching up their
papers, and all were making a general rush for the door, in the
universal panic which had seized them, the boastful sheriff,
attended by his assistants and the tiger-tempered Gale, pushed
his way down stairs, shaking his sword over his head, and shouting
with all his might, —
“To arms! Every friend to the court and king, to arms!
Stand to your guns there below, guards, and shoot down every
rebel that attempts to enter!”
But, when he reached the front entrance, the spectacle which
there greeted his eyes seemed to have an instant effect in cooling
his military ardor. There, to his dismay, he beheld drawn up,
within thirty paces of the door, an organized and well-armed
body of more than three hundred men; while small detachments,
constantly arriving, were falling in on the right and left, and
extending the wings round the whole building. And as the discomfited
loyalist ran his eye along the line of the broad-breasted
and fierce-looking fellows before him, and recognized among
them the Huntingtons, the Knights, the Stevenses, the Baileys,
the Brighams, the Curtises, and other stanch and leading patriots,
from nearly every town bordering on the Connecticut, and saw
the determined look and the indignant flashing of their countenances,
he at once read not only the entire overthrow of his party
in this section of the country, but the individual peril in which
he, and his abettors in the massacre, now stood before an outraged
and excited populace.
“What ails your men, Squire Sheriff?” cried Barty Burt,
now grown to a soldier in the ranks of the assailants, as he
pointed tauntingly to the company of tory guards who had been
stationed in the yard, but who now, sharing in the general panic,
had thrown down their arms, and stood huddled together near
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the door; “why don't they pick up their shooting-irons, and
blaze away at the `d—d rebels,' as I think I heard you order,
just now?”
“And if that won't ditter do,” exclaimed the well-known
voice of Tom Dunning from another part of the ranks, “suppose
you ditter read another king's proclamation at us: no knowing
but we might be ditter done for, entirely.”
The sheriff waited to hear no more, but hastily retreated into
the house, followed by a shout of derisive laughter; and his
place was the next moment occupied by Chandler, who bustled
forward to the steps, and, in a flustered, supplicatory manner,
asked leave to address his “respected fellow-citizens.”
“Short speeches, judge!” impatiently cried Colonel Carpenter,
who seemed, from his position on horseback among the troops
and other appearances, to be chief in command—“short speeches,
if any. We have come here on a business which neither long
speeches nor smooth ones will prevent us from executing.”
The judge, however, could not afford to take this as a repulse;
and, with this doubtful license, he went on to say, that on hearing,
in the morning, as he did with astonishment and horror, of the
unauthorized proceedings of last night, he had denounced the
outrage, in an address at the opening of the court; and not
finding himself supported, he had resigned, and left his seat on
the bench.
“And now,” he added in conclusion, “being freed from the
trammels of my oath of office, which have lately become so painful
to me, I feel myself again one of the people, and stand ready
to coöperate with them in any measure required by the public
welfare.”
A very faint and scattering shout of applause, in two or three
places, mingled with hisses and murmurs in others, was the only
response with which this address was received. But even with
this equivocal testimony of public feeling towards him, this despicable
functionary felt gratified. “I am safe,” said he to himself,
with a long-drawn breath, as he descended the steps, to watch an
opportunity to mingle with the party with whom he was now
especially anxious to be seen, and to whom he was ready to say,
in the words of the satirist, —
“I'm all submission, what you'd have me, make me;
The only question is, sirs, will you take me?”
At this moment a sash was thrown up, and the prisoner, Herriot,
appeared at a window of the court-room above.
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“I have been brought up here this morning,” he said, shaking
back his gray locks, and raising his stern, solemn voice to a pitch
clearly audible to all in the grounds below — “I have been
brought here from my dungeon to answer to the charge of a foul
crime; and both my accusers and triers, fleeing even before any
one appeared to pursue, have left their places, having neither
tried nor condemned me. But scorning to follow their example,
I now appear, to submit myself for a verdict, to the rightful
source of all power — the people.”
“Neither will we condemn thee,” cried Knowlton, pursuing
the scriptural thought of the other; “if thy accusers and judges
have left thee uncondemned, thou shalt not be condemned by us;
at least not by me, who have long had my opinions of the character
of this prosecution.”
“As also have I,” responded Captain Wright. “I know something
of the witnesses, on whom, it is said, they depended to
convict father Herriot; and I would not hang a dog on their testimony.
I move, therefore, that we here pronounce a verdict of
acquittal. Who says, ay?”
“Ay!” promptly responded a dozen voices; and “Ay!” the
next instant rose in one loud, unanimous shout from the whole
multitude.
“A thousand thanks to you, my friends, for your generous
confidence in my innocence,” returned the old man with emotion;
“and, thank God, your confidence is not misplaced. I was formerly
guilty of much, which has cost me many bitter tears of
repentance; but there is no blood on my hands, and I will now
return to my hermit hut, from which they dragged me, there to
pray for the success of the good cause in which you are engaged,
leaving to you what lesson shall be taught those Hamans who
have filled these dungeons with the dying and wounded, now demanding
your care.”
The effect of the old man's closing hint was instantly visible
on the multitude, who decided by acclamation to act upon it
without delay; and accordingly a score of resolute fellows were
detached to proceed to the prisons, release their friends, and
fill their places, for the present, with their murderous oppressors.
-- 091 --
CHAPTER VIII.
“ — right represt,
Will heave with the deep earthquake's fierce unrest,
Then fling, with fiery strength, the mountain from its breast.”
[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]
When the besieged tories, who were now mostly crowded
together in the broad space on the lower floor, saw a column of
their assailants entering the front door, and advancing upon them
with levelled muskets to sacrifice them, as they supposed, on the
spot, they were seized with a fresh and uncontrollable panic, and
made such a tremendous rush for the back entrance, that the
only sentry who happened at that moment to be there, was, in
spite of all his threats to fire upon them, instantly borne down, or
thrust aside, by the living torrent that now burst through the door;
and before a force sufficient to stop them could reach the spot,
numbers had escaped into the adjoining fields, where, scattering
in different directions, they commenced their disorderly flight,
with all the speed which their guilty terrors could lend them.
The next moment, however, as the cry that the tories were escaping
was raised, a hundred of their most fleet-footed opponents
were seen leaping the fences into the fields, and giving chase to
the frightened fugitives. A scene, in which the ludicrous, the
novel, the wild, and the fearful, were strangely mingled, now ensued;
for, although a strong guard still retained their places
round the Court House, who, with the detachment that had entered
as we have described, proceeded to take into custody the
remaining tories and liberate the imprisoned, yet the main body
of the revolutionists joined in the work of hunting down the flying
enemy; those not only who had escaped from the Court House
in the manner we have named, but all concerned in the massacre
that could be found secreted or lurking about the village;
while the exulting shouts of the victors as they overtook, seized,
and brought to the ground the vanquished; the abject cries of
the latter for quarter; the reports of muskets fired by pursuers
over the heads of the pursued, to frighten them to surrender; the
beating of drums, and the loud clamor of mingling voices, — all
combined to swell the uproar and confusion of the exciting scene.
“How like the ditter deuse these lawyers do scratch grav
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el!” exclaimed Tom Dunning, as he singled out and gave chase
to Stearns and Knights, who together were making their way
across the fields, in the direction of the river, as if life and death
hung on their speed. “Ha! ha!” continued the tickled hunter,
laughing so immoderately at the novel spectacle, as greatly to impede
his own progress — “ha! ha! ha! ha! Why, I der don't
believe but what they've got consciences, after all! for what else
could make their ditter drumsticks fly so?”
But although the hunter, in thus indulging his merriment, suffered
himself actually to lose ground in the race, yet he had no
notion of relinquishing the chase, or losing the game; for, conscious
of his own powers, and thinking lightly of those of the
fugitives, he supposed, that, as soon as he chose to exert himself,
he could easily make the race a short one, and as easily capture
and lead them back in triumph; and he began to think over the
jokes he would crack at their expense on the way. But the unseen
event of the next moment showed him, to his vexation, that
his inaction, and confidence in his own powers to remedy the
consequences of it, had cost him all the anticipated pleasures of
his expected victory. For scarcely had he commenced the pursuit
in earnest, when the fugitive lawyers reached the bank of
the river, and at the very place too, as it provokingly happened,
where his own log-canoe chanced to be moored, and hastily leaping
into it, they managed with such dexterity and quickness, in
handling the oars and cutting the fastenings, as to push off, and
get fairly out of the reach of their pursuer, before he could gain
the spot; and his threat to fire at them, if they did not return,
and the execution of that threat the next moment, which sent a
bullet skipping over the water within a foot of the receding canoe,
as he only intended, were all without effect in compelling the
return of the panic-struck attorneys. And the balked pursuer had
soon the mortification to see his crafty brace of intended captives
land in safety on the opposite shore, which he had now no means
of gaining, and disappear in the dark pine forest then lining the
eastern bank of the Connecticut at this place.
“Outwitted, by ditter Judas!” exclaimed the hunter, in his
vexation. “These lawyers, dog 'em! they have so much of the
Old Scratcher in 'em, that they will outdo a fellow at his own trade.
However, I've done the new state some ditter service, I reckon,
seeing I've fairly driven such a precious pair of 'em out of it.”*
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With this consolatory reflection, he now turned and retraced
his steps towards the scene of action. While on his way thither,
and soon after passing the rear of the building before described
as the head-quarters of the tory leaders, his attention was arrested
by the lamentable outcries of some one alternately bawling for
help, and begging for mercy; when, turning to the spot, he there
beheld his associate, Barty Burt, astride the haughty owner of
the mansion just named, who, with dress sadly soiled and disordered,
was creeping on his hands and knees on the ground, towards
his house, which, it appeared, he had nearly gained, when he was
overtaken, thrown to the ground, and mounted by his agile and
tormenting captor, who was now taking his whimsical revenge
for former indignities, by compelling the fallen secretary, through
the efficacy of a loaded pistol just wrenched from the latter's
hand, to carry him on his back, in the manner above described.
“What the dogs are you ditter doing there, Bart?” said Dunning,
with a broad grin, as he came up and recognized the secretary
in such a strange plight and attitude.
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[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]
“O, nothin very desput; only showing Squire Brush, here,
the differ between to-day and yesterday, that's all,” replied Bart,
kicking and spurring, like a boy on some broken-down horse.
“Get up, here! Gee! whoa, Dobbin! Kinder seems to me,”
he continued to his groaning prisoner—“kinder seems to me I
heard somebody say, 'tother night, that Bart Burt wasn't above a
jackass. Wonder if I aint above a jackass now? only his ears
may need pulling and stretching a little,” he added, suiting the
action to the word.
“For God's sake, my good man,” said Brush, turning imploringly
to Dunning, “do relieve me from the clutches of this
insatiate imp of hell. Let him shoot me, if he will; but don't
leave me to be worried, and trod into the mud and splosh, like a
dog, by the revengeful young savage. It is more than flesh and
blood can bear.”
“Well, now, squire, I wouldn't make such a tearing fuss
about this little bit of a walloping, after what's happened, if I was
you,” said Bart. “There was our differ about who was the jackass,
and sich like, that night, you know, which I kinder thought
I might as well settle; and then, again, there was your good-by,
yesterday; but may be I've done enough to make that square,
too. So I don't care if I let you up, now, seeing as how Mr.
Dunning has come to take care of your worship,” added the
speaker, springing nimbly a few paces aside, and facing about
with presented pistol, as if to keep the other on good behavior.
“What can you want with me, sir?” said the disencumbered
secretary to the hunter, after gaining his feet and shaking off the
mud from his bedraggled garments.
“Ditter considerable,” replied the other. “In the first place,
the people want to see you back to the Court House, where you
may ditter consider yourself invited to go, under my care. They
there may have the first claim on you.”
“Well, if I am a prisoner, let us go there, then,” said the
crestfallen loyalist, relinquishing, with bad grace, his hope of
being allowed to escape. “But what do you mean by first claim
on me?”
“Well, I ditter mean that I have another, when they get
through with you.”
“Explain yourself, sir.”
“I will. You ditter know that your governor has offered a
reward of fifty pounds for the ditter delivery of Ethan Allen for
the gallows, under a law got through the York Assembly, principally
by one Squire Brush. Well, I aint a going to ditter fight old
-- 095 --
[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]
Ethan's battles; for he can der do that himself. But you may
ditter know, also, that Ethan has offered the same reward for the
governor and you. Now, as we are ditter expecting Allen over
here, in a few days, I was der thinking, I and Bart, here, might
as well ditter deliver you up, and claim the money.”*
So saying, the hunter, bidding the prisoner to follow, and Bart
to bring up the rear, marched off in triumph to the Court House;
and, having delivered over his charge to the guard at the prison
doors, sallied out into the village in quest of further adventures.
Nor was he long in meeting with them. After gaining the street,
he soon perceived a gathering and commotion nearly in front of
the mansion whose owner he had just taken from the rear; and,
on reaching the spot, he found a crowd collected round a sleigh,
filled with gentlemen and ladies, which proved to be that of
Peters and his company. It appeared that Haviland, who had
remained at his quarters that forenoon, and had thus become apprised
of the rising of the people sooner than the mass of his
party, had instantly ordered the team to be harnessed, and every
thing prepared for an immediate departure, as soon as Peters
should arrive. And the latter, who was among those who broke
away from the Court House after it was invested, having at
length reached the house undiscovered, and adopted such disguise
in dress as the time would permit, they had all jumped into the
sleigh, (which could still be used better than any other vehicle,)
and were rapidly driving from the yard, in an attempt to escape
from the town, when they were recognized and detained by a
party of the revolutionists. Haviland and Peters had already
been seized and taken from the sleigh, and would have instantly
been forced off to prison, but for the entreaties and distress of the
females, who refused to be conducted back to the house, or even
to be separated from their protectors; Miss Haviland, especially,
declaring that if her father must go to prison, she would go with
him. This had produced a momentary delay, during which a
sharp altercation had arisen, some being for taking the prisoners
back to the house, there to be guarded, and others strongly insisting
on dragging them off, at once, to jail. The latter, at
length, appeared to prevail, and were on the point of forcing the
-- 096 --
[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]
ladies, in spite of all their entreaties, from the sides of their
protectors, when a man came pushing his way through the
crowd: —
“For shame! shame! my friends,” he cried; “you surely
would not molest innocent and defenceless females.”
“I will tell you what it is, Harry Woodburn,” responded one
of those who were for proceeding to active measures, “when
ladies attempt to stand between murderers and their deserts, they
must expect to be molested.”
The circumstances of the case were then explained to Woodburn;
when the crowd, who had been irritated by the threats and
arrogant behavior of the prisoners, at the outset, again began to
cry, “Away with them, women and all, if they will have it so —
away with them to prison!”
“Men, hear me!” exclaimed Woodburn, planting himself
between the ladies and the angry crowd. “You see this!” he
continued, holding up his bandaged and blood-stained arm: “the
wound was received in defending your cause; and I have but
this moment come from the felon's hole, where I passed the
night, for the part I took in the affray. Now, have I not earned
the right to be heard?”
“Ay, ay, certainly, Harry; go on!” responded several, while
the silence of the rest denoted a ready acquiescence in the
request.
“This, then, is what I would say,” resumed the former.
“These ladies, who are doubtless anxious to escape from a scene
of strife which may not yet be ended, came from a distance,
under the care of this old gentleman, whose imprisonment would
not only take from them their protector, but deprive them, probably,
of all present means of returning to their home. I propose,
therefore, to let him and them depart unmolested.”
“If the ladies were all — but I don't know about letting this
old fellow off so easily,” said one, exchanging doubtful glances
with those around him. “He is both tory and Yorker to the
eyes.”
“Yes,” urged another, “and who knows but he was among the
murderers last night?”
“I have ascertained that he was not among the actors of last
night's outrage,” replied Woodburn.
“Well,” rejoined the former, “I know the other was — that
upper-crust tory by his side there, who was always too proud to
wear an old coat and hat, till he thought they might help him in
skulking away out of the reach of punishment.”
-- 097 --
[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]
“I know Peters was there, to my cost; and I had no notion of
asking any exemption for him,” returned Woodburn, with bitterness.
“But this old gentleman, whatever may be his feelings,
has committed none of those acts of violence, for which, only, I
understand, our leaders intend to institute trials. Shall we not,
then, let him and his ladies proceed, as I proposed?”
Receiving no direct answer to his appeal, the speaker now took
two or three of the leading opposers aside, and, after conversing
with them a few moments, returned, and announced to Haviland
that he was at liberty to depart.
How well and wisely had he read the human heart, who penned
the scriptural apothegm, “If thine enemy hunger, feed him;
if he thirst, give him drink; for, in so doing, thou shalt heap
coals of fire on his head”! Haviland, though by nature an honorable
man, had yet suffered himself to enter deeply into the personal
animosities of Peters towards Woodburn, which, with his
political and aristocratic prejudices, had caused him to think of
the young man only with feelings of contempt and bitterness.
And when he witnessed the noble conduct of the latter, first in
rescuing his daughter from the flood, and now so generously interposing
in his behalf, it produced that struggle between pride
and conscience, whose operation is so forcibly expressed by the
sacred writer just quoted. And, although he could bring himself
to acknowledge his obligations only by a formal and constrained
bow, yet the conflicting and painful expressions that were seen
flitting over his disturbed countenance, as he now returned to the
sleigh, plainly told how effectually, and with what punished feelings,
his enmity had been silenced. But not so with his singleminded
and quickly and justly appreciating daughter. She had
no prejudices to combat, no pride to conquer; and she, therefore,
witnessed each new act of her deliverer with as much pleasure
as gratitude — feelings which sought expression in no parade of
words, it is true, but in the more meaning and eloquent language
of the kindly tone and sweetly-beaming countenance. And, in
her low-murmured, “Thank you — thank you for all,” as Woodburn
handed her to her seat in the vehicle, he felt a thousand fold
repaid for all he had ventured for her sake; while the speaking
smile, with which she the next moment turned to him, and nodded
her adieu, left an impress on his heart destined never to be
effaced.
While this was transpiring, Peters, who had been standing apart
from the rest of his company, sullenly looking on, without uttering
a word, except to bid Haviland go on without him, contrived,
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without exciting any suspicion of his design, to work himself by degrees
to the outer edge of the crowd, in the direction in which
the team was about to pass. And, as the sleigh, which was now
put in motion, approached him, he made a sudden feint of running
the opposite way; when, as the crowd were confusedly springing
forward to head him, he quickly tacked about, leaped into the
sleigh, and, snatching the reins and whip from Haviland's hands,
applied the lash so furiously, that the frantic horses bounded forward
with a speed which carried the receding vehicle more than
fifty yards on its course, before the balked and confused throng
could recover themselves, and fairly comprehend what had happened.
But the sharp, bitter shout of execrations, mingled with
cries for immediate pursuit, which now rose from the agitated
multitude, proclaimed at once their hatred of the haughty loyalist,
and their determination not to suffer him to escape from justice.
And the next instant, a half dozen swift runners, led on by Dunning,
shot out from the crowd, in the eager chase, like so many
arrows speeding to the mark. And, notwithstanding the supposed
advantages of horses over men in a race, and notwithstanding
the increased speed with which the fugitive team thundered along
over the half-bare and uneven ground, the pursued had scarcely
reached the end of a furlong, before the fleet and determined
hunter, still in advance of his companions, gained the side of the
sleigh, leaped up, pounced upon his cringing victim, and brought
him headlong to the ground, leaving Haviland to seize the relinquished
reins, check the horses as he best could, and proceed on
his way unmolested.
“There! you ditter sneak of a runaway tory. You will now
go, I der rather calculate, where there's no ditter petticoats to
shelter you,” said Dunning, raising the chapfallen Peters by the
collar, and drawing him along back, amidst the exulting shouts of
the revolutionists, by whom he and his friend Brush were then
forced away, in no very gentle manner, to join their fellow-prisoners,
in the same dungeon where the victims of their last night's
outrage were so unfeelingly and so unwisely immured.
A detailed description of the various scenes which here succeeded,
in the winding up of this local revolution, as it may justly
be denominated, would occupy too much space for the limits of
our tale, without evolving any further incident, having much
bearing on the destinies of those of its personages whose fortunes
we design to follow. We will now, therefore, sum up, in a few
words, the doings of the triumphant party, and, with a comment
or two of our own, dismiss the subject.
-- 099 --
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In the first place, all the supposed actors and abettors of the
massacre within reach were seized and secured, excepting Redding
and one or two others of a like character, who, by their
activity in assisting to apprehend the fugitive comrades whom
they had so meanly deserted, and their offers to give evidence
against them, had purchased an exemption from punishment, and
excepting also the Janus-faced Chandler, who, by his duplicity,
had contributed more than any other man, perhaps, towards this
catastrophe, but who now contrived to make even his iniquities
count in his favor.* After this was effected, the victors, all but
enough to constitute a safe guard, laid aside their arms, and resolved
themselves into a sort of civil convention, to take measures
for the trial of the prisoners by some mode, which, in the absence
of all proper authorities, should answer for a legal process. And,
as the first step in the matter, a jury of inquest, to sit on the dead
body of French, was ordered, and a committee appointed to see
to the empanelling of impartial men, and collect evidence and
conduct the investigations to be had before them. All this being
-- 100 --
[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]
duly accomplished, and the jury bringing in a verdict that the deceased
came to his death by the discharges of muskets, in the
hands of Patterson, Gale, and others therein enumerated, all the
latter, thus designated as the murderers of the unfortunate young
man, were taken, and, under the authority of another order or
decree of the convention, marched off, under a strong guard, to
the jail in Northampton, some forty or fifty miles into the interior
of Massachusetts, and there confined, to be tried for their lives
at the next court that should be holden in the county where the
offence was committed; while a less deeply implicated portion of
the prisoners were put under bonds to appear at the court to answer
to the charges of manslaughter and assault, or made to undergo
other punishments and restrictions immediately imposed by
the convention.* The actors in the outrage, who comprised nearly
all the leading members of the British party in that part of the
Grants lying east of the mountains, having been thus summarily
disposed of, the people, now taking the government into their own
hands, and acting in primitive assembly, proceeded to reorganize
the county, by the appointment of new judges, and all the usual
subordinate officers, of their own principles, to adopt measures to
reduce to submission or drive away the remaining loyalists of the
county, and, finally, to declare themselves alike independent of
the government of Great Britain and of New York.
Thus terminated this memorable outbreak, which acquired
additional importance from the fact, that it resulted in the entire
subversion of British authority in this, the only section among the
Green Mountains where it ever gained a foothold. And not
small the praise, which, in view of the circumstances, should be
awarded to the hardy spirits by whom this miniature revolution
was achieved; for, so great was the power of patronage exercised
by this court, and the influence of those enjoying office or immunities
under it, — a great majority of whom were stanch, and the
rest tacit, supporters of the royal cause, — that, till the occurrence
of this sanguinary affair, it is evident the former had but little
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hope of being able to overthrow this petty local dynasty without
assistance from abroad. The aged survivors of that stormy
period inform us, indeed, that but for the massacre of Westminster,
it would have been difficult to predict whether the opening
of the revolution, a few months afterwards, would have found,
in the section in question, a whig or tory majority predominating.
But that act of murder and madness, which the loyalists here,
with the strange infatuation attending their doings almost every
where else at the time, seemed destined to commit, as if to hasten
their own overthrow, settled their doom.
“It was the electric flame to fire the hearts
Of a true people.”
And while it opened the eyes of hundreds of the hitherto
acquiescent, it armed the opposing with an energy and determination
in their cause, which at once became irresistible; and
when the war-note was subsequently sounded by such patriots as
Benjamin Carpenter and his associates, it found a ready response
in every glen and corner of the surrounding country, and the
hardy settlers seized their arms, and, with the cry of French and
vengeance! hastened away to the scenes of action at Lexington,
Ticonderoga, and Bunker Hill.
We are aware that some historians have classed this affair
among the difficulties and skirmishes growing out of what has
usually been termed the New York controversy, while others
have treated the subject in a manner which shows them to be
doubtful in what light to place the transaction; and, for that
reason apparently, they have slid over the matter in those general
and ambiguous terms so often and reprehensibly indulged in
by writers at a loss about facts, to conceal their own ignorance,
or to avoid the responsibility of deciding the point at issue. But
a careful examination of the subject has led us to the conclusion,
that the affair in question had little or no connection, in reality,
with the New York controversy, but that it was wholly of a revolutionary
character. No resistance to the authority of New
York had ever been previously made in this section of the Grants;
nor did the opposers of this court, in any of their remonstrances,
or other proceedings, either before or after the massacre, assign
any reason for their doings which can be fairly construed into
an objection to the jurisdiction of that province, as such; or any
otherwise than that it had, up to that time, refused to adopt the
resolves and recommendations of the Continental Congress. On
the contrary, all their arguments are based on their duty and
-- 102 --
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determination of joining their revolting brethren in the other colonies,
and, consequently, of resisting the longer continuance of
British authority among them. Such, indeed, is the ground taken
by Dr. Jones, in his minute and authentic account of the
occurrence, in which he was, as we have made him in our illustrations,
an actor. And even the inscription on the tombstone of
the ill-fated French, written when the transaction, and all its
attendant circumstances, were fresh in the minds of all, sufficiently
proves, if further proof were necessary, that the version we have
given of the affair is identical with the one generally understood
and received at the time.”*
It was this view of the occurrence which led us to occupy the
space we have devoted in attempting to illustrate it; for it becomes
invested with a new interest and new importance, when it
is considered, as we think it must be, that here was enacted the
first scene of the great drama that followed; here was shed the
first blood, and here fell the first martyr, of the American revolution.
eaf721n2* Knights, who, unlike his companion, was no loyalist, appears to
have become infected with the panic that had seized his loyal associates,
in common with the whole court party; and, though he had no cause for
alarm, fled with those who escaped from the Court House, on this memorable
occasion. It is probable, that owing to his supposed interest in the
continuance of the court, and consequent unwillingness to coöperate in
the measures on foot to overthrow it, he was purposely kept in ignorance
of the movements of the revolutionists, and therefore taken wholly by
surprise when the storm burst. At all events, his speedy return, immediate
resumption of his professional duties at Brattleborough, and subsequent
promotion to the bench, abundantly shows that he no less enjoyed
the confidence of the American party than his two namesakes, and, we
believe, relatives, whom we have named as present among the assailants,
and who were afterwards officers in our revolutionary forces. An aged
and distinguished early settler, to whom the author is indebted for many
of the incidents he has here delineated, thus writes in relation to the particular
one in question: —
“I have heard Judge Samuel Knights, who, as chief justice, presided
in the Supreme Court from 1791 to 1793, describe the trepidation that
seized them, when, after the massacre, and on the rising of the surrounding
country, they came to learn the excited state of the populace. He
related how he and another member of the bar (Stearns, I think, who was
afterwards attorney secretary of Nova Scotia) hurried down to the river,
and finding there a boat, (such as was used in those times for carrying
seines or nets at the shad and salmon fishing grounds, which were frequent
on both sides the river, below the Great Falls,) they paddled themselves
across, and lay all day under a log in the pine forest opposite the
town; and, when night came, went to Parson Fessenden's, at Walpole,
and obtained a horse, so that, by riding and tying, they got out of the
country till the storm blew over, when Knights returned to Brattleborough.”
eaf721n3* Crean Brush, who procured himself to be elected from this county
to the New York legislature, for several years, was believed to be the
main mover of the act of outlawry against Ethan Allen and others. He
certainly, as chairman of the committee on the subject, reported, and
recommended the passage of, that notorious measure. [See Slade's
State Papers.]
eaf721n4* As the acts of this notorious personage, whose character we have been
at considerable pains to ascertain, and accordingly portray, will have no
further connection with our story, we cannot forbear, before dismissing
him entirely, giving the reader a short account of his subsequent career,
and singular end. Although, by his facility of accommodating his political
principles to those of the majority, and his alacrity of tacking about,
and mounting, like a squirrel on a wheel, so as to be found rising to the
top in every revolution or counter-revolution of public sentiment, he thus
adroitly managed to get appointed to some offices of minor importance,
under the new state government, yet, becoming every year better and better
understood, and consequently more and more distrusted, he finally
sunk into utter insignificance and contempt; and, falling into pecuniary
embarrassments, brought about by a long course of secret fraud in selling
wild lands, of which he had no titles, he was confined for debt in the very
building in which the massacre occurred; where, as if by the retribution
of Heaven for the part he once there acted, he soon died, unhonored and
unlamented. And, what is still more remarkable, his remains were
strangely destined to be denied even the respect of a common burial.
For some exasperated creditor having attached the body, and the neighbors,
from a notion that prevailed at that time, supposing, that by removing
the body for a public burial they would make themselves liable for his
debts, suffered it to remain till it became too offensive to be endured,
when, at the dark hour of midnight, a few individuals went silently to
the prison, got the putrid mass into some rough box, and drew it on the
ground to the fence of the neighboring burial-ground; and, having dug a
horizontal trench under the fence, and a deep pit on the other side, pushed
through and buried up all that remained of the once noted Chief Justice
Chandler. An old, decayed oak stump, still standing, is the only object
that marks the site of his grave.
eaf721n5* Among the different kinds of sentences imposed on the class of offenders
here last named, was one dooming Judge Sabin to the limits of
his own farm, and making it lawful for any one catching him off of it to
kill him. And so deep was the public indignation against this inveterate
loyalist and supposed secret abettor of the massacre, that he was narrowly
watched for the chance of executing the penalty. An aged revolutionist,
from whom this fact was derived, stated that he had lain many a Sunday,
with a loaded rifle, in the woods near the judge's farm lines, to see if he
would not, when coming out to salt his sheep, stray over his limits. But
the old fellow, he said, was always too wary for him.
eaf721n6* The inscription here alluded to, which we insert as supporting our
position rather than as affording any new antiquarian curiosity to many
readers, is verbatim as follows: —
“In memory of William French, son of Mr. Nathaniel French,
Who was shot at Westminster March ye 13th 1775 by the hands
of Cruel Ministerial tools of George ye 3d, in the Court
House, at 11 o'clock at night, in the 22d year of his age.
“Here William French his Body lies
For murder his blood for vengeance cries
King George the third, his tory crew
Tha with a bawl his head shot threw
For liberty and his country's good
He lost his life and dearest blood.”
-- 103 --
CHAPTER IX.
“They sank till their fair land became a sty
Stygian with moral darkness. Heart and mind
Debased — dark passions rose, and with red eye,
Rushed to their revel; until Freedom, blind
And maniac, sought the rest the suicide would find.”
[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]
The traveller of the present day, as he enters the town of
Guilford, on the southern confines of Vermont, will soon be
struck with the peculiar appearance of many things around him.
Few or no traces of a primitive forest are to be seen, while its
place is supplied by a heavy second growth of woods, sixty or
seventy years old, in the midst of which the remains of old enclosures
and other indications of former habitations are not unfrequently
observable. On the cleared farms, also, may often be
seen three or four different clumps of aged fruit-trees, scattered
about in the nooks and corners of the lot, and sometimes extending
into the woods, in such a manner as to preclude the idea that
they could have been planted under any thing like the present
arrangements of the farm and its buildings. Near these old relics
of former orchards may likewise generally be perceived some
levelled spot, remains of old chimneys, traces of cellars, or other
marks of dwellings long since removed, or fallen to decay.
These, with many other peculiarities, give to the whole town an
aspect nowhere else to be seen in Vermont, nor even, perhaps,
in any part of New England. And if the traveller be of a fanciful
turn, he will associate the place with the idea of some deserted
country, resettled by a new race of men; and even if he be a
mere matter-of-fact man, he cannot fail to perceive that the town
must have been originally tenanted under a division of lands and
an order of things quite different from those now existing. And
either of these suppositions would be far better justified by the
facts than most of the speculations of modern tourists made in
their flying visits through the land, as will be seen by a recurrence
to the early annals of this town, of which, for the purpose
of insuring a full understanding of some scenes here about to be
described, we must be permitted to give a brief outline.
The events connected with the first settlement of the town of
Guilford, which afterwards became so noted as the stronghold of
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toryism and adherence to the New York supremacy, form a curious
anomaly even in the anomalous history of Vermont. The
territory comprising this township appears to have been granted,
as early as 1754, to a company of about fifty persons, by a charter,
which, unlike that of any other town, empowered the proprietors,
in express terms, to govern themselves and regulate the
concerns of their little community, by such laws as the majority
should be pleased to enact, without being made amenable to any
power under heaven, save that which might be exercised by the
British Parliament. Being thus constituted a band of freemen
and legislators, at the outset, they soon took possession of their
chartered piece of wilderness, organized by the election of the
proper officers of state, and assumed the title of an independent
republic, which their charter, in fact, created, any control of the
Parliament of England being as little to be apprehended, in their
secluded retreat among the wilds of the Green Mountains, as that
of the Great Mogul of Tartary. And as novel as was the idea
of a republic at that early period, when “the divine right of
kings” to govern all men was as little questioned as the divine
right of Satan to afflict the pious Job of old, this enterprising little
band of settlers, for many years, appear to have well sustained
the character they had assumed, not only by carrying out, in all
their public doings, that essential principle of a republic which
makes the will of the majority supreme, but by the simplicity of
their tastes and habits in private life, and their beautiful exemplification
of the great law of love, that can only be fulfilled towards
our neighbors by according to them equal rights and
privileges with ourselves. At length, however, new doctrines
began to prevail, and the independent character of our little republic
was soon, in a good degree, forfeited; and that, too, by the
very means, it would seem, which had been taken to make it
flourish and increase. It had been one of the conditions of the
charter that every grantee should become an actual settler, and,
within five years, clear and cultivate five acres of land, for every
fifty purchased. And in accordance with this cunning policy for
insuring the actual and rapid settlement of the place, the township
had been laid out in fifty and one hundred acre lots, except
the governor's right of five hundred acres, which his excellency
of New Hampshire, in granting Vermont lands, never forgot to
reserve for his own use, in every township, but which the proprietors
generally contrived, as in this instance, to have set off on
the highest mountain in town, considering it but respectful and
fitting, as they used waggishly to observe, that so elevated a
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personage should be honored with the most elevated location. And
the effect of this policy, together with the low prices at which the
lands were put, and other inducements held out to draw in settlers,
soon became visible in the rapid increase of the population,
and consequent improvement of the town. So unexampled in
these new settlements was its progress, indeed, in both the particulars
we have just named, that within twenty years from the
time when the sound of the axe was first heard in its woody limits,
the inhabitants were found to number nearly three thousand;
while fields were every where opened in the wilderness, and
buildings raised in such neighborly contiguity, that the whole
town presented the appearance of a continuous village. It is not
very surprising, therefore, that, through such an influx of settlers,
coming from all parts of the country, and including many interested
and active partisans of the York jurisdiction, a majority
should soon be obtained, who were induced to depart from the
views of the first settlers respecting the independence of their
community, and adopt the more fashionable form of subordinate
government, which prevailed in all the towns around them. And
accordingly we find them, at their annual meeting in 1772, voting
the district of Guilford, as they termed it, to belong to the county
of Cumberland and province of New York, and thereupon proceeding
to reorganize the town, agreeably to the laws of that
province. This change, however, does not appear to have been
followed by any material alteration of their internal polity, or to
have been productive of any great civil discord, till about the
time of the opening of the American revolution; when the
town became the prey of contending factions, of so fierce and
lawless a character as to convert this once Arcadian abode of
virtue, simplicity, and rural happiness, into a theatre of violence
and social disorganization, which never, perhaps, found a parallel
within the limits of order-loving New England. Sometimes the
York party and tories, — for, in this town, it so happened that the
two were identical, — and sometimes the whigs and friends of the
new state of Vermont, were in the ascendant; while scenes of
such disorder and outrage were constantly occurring between the
belligerent parties, that his honor, Judge Lynch, for many years,
appears to have been not the least among the potentates of this
notable republic. Nor was order restored to the ill-starred town
till after the close of the war; when every refractory spirit,
whether tory or Yorker, was punished or awed into submission
by the fiery energy of the iron-heeled Ethan Allen, who, then
being relieved from the pursuit of more important game, came
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thundering down upon the town with his hundred Green Mountain
Boys, proclaiming to the disaffected, with demonstrations which
they well knew how to interpret, that the peaceable and instant
submission of the place to the new authorities of the land should
alone save it from being “made as desolate as the cities of Sodom
and Gomorrah.”
It was a dark and gloomy day in April, and the sleety storm
was beating, in fitful gusts, against the broken and creaking casements,
and the disjointed, loose, and leaky covering of an old, dilapidated
log-house, standing by the road-side, in one of the thousand
little dales, which, with their corresponding hills, so beautifully
diversify the face of the town we have been describing. But
as comfortless as this miserable hut was, and as poor and insufficient
a protection from the elements as it afforded, even for the
healthy and robust, it was now the only shelter of a sick and destitute
woman, the widowed mother of Harry Woodburn. The
hand of her son's persecutor, as it not unfrequently is seen to
occur in the history of human oppression, was destined to fall
even more heavily on her than on him for whom the blow was
designed. The minion officer, selected by Peters for the purpose,
had no sooner received his warrants, than, faithful to the cruel
instructions of his employer, he had repaired post-haste to the
residence of the absent Woodburn, of which he was authorized
to take possession, and, with insults and abuse, rudely thrust the
lone and unprotected occupant out of doors, in despite of all her
entreaties for mercy, or delay till her son should return, or even
for one day, to give her an opportunity to find some shelter for her
now houseless head. He then, with the aid of the three or four
ruffian assistants enlisted to accompany him, threw all the furniture
out of the windows or doors into the mud and snow beneath,
where the whole, consisting of crockery and glasses, now half
broken by the fall, and beds, linen, kettles, chairs, tables, and
the like, soon lay piled promiscuously together. Having thus
driven the terrified and distressed woman from the comfortable
abode which had formerly cost her and her deceased husband
so many years of toil to erect and furnish, and having, to add to
the wrong, either injured or destroyed the greater part of her
little stock of goods, by the wanton or careless manner in which
they had been removed, this brutal officer next proceeded to the
barn, and by virtue of his capias for costs, seized the cow and
oxen, the last remaining property of the wronged and ruined
young man, which, after intrusting the present keeping and
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defence of the premises to two of his band, he drove away to
another part of the town, to be sold at the post, as soon as the
forms of the law, respecting notice of the sale, could be complied
with. The poor widow, half distracted at being thus suddenly
bereft of house and home, spent the remainder of the day in
vainly endeavoring to procure some tenement into which she
could remove with her furniture, or with so much of it as might
yet be saved. On the next day, however, as a last resort, she
obtained and accepted the present use of the deserted cabin we
have described, situated but a short distance from the house from
which she had been ejected. And into this comfortless place,
after several days of incessant toil and exposure, she succeeded
in getting her damaged furniture, but not till her exertions, combined
with her anxieties and grief, had given rise to a malady,
which, though not at first very threatening, became, each subsequent
day, more and more alarmingly developed in her overtasked
system. In this situation she was found by her son, who, being
entirely ignorant that any judgment had passed against him, and,
consequently, little dreaming what was taking place at home, had
remained at Westminster nearly a week after the massacre,
attending the public meetings, which, as we have before intimated,
followed that event; when he returned to Guilford, and,
with feelings bordering on desperation, learned the extent of his
misfortunes. But the bitterness of his feelings, as great as it was,
at being stripped of all his property through such a series of
wrongs, soon became wholly merged in anxiety and grief for his
sick and sorrow-stricken parent, and in the exasperating thought
that her sickness and suffering proceeded from the same source
with his other injuries. And close and unremitting had been his
attentions to her, until the day previous to the one on which we
have introduced her to the reader; when he had been induced to
leave for Brattleborough, or other more distant towns, to try to
obtain money to redeem his stock, which was now about to be
sold, and which was worth more than double the amount, as he
had recently ascertained, of the execution on which it had been
seized. On the morning after his departure, she had become so
much worse that she was compelled to take to her bed, and
despatch her only attendant for a doctor. That attendant was
Barty Burt, who had come down from Westminster with Woodburn,
and had been engaged by the latter to remain with his
mother during his absence. Having thus glanced over the events
which had occurred previously to the opening of this new scene
of our story, we will now return to the point we left to make the
digression.
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Slowly, to the suffering invalid, rolled the sad hours away, as,
with thick and labored breathing, she lay tossing upon her rude
couch, standing behind a blanket-screen, in one corner of her
cheerless abode. Occasionally she would raise her fevered head
from the pillow, and seem to listen to catch the sounds of expected
footsteps, and her languid eye would turn anxiously towards the
door; when, after thus exerting her senses in vain a few moments,
she would sink back upon her bed, with a long-drawn, sighing
groan, which told alike of disappointment and bodily anguish.
At length, however, footsteps were heard approaching, the door
opened, and Barty Burt stilly glided into the apartment, and
approached the bedside of the sufferer.
“You have come at last, then,” said she, lifting her dim eyes
to meet the face of the other. “It seemed as if you never would
arrive. But where is the doctor?”
“He will be on afore long, mistress; but I've had a time on't
in getting round, I tell ye!” replied Bart.
“I am very sorry, if you have had any unexpected trouble on
my account,” meekly observed the invalid; “but what has befallen
you?”
“O, nothin,” answered the former — “nothin, at least, but
what I was willing to bear for Harry's sake, who invited me home
here till I got business, or for yours, who let me be. Though
to be stopped and bothered, when one is going for the doctor, is
worse than I ever thought of humans before. But it shows their
character — dum 'em!”
“Did they really stop you, knowing your errand?”
“Yes, that they did, mistress. As I was going by the tavern,
a mile or two up the road yonder, three or four of them torified
Yorkers came out, and told me I couldn't go for the doctor, nor
nowhere else, without a pass from one of their committee. So I
had to post back more than half way, to Squire Ashcrafts, and
there had to be questioned a long while before he would give me
any pass at all. And then again, when I got to the doctor's, he
said he wanted a pass, too; for he darsent go to see a whig
woman without one, which I must go and get him from Squire
Evans, another committee man. Well, finding there was no
other way to get him started, I went, feeling all the time just between
crying and fighting. And as soon as I got the bit of paper
into the doctor's hands, I put for home, leaving him fixing to come
horseback, which is the reason of my getting here first.”
“These are, indeed, dreadful times,” sighed the widow. “But
they cannot always remain; for, though God may chastise us a
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while for our sins, yet the rods of the oppressors will surely be
broken.”
“I'd rather see their necks broken,” responded Bart, dryly.
“When we left Westminster, I thought, as much as could be, the
tories were all used up; but I find 'em down here thicker than
ever now, and as sarcy and spiteful as a nest of yellow jackets,
that, like them, have been routed in one place and got fixed in
another. Blast their picturs, how I hate 'em!”
“That is not right, Barty. You should love your enemies.
Evil wishes, towards those who injure us, are both wicked and
foolish.”
“I don't understand, mistress.”
“Why, Barty, to love is to be happy, as far as circumstances
will permit; and to hate is but to feel disquieted and miserable.
So when we keep the command to love our enemies, we obtain a
reward which often outbalances the evil they inflict on us, or, at
least, enables us the better to bear it; while, on the contrary,
when we hate those who injure us, we receive a double evil —
the wrong they inflict, and the unhappiness created by the exercise
of our revengeful passions. Did you ever think of that,
Barty?”
“No, mum; Harry talks kinder that way, sometimes; but I
can't understand it, no how.”
“With your means of moral instruction, perhaps it is not surprising
that you should not; so I will drop the subject, and ask you
if you heard any thing of Harry, while you were gone.”
“No, mistress; didn't see nobody that knew he was gone.”
“O, when will he return? He has now been gone two long,
long days; but I must not repine.”
“Why, mistress, I kinder guess he'll be along to-night, unless
so be he's met with considerable bother to get the money, or
somethin. He must be here afore to-morrow afternoon, when
the sale is, you know.”
“Yes, I knew the sale was delayed till town meeting day,
which is to-morrow, I believe; though for what reason they put
it off I never heard. Harry felt so bitter about the affair, that I
thought I would not disturb his feelings by making any allusions
to the subject. But there appeared to be something about it that
I didn't understand. Why didn't the sale take place last week,
as first appointed?”
“For as good a reason as ever a tory officer had for doing
any thing — or not doing any thing, may be, I should say — in the
world,” replied Bart, with a knowing look.
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“What was it?”
“Why, when the day come, he couldn't find any cattle to sell.”
“What had become of them?”
“Well, mistress, I don't know how much it is best to say about
that, considering. But I shouldn't be surprised,” continued the
speaker, while a sly, roguish expression stole over his usually
grave, impenetrable countenance, “that is, not much surprised,
if it turned out that two or three of Harry's friends got the cattle
out of the barn where they were keeping, one dark night, and
driv 'em off into the woods, near the top of Governor's Mountain,
and then backed up hay enough to keep 'em a spell; while the
company took turns, for a few days, in going a hunting over the
mountain, so as to come round, once in a while, to fodder and see
to the creters, for which old Bug-Horn paid in milk, on the spot.
Now, mind, I haven't said I knew this was so, but was only kinder
guessing at it; for all that's really known about it — that is, out
loud — is, that Fitch and his men found the cattle up there; and
the way they found them was by following up the trail made by
the hay straws that some one, after a while, grew careless
enough to scatter from his back-load along the path.”
“Did my son have any hand in this affair?” asked the widow,
anxiously.
“No, mistress; Harry is so kinder notional about some things,
that we thought — that is, I guess some thought — it wasn't best
to say any thing to him about the plan till his cattle were fairly
saved.”
“I am glad to hear it. I should rather see him deprived of his
last penny than do a questionable act. We should never do
wrong because others have done wrong to us.”
“There is a differ between your think and mine, I see, mistress.
If they did wrong in getting away Harry's cattle so, as
every body knows they did, then the tother of that — getting
them back again — must be right. But you needn't tell any body
what I've said, mistress; for they might, perhaps, have Bill
Piper and me up, and try to make barglary out of it — or simony,
I don't know but the law folks would call it — the breaking into
a log-barn. But hush! Somebody's coming. It is the doctor.”
Doctor Soper, who now entered, was a small, pug-nosed,
chubby man, of ostentatious manners, and high pretensions to
skill and knowledge in his profession; though, in fact, he was
but a quack, and of that most dangerous class, too, who dip into
books rather to acquire learned terms than to study principles,
and who, consequently, as often as otherwise, are found “
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doctoring to a name,” which chance has suggested, but which has little
connection with the case which is engaging their attention.
“Ah, how do you find yourself, madam?” said the doctor,
throwing off his dripping overcoat, and drawing up a chair towards
the head of the patient's bed.
“Very ill, doctor,” replied the other. “Not so much on account
of the loss of strength, as yet, as the deeply-seated pain in
the chest, which, for the last twenty-four hours, has caused me
great suffering; though, for the last half hour, not so severe.”
“Indeed, madam! Well, now for the diagnosis of your disease.
I pride myself on diagnostics. Your wrist, madam, if you
please,” said the doctor, proceeding to feel the pulse of his patient,
with an air intended for a very professional one. “Tense—
frequent — this pulse of yours, madam; showing great irritability.
Your tongue, now. Ay — rubric — dry and streaked;
usual prognostics of neuralgy. Pretty much made up my mind
about your complaint coming along, madam, having learned from
your lad here something of your troubles and fright on losing
your home. And I was right, I see. It is neuralgy — decidedly
a neuralgy.”
“What is that, doctor?”
“Always happy to explain, madam, so as to bring my meaning
within the comprehension of common minds. Neuralgy,
madam, is a derangement of the nerves. Your disease, precisely.”
“Why, I am not at all nervous, sir,” responded the patient,
looking up in surprise.
“You may not think so, madam. Few do, in your case.”
“And then, doctor, I have an intense inward fever,” persisted
the other, “and my lungs seem much affected.”
“Nervous fever, madam,” returned the doctor, too wise to be
instructed, “and lungs sympathetically affected — that's all.
Quiet and strengthen the nerves, and all will be right in a short
time. I shall prescribe Radix Rhei, in small doses, assafœtida,
quinine, and brandy bitters of my own preparing. These, with
nourishing food, as soon as you can bear it, will speedily restore
you, madam.”
Having dealt out the prescribed medicines, calculated rather
to increase than check the poor woman's malady, which was
inflammation of the lungs, the self-satisfied doctor, swelling with
his own importance, departed, leaving his patient now to contend
with two evils, instead of one — a dangerous disease, and the more
dangerous effects of a quack's prescription.
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“What time is it now, Barty?” asked the invalid, with a deep
sigh, as she awoke from a troubled slumber, into which she had
fallen after the doctor's departure.
“Why, don't know exactly, mistress,” answered Bart, rousing
himself from the dreamy abstraction in which he had been indulging,
as he sat looking into the decaying fire — “don't know,
exactly; but it has got a considerable piece into the night. About
nine o'clock, guess; may be more.”
“Nine o'clock at night, and Harry not yet returned!” sighed
the invalid. “Well, well, I will complain no more.”
“Can I do any thing for you, mistress?” asked her untutored
attendant, touched at the sad and despondent tone of the other.
“You may bring me in a pitcher of fresh, cold water, with
some ice in it, if you will, Barty,” replied the former. “It seems
to me as if this inward heat was consuming my vitals, since I
took the doctor's medicines.”
The youth, with noiseless step, then disappeared with his
pitcher, and, in a few moments, returned with it filled with water
and several pieces of clear, pure ice, which were heard dashing
against its sides.
“How grateful!” said the sick woman, as she took from her
lips the wooden cup which had been filled and handed her by her
attendant, and from which she had eagerly drained nearly a pint
of the cooling beverage at a single draught. “There, now, set
the pitcher on the table yonder, and raise the largest piece of ice
up in sight, so, as I lie here, I can look at it. The mere sight
of it seems to do me good.”
Another dreary hour rolled away in silence, which was broken
only by the restless motions and occasional suppressed groans
of the invalid within, and the wailing of the winds and the pattering
of the rain against the windows without, when a slow,
heavy step was heard coming up to the house.
“That is he — that is his step!” faintly exclaimed the sick
woman, partially raising herself in bed, and gazing eagerly
towards the door; while her pain-contracted features were, for
the moment, smoothed by the smile of affection and pleasure that
now broke over them, like the faint electric illumining of a weeping
cloud.
The quick ears of the afflicted mother had not deceived her.
The next instant Harry Woodburn entered the room, and, with a
gloomy, abstracted air, proceeded to divest himself of his wet
coat and muddy boots, without uttering a word, or bestowing any
thing more than a casual glance towards the bed, to which he
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supposed his mother had just retired, as was usual with her, about
this hour, and not suspecting that she was more indisposed than
when he left her. But as he now turned and approached the
fire, his eyes fell, for the first time, on her haggard features,
when, stopping short, with a look of surprise and lively concern,
he exclaimed, —
“Mother! are you worse, mother?”
“Yes, Harry, I am very, very sick; and O, how glad I am
that you are come.”
For several moments he said nothing, but stood gazing at her
with the distressed and stupefied air of one struggling to shut out
painful apprehensions. At length, however, he aroused himself,
and made a few hasty inquiries relative to her disorder, and what
had been done for her; and, having been informed of all that had
occurred in his absence, and now appearing fully to comprehend
the danger of her situation, he sat down by her bedside, when
his lip soon began to quiver, and his strong bosom heave with
tumultuous emotions, while bitter tears flowed down his manly
cheeks, as this crowning blow to his misfortunes was brought
home to his feelings.
“Had they been content,” he said, struggling hard, but vainly,
to master his feelings — “had they but been content with robbing
me of my property, I could have borne it; but to be the means,
also, of murdering my only parent, is more than I can endure.
God help me, or I shall go mad!”
“Do not — do not be so distressed, my son,” said the mother,
deeply touched at this exhibition of feeling, accompanied as it
was with such a proof of filial affection in her idolized son, and
anxious to soothe and divert his mind. “I shall recover, if God
wills it. Let us, then, bow in resignation to his dispensations,
and not disturb our feelings with unavailing regrets. Come, my
dear son, cheer up, and tell me how you have succeeded in the
object of your journey.”
“No success,” he replied, gloomily. “No; I have been running
from town to town since yesterday morning, and have not
been able to obtain a single dollar. So the cattle must go to satisfy
the stolen judgment of that insatiable Peters.”
At this moment the conversation was arrested by a low rap at
the door, when, after the customary walk in had been pronounced
by Woodburn, the door was gently opened, and a tall,
robust young man, with a frank, open countenance, hesitatingly
entered.
“Good evening, folks,” he said, in a suppressed tone. “I
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didn't exactly know what to do about calling to-night, on account
of disturbing your mother, Harry; but wishing to know whether
you had got home, and hear the news if you had, I thought I
would venture to rap. What is going on up country?”
“Nothing very new, I believe, Mr. Piper.”
“Well, what luck about the money, Harry?”
“None — none whatever.”
“I am sorry for that. No, I won't lie, now; I am not sorry,
Harry; and I will tell you why, hereafter. All I wanted to know
to-night was, whether you had got the wherewith to redeem the
cattle, to-morrow being the last chance for doing it, you know.”
“Yes, I was aware of it, friend Piper; and many thanks for
the interest you take in my misfortunes. But I cannot redeem
the stock. It must go: nothing more can be done to save it.”
“Well, I don't quite know about that, Harry. I don't know
about standing by, and seeing a neighbor's property snatched
away from him on such smuggled papers. But let that turn as it
may, the subject brings to mind a certain circumstance, which I
will name, after first asking a question; and that is, whether
Peters has not been hung?”
“Peters hung? Why, no; the prisoners are not to be tried till
the new court we have been appointing at Westminster holds its
first session, some weeks hence. But why do you ask so strange
a question?”
“Well, Harry, by way of answer, I will tell you the circumstance
I alluded to, which was this: Last night, as I was crossing
about town drumming up friends to attend the meeting to-morrow,
seeing we are expecting a hard tussle, I met a man that
I could have sworn was John Peters, if I had not known the fellow
was close in Northampton jail; and as it was, I could swear it
was his exact shape and appearance. Well, knowing it could
not be him bodily, it soon struck me that they had been hanging
off a parcel of them there, Peters among the rest, and that this
was his ghost, kinder hovering about here to see if his affairs
were fixed up to his liking.”
“Your notion of a ghost, Piper, if you are serious about it, is
all nonsense,” said Woodburn, who had listened with lively interest
to the singular story of the other. “Yes, that is nonsense;
but it has brought to mind a rumor which reached Brattleborough
yesterday, that all the prisoners at Northampton had been liberated
by habeas corpus from the chief justice of New York, and were
now at large. Although this was not credited, yet, if you saw
Peters here last night, as I begin to fear, the story must have been
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true. And he appears here, at this time, for the double purpose
of seeing, as you said, whether his orders have been carried into
execution, and of being present to use his corrupting influence at
town meeting to-morrow.”
“Well, Harry, that's about what I meant; for I saw him sure
enough, and knew, at once, that we had got to have him against
us at town meeting, which makes our case rather doubtful. We
felt quite sure, before this, of being able to carry a majority; and,
in that case, some of us counted on getting a vote to rescue your
cattle, or, at least, putting them into the hands of our sheriff.*
And either of these ways would be the means, we thought, of
saving your property, and, at the same time, be a plaguy sight
more lawful than any authority they have for selling them. But
now there's no saying how it will go. I expect hot work there
to-morrow; and that minds me to ask if you heard whether help
from the towns up the river is coming down to join us on the
occasion?”
“Yes, Tom Dunning came down with me, and he informed me
that several others were on the way.”
“Good. Tom himself, in matter of managing, will be almost
a match for Peters, whether ghost or no ghost. But where is
he?”
“He stopped back at the Liberty Pole tavern.”
“All happens right, then. I am bound there myself. We are
going to hold a little meeting at the Pole, after folks are to bed,
to make up our plans and arrangements for to-morrow. You
can't go, I suppose.”
“No, I must not think of it.”
“But you will be at town meeting to-morrow?”
“Quite uncertain. In the first place, I ought not to leave my
sick mother; and in the next, my feelings are in such a state
of bitterness, that I dare hardly trust myself in such a scene,
lest I should do that which would cost me months of painful
regret. No, Piper, in mercy to a desperate man, let me keep
away. But here is Bart to go, if he choose, both to-night and to-morrow.”
“Bart is agreeable to that, if Harry and mistress don't want
him,” said the person just named, rousing up from the long-silent
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reverie in which he had been sitting before the fire, apparently
inattentive to the conversation of the others, which had been carried
on in a low tone, at the opposite side of the room. “So here
goes for the Pole to-night, and meeting to-morrow,” he added,
taking down his gun from the pegs on which it was suspended,
near the ceiling above.
“What do you want to do with that, Bart?” asked Woodburn.
“I want it for lining to my coat,” replied Bart. “If our coats
had all been lined in that fashion, the first night there, at Westminster,
we needn't have had to attend French's funeral, nor you
been troubled about the papers they got out when you was in
jail.”
“Bravo, Bart. You see that my coat is not wanting of that
kind of lining, don't you?” said Piper, throwing open his great-coat
and displaying a rifle, as the two now left the house together,
on their way to the rendezvous of the liberty party.
eaf721n7* During the period of anarchy, change, and discord, in this distracted
town, each of the belligerent parties had their sheriff, or constable, and
other town officers, and would yield obedience to the officers of their opponents
only on compulsion, though the officers of the majority were not
generally resisted, except, perhaps, in matters purely political.
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CHAPTER X.
“Agreed in nothing, but t' abolish,
Subvert, extirpate, and demolish.”
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“Hurrah for Vermont! hurrah for the new state of Vermont!
The victory is won, and the town is redeemed! hurrah! hurrah!”
Such were the sounds that rose and rung among the rafters of
the crowded old log Town House of Guilford, as, for the first
time for several years, a New Statesman and whig moderator was
declared elected by a majority of the suffrages of the freemen.
The next moment, the door was seen vomiting forth its throng of
excited victors, who, as they reached the open air, joined the
crowd eagerly awaiting the result at the entrance, and, with them,
renewed and reiterated the glad shout, till the distant hills responded
in loud echoes to the roar of the stentorian voices of the triumphant
party.
After a fortnight's active exertions on the part of each of the
opposing parties, in mustering and drilling their respective forces,
preparatory to the approaching contest, in which both were equally
confident of victory, though too sensible of the danger of losing
it to remit any effort, the voters had assembled at one o'clock in
the afternoon. After spending several hours in a disorderly and
wrangling debate, in relation to the qualification of voters, which
at last resulted in rejecting the test required by the charter, — that
of being a freeholder, — and in permitting every resident to vote, the
ballots had been taken for moderator, or chairman of the meeting,
when, as much to the dismay of the tories as the joy of their opponents,
it was found that victory, in a majority of three, had
declared for the latter, who thereupon testified their exultation in
the uproarious manner we have described.
After a while, the noise and tumult within the house was suddenly
hushed, and the clear, deliberate tones of some new speaker
addressing the assembly, became audible to those without the
building; while the attent and eager looks of those who stood listening
in the crowded pass-way, plainly evinced that some important
and exciting subject had been introduced. At length the
voice ceased, and a new commotion ensued within.
“What new movement is that? what is going on in there now,
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Piper?” asked one standing near the door, as the young man
came elbowing his way out of the house.
“Why, they are on Colonel Carpenter's resolution. Haven't
none of you here been in there to hear it?” said Piper, turning
to the querist and other political associates, standing near by.
“No; what is it about?” inquired several of the latter, with
interest.
“The York Rule,” answered Piper, with an animated air.
“The colonel offered a resolve that we shake off the York government
now, henceforth and forever. And this he backed with a
speech which would have done you good to hear. He went into
them, I tell you, like a thousand of brick; and not a single tory
tongue of 'em all dare wag in trying to answer it. They are now
beginning to vote on the resolution, which, if carried, the colonel
intends to follow up by another, cutting up all British authority,
root and branch.”
At this moment, they were joined by Tom Dunning, who came
hurrying out of the house, and, taking Piper aside, said, —
“Do you ditter understand the plan of what's going on in
there, Piper, and the importance to you here, in Guilford, of carrying
it?”
“Not fully, perhaps,” answered Piper. “I didn't have a
chance to talk with Carpenter and the other committee before this
move was made, and don't understand why they did not urge on
the election of the other town officers, as usual, after making a
moderator, instead of getting up these resolutions.”
“Der well, this is it; they are afraid to ditter try any of the
town officers on so slim a majority, lest the tory candidates should
have got some of our voters under their thumbs, by way of debts
or other obligations, which they will der make use of to get
their votes for them personally, but won't have 'em pledged for
this.”
“That is well thought of,” responded Piper. “They have indeed
got the screws on some I know of, and would so threaten
'em with prosecutions, that I'm fearful they would get 'em, sure
enough. But what's the prospect about the resolutions?”
“Well, the colonel thinks, after what has ditter taken place
at Westminster, that we can carry them; and if we can, it
will pretty effectually tie 'em up, even if they got their officers.
But we der don't mean to let 'em. For the plan is, that as
soon as we've ditter carried the resolves, to dissolve the meeting
without making any town officers at all, which we think
can be carried by the same voters, and which if we can ditter
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do it, with the resolves, will kill Fitch and his papers as dead as
a ditter dum smelt, and so save the property of Harry, and that
of all others in the same der situation.”
“Good!” exclaimed Piper, with animation; “I see through
the move now; and we'll go at 'em, and whip 'em out on it; and
then if Fitch don't give up the cattle, we'll make him, by the
course we thought of taking, last night, in case we failed electing
our officers to-day, or of getting any vote on Harry's affair.”
“Yes; but we must be ditter lively in getting in the voters.
You and Bart go in and vote; and I will beat about the bush,
here, for more help, before I go in; for as they have just admitted
some to vote on a twenty hours' residence, — as I can ditter
swear they did, — I intend to vote myself, this time, and have all
those from my way der do the same,” said the hunter, bustling
off to muster his forces.
Just as Dunning, who had collected a band of voters, without
much regard to their qualifications, was pushing into the house
at the head of his recruits, an outcry was raised within; and, the
next moment, Bart Burt was seen hastily emerging from the
crowd, followed by the kicks and cudgel-blows of the tories,
through whom he had been compelled, to save himself from a
rougher handling, to run the gauntlet to the door.
“What, in the name of der Tophet, is the meaning of that
ditter treatment, ye shameless lubbers?” sternly demanded the
hunter, shaking his stout beech cane over the heads of the foremost
of his opponents.
“He deserves it! He is an impostor! He tried to get in his
vote when he aint over eighteen years old!” shouted several
tory voices in reply.
“They let me vote last time without a word,” said Bart, facing
round upon his foes, with a grin of spite and pain; “and so they
did John Stubbs and Jo Snelling, then and now too; and they
aint a day older than I be.”
“Then we will der have you in, and vote too, if the ditter
divil stands at the door!” fiercely exclaimed the hunter.
“Let them prove he aint one and twenty,” said one of the
same party. “He wasn't born in these parts, nor does he know
himself, I understand, where he was born, or how old he is; and
until they can prove him under age, I motion, blow high or blow
low, that we make them receive his vote.”
“Ay, ay, he shall vote! he shall vote!” shouted a dozen others.
“They have admitted others under age, and they shall him,
whether or no! Let 'em live up to their own rules! Sauce for
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goose is sauce for gander, the world over; they shall take him!
they shall take him!”
A hasty consultation was now held, and a plan of operations
for compelling the opposite party to admit Bart to the polls was
soon digested. And, in pursuance of this plan, Bart, who was
short and light of weight, was mounted astride the brawny shoulders
of Dunning, while Piper, with his burly frame, was placed
in front, with a stiff cudgel in hand, to act as the battering-ram
or entering wedge to the crowd of tories, who had closed up the
way with their bodies, obviously to prevent Bart, or any other
whig, indeed, from again entering till the ballot-box was turned.
Eight or ten stout, resolute young men were then selected and
formed in column to bring up the rear, and give such an impetus
to those before them as to force them forward in spite of all opposing
obstacles, till they reached the voters' stand in the house.
“Ditter ready, boys?” now cried Dunning, firmly grasping
Bart's legs, and glancing over his shoulders to his lusty little band
of backers. “All ready there, behind, boys? Then go ahead,
as if ditter Belzebub kicked ye an end!”
At the word, Piper, gathering himself up like a ram for a butting
match, made a lunge head foremost into the recoiling ranks
of the tories, and, borne irresistibly forward by the force of the
rushing phalanx behind, overthrew, prostrated, and shoved aside,
all before him, till the whole column gained the interior, and
came to a halt before the ballot-box.
“I protest against that fellow's voting!” exclaimed Peters,
approaching the stand as Bart, from his lofty seat on Dunning's
shoulders, was about to put in his vote, which was a simple yea,
written on a slip of paper, and handed up to him by some one
stationed near the box to furnish the unsupplied. “I protest
against such a glaring outrage! He is under age, and was very
properly driven from the house.”
“Prove it! prove it!” shouted several of Bart's friends.
“You can't do it,” cried another, “and if you could, two of
your party, who are under age, have voted already; 'tis a fact;
deny it if you can!”
“In with it, Bart!” said Dunning, bending down to give the
other a chance.
“Yes, in with it; for he shall vote!” responded the rest.
“He shall not vote!” vociferated Peters; “and if he attempts
to do it, I'll blow his brains out!” he added, pulling out
and levelling a pistol. Quick as thought, Bart threw open his
over-coat, and, drawing from beneath it the light, short gun there
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concealed, cocked, and brought it to his shoulder; while the
threatening weapon of his foe was seen flying to a distant part
of the room, from a sudden blow of Piper's cudgel, and its disarmed
and nonplused owner slinking away out of the range of
the suspicious-looking barrel still kept aimed at his head.
Amidst the loud cries of order, and the heated vociferations
of both parties, now raised to condemn or defend the transaction,
through the house, Bart, Dunning, and others of their company,
who had not voted, now hastily deposited their votes, and retired
unmolested.
Although the portion of the revolutionary party, whose movements
we have been more particularly describing, acting on the
supposed and probably actual frauds of their opponents, had
thus secured Bart's vote, and the votes of two or three others,
perhaps equally illegal, yet the event soon showed that their
policy in so doing was a mistaken one, and calculated to defeat
the very object they intended to promote; for, as will always be
the result where one party attempts to adopt the wrongful measures
of their opponents, the tories, now armed with the fact that
they had detected the other party in a wrong more glaring, because
more public, than any they had perpetrated, made use of
the advantage with such effect as to bring over several, intending
to support the resolutions, to change their intention, and go
against them. And, in addition to this, by way of retaliating, and
of making good at least all the ground lost by the questionable
votes forced upon them, they brought forward every minor they
could find approximating the size of a man, and boldly demanded
their admittance to the polls. An opposition was, indeed, attempted
to a measure so manifestly illegal, by the leaders of the
other party; but they had become too much disarmed by the
acts of their own partisans to produce any sensible effect; and
their voices were soon drowned by the clamors of the tories, who
now admitted the boys by acclamation. This, as will be anticipated,
decided the contest. On counting the votes, the resolution
was found to have been rejected by more than a dozen majority—
a victory which the tories failed not to announce by
shouts of exultation, which out-thundered those of their opponents
in their late short-lived triumph. The friends of freedom, being
thus caught in their own trap, or, at least, worsted by the indiscretion
of their own friends, now pretty much yielded the contest;
while the victorious Yorkers and tories had every thing in their
own way, electing their town officers, passing denunciatory and
loyal resolutions, and continuing their discussions unopposed, till
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it was nearly dark, when the meeting broke up in noisy confusion.
“Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!” was now heard crying the well-known
voice of Constable Fitch, as he mounted a stump in the
yard; while near by stood a gang of his confederates, hedging in
Woodburn's cow and oxen, which the former had found the means
to have on the spot, in readiness for the sale, the moment the
assembly broke up. “Oyez! A cow and oxen, taken on execution,
now about to be sold to the highest bidder, gentlemen. We
will take the oxen first; as fine a yoke as ever drew plough.
Who will give us the first bid? Shan't dwell three minutes.
Who bids, I say? One pound bid, gentlemen; one pound ten!
one pound ten! and on Mr. Peters. Who bids higher?”
But, as rapid as had been the constable's movements, he did
not, as he intended, take the friends of Woodburn by surprise.
They had withdrawn from the meeting a short time before it
dissolved, and met for consultation in the rear of the house,
where, having arranged their plan of operations, they stood
awaiting for the proper time to carry it into execution.
“There!” exclaimed Dunning, as the constable began to cry
the sale in the manner we have just described — “there, that is
ditter Fitch; he is at it! All ready, boys? You, Piper and
Bart, with your vials of oil of vitriol in your sleeves, ready to
uncork on to their ditter tails?”
“Ay, ay!”
“And your ditter snuff to throw into their eyes?”
“Yes, that, too.”
“And your guns ditter cocked, and safe under your coats,
you that are to fire?”
“Ay, all right and ready — lead on!”
“Der well, but remember we ditter separate here, so as to
come up on different sides of the crowd; and mind, don't let
off your guns till the creatures begin to ditter grow uneasy and
der snort and blow.”
While Fitch was repeating the bids he had received for the
oxen, and was about to knock them off to the highest bidder,
which still chanced to be Peters, he was suddenly told to hold
on, by several persons who had just at that moment made their
appearance in different parts of the crowd, and who expressed
their wish to bid, as soon as they could get up to examine the
cattle. Owing to the duskiness, the faces of the new comers
did not seem to be recognized by the tories, who unsuspectingly
opened and admitted them to the stand. Quickly availing
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themselves of the opportunity, the former, among the foremost of
whom were Piper and Bart, now crowded eagerly round the
cattle, and, after rapidly passing their hands over the cow and
each of the oxen a moment, and then stepping back, began to
banter and bid. Not much time, however, was allowed them to
do either; for the cattle, all at once, became unaccountably
restless, at first backing and wheeling about in their confined
space, and then wildly tossing up their heads, snuffing, and
assuming the startled and furious appearance generally exhibited
by this class of animals when about to make a desperate effort to
break away.
At this critical juncture, the fierce flashes and stunning reports
of a half dozen muskets burst over the heads of the
startled and astonished company from various points on the outer
edge of the crowd; and the next instant the already maddened
cattle, with loud snorts, leaping over or trampling down all in
their way, broke through the living hedge of tories around them,
and bounded off, with their tails thrown aloft, and bellowing in
wild affright, in different directions, towards the woods, leaving
the amazed and broken crowd jostling and pitching about with
exclamations of surprise, groans of pain, volleys of oaths, and
shouts of laughter, all mingled in Babel-like confusion.
“'Tis all the work of the cursed rebels!” exclaimed Peters,
the first to rally and comprehend the affair. “Fitch!” he
added, pointing after the runaway cattle, “where the devil are
your wits, that you don't order a pursuit?”
“Yes, pursue and bring 'em back, instantly!” screamed the
constable, awaking from the stupor and confusion of ideas into
which he seemed to have been thrown by the strange and unexpected
occurrence. “Yes, 'tis an unlawful rescue — it's a conspiracy!
bring back the cattle! seize the offenders, every one
of 'em! in the king's name I command ye.”
Obedient to the call, the obsequious tories instantly rallied for
the pursuit, and, breaking off into three distinct bands, eagerly
set forward in the different directions taken by the fugitive
cattle, then just disappearing over the distant swells, or in the
borders of the woods. Dunning, Piper and Bart, who, in the
mean while, had, unknown and unsuspected in the darkness and
confusion, stood in the throng, keenly watching the result of
their plan, no sooner heard the expected order of pursuit given,
than, separating, like their opponents, and each joining a different
band of the pursuers, they sprang in before the rest, and, by their
superior alacrity and speed, soon succeeded in taking the lead,
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and finally in completely distancing all others in the promiscuous
chase. The tories, now soon wholly losing sight of their fleet,
and, as they still supposed, trusty guides in the pursuit, became, in
a short time, confused and at fault respecting the courses to be
taken; and, after hallooing and running about the woods and
pastures at random, nearly an hour, without discovering any
traces either of the lost cattle or the missing pursuers, at length
came straggling back to the Town House, and, by way of saving
their own credit, reported to Fitch, Peters, and the small party
remaining there, that their swiftest runners were last seen nearly
up with the cattle, and would soon be in with them, or that the
creatures had been headed, and were on their way back, in another
direction. On this, the company waited another hour; when,
neither the cattle nor the expected pursuers appearing, they
began to suspect something amiss; and the inquiries and investigations
then put afoot soon resulted in the mortifying conviction,
that the cattle had been overtaken and driven off by the
same persons who previously had caused them to break away.
Prompted by the enraged Peters, Fitch then offered a reward
for the recovery of the cattle and the detection of those who had
abducted them; when the company separated, to resume the
search the next day. But although this was done, and the country
scoured in every direction for several days, yet the search
proved wholly fruitless. Not one of the cattle was to be found.
Nor were the actors in the transaction, with any certainty, identified,
though the absence of Piper and Bart, for some days after
the event, caused them to be suspected and marked for punishment,
when they should again appear abroad.
-- 125 --
CHAPTER XI.
“Vital spark of heavenly flame!
Quit, O quit this mortal frame!
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
O the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond nature! cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.”
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Perhaps the nearest and dearest, as well as the most interesting,
tie of consanguity, is that existing between mother and son.
Who has not witnessed the unfailing and unconquerable strength
of a mother's love for the son of her heart and her vows,
cleaving to its object through prosperity and through adversity,
through honor and through shame, with a constancy which never
wavers? And what son, especially after the thoughtlessness of
youth has given place to the reflection of maturer years, and
experience has taught him the insincerity and selfishness of the
world — what son has not turned back and lingered, with the
most grateful emotions, over the pleasing memories of a mother's
care; pondered with the most heart-felt admiration over the
deep, pure, and undying nature of a mother's love; realized
more and more the priceless value of a sentiment so fraught
with moral beauty, so exalted, so proof against all those considerations
of self, those temptations of interest, before which all
other ties are seen to give way, and, while thus realizing, found
his yearning bosom oftener and oftener prompting him to exclaim
with the poet, —
“Where'er I roam, whatever realms I see,
My heart, untravelled, fondly turns to thee.”
While the scenes of disorder and tumult we last described, and
the similar ones that followed, were being enacted among the
belligerent parties of this misgoverned town, the dutiful and sorrowing
Woodburn was continuing his attendance on his sick
mother, from whose bedside no call of business or of pleasure
was suffered for a single hour to lure him. And well might he
have done so, aside even from the dictates of filial duty; for
she was a woman not only of unaffected piety, but of education
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and intellect; and to her he had been mainly indebted for all
that was good and elevated in his character. She had emigrated
with her husband to this town, at an early period of its settlement,
from the vicinity of Boston, where the latter had become so much
straitened in his pecuniary circumstances, in consequence of
being surety for an improvident and luckless brother, that he
was induced, with the hope of bettering his fortunes, to gather
up the poor remnant of his property, and, with it, remove to the
New Hampshire Grant's, at that time the Eldorado most in vogue
among those seeking new countries. Here, having purchased
one of the best tracts of land in the place, he commenced the
slow and laborious process of clearing up a new farm. And this
Herculean task, which may well be considered the work of a
man's life, he had, after years of incessant toil and privation,
nearly succeeded in accomplishing, and begun to catch glimpses
of easier and brighter days; when he was taken away by disease,
leaving his property to his wife and son, an only child, then
drawing towards manhood. And nobly had that son discharged
the double duty which now devolved upon him, — that of becoming
the stay and comforter of his widowed mother, and the
sole manager of the farm, their only dependence. For, while
discharging his filial duties in such a manner as to gain him the
reputation of being a pattern of a son, he not only kept good,
but, by his industry and enterprise, even improved, the property
to which he had thus succeeded. And he was fast surmounting
the difficulties of his situation, and making hopeful advances
towards a competence, when, in an evil hour, his flourishing
little establishment attracted the coveting eye of the unconscionable
Peters, who, owning an adjoining farm, which would be
rendered much more salable by being united with Woodburn's,
undertook, at first, to wheedle the young man into a sale, or rather
an exchange of his valuable farm for another, or wild lands, at
false valuations and of doubtful titles. But, finding himself
wholly mistaken in the character of the person whom he thus
endeavored to overreach, and consequently failing in his attempt,
he next began to think of the quibbles of the law, as the means
of accomplishing his purpose. And having discovered some
slight irregularity in Woodburn's deed, to begin upon, he then
resorted to a trick quite fashionable among the corrupt speculators
of those unsettled times — that of purchasing from some unprincipled
person, ready, for a small sum, to enter into the fraud,
a deed of prior date to that of the one to be defeated, with
descriptions of premises and references to suit the purchaser,
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the worthless assumed owner neither knowing nor caring what
his deed might convey. Having secretly procured a prior deed
of Woodburn's farm in this manner, Peters could see but one
obstacle now in the way of his success, which was the town
records, embracing that of Woodburn's deed. How was this to
be disposed of? A bold measure, which could be executed by
his minions under political pretences, occurred to him; and the
result was, that part of the town record soon disappeared. Peters
then commenced an action against Woodburn, to eject him from
his farm, the course and consequences of which are already known
to the reader.
Spring had now come; but its bland and balmy breath brought
no relief to the suffering widow. From the hour she had been
compelled to take to her bed, her disease, though sometimes
lulled, or raging less fiercely than at other times, had never for
a moment loosened its tenacious grasp. And although her cheerful
words, and meek, uncomplaining looks, had often misled her
anxious son, or, at least, prevented him from despairing of her
recovery, yet the dry, parched, red tongue, the daily return of
the bright hectic spot, and the tense, hurrying and unvarying beat
of the strained pulses, might have told him how certainly and
rapidly the work of destruction was going on at the citadel of
life, and better prepared him for the agonizing scene which was
now to follow.
It was a calm and pleasant evening towards the close of April,
and the low-descending sun was shedding the mellow light of
his parting beams over the joyful face of reanimating nature.
The invalid, during all the fore part of the day, had suffered
greatly from pain — that general and undefinable distress which
is so frequently found to be the precursor of approaching dissolution.
To this had succeeded a sort of lethargic sleep, from
which it was not easy to arouse her, so that she could be made
to take any notice of what was passing around her. But now she
awoke, clear and collected; and, glancing round the room, with
a sort of pensive animation, met and answered the inquiring and
solicitious look of her son with an affectionate smile. Presently,
her wandering eye rested on some objects of the landscape,
glimpses of which she had caught through one of the small,
patched windows of the room, and she faintly observed, —
“How pleasant it appears without! Harry,” she continued,
after a thoughtful pause, “could you take out that window before
me? I feel a desire to look out once more on the green earth,
and breathe the sweet air of spring.”
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“Yes, mother,” said the other, approaching the bed, with a
surprised and hesitating air; “yes, I could easily do it, I presume;
but would it be quite safe for you to be exposed to the
evening air?”
“Yes, Harry; the time for the exercise of such cares is gone
by. You need fear no more for me, now, my son,” she replied,
in accents of tender sadness.
The son then, with a doubtful and troubled look, proceeded
in silence to comply with the unexpected request; after which,
he gently raised the head of the invalid, who, thereupon, gazed
long and thoughtfully on the variegated landscape, which lay
spread out in tranquil beauty beneath her dimly-kindling eye.
“How beautiful!” she at length feebly exclaimed, in a tone
of melancholy rapture — “beautiful of itself, but more beautiful
as the type of man's destiny after his body has mingled
with the dust. The scene we here behold, my son, exhibits the
resurrection of nature. In summer the foliage and blossom expands,
in autumn the fruit is perfected, and in winter the visible
part falls back to earth and perishes, leaving the hidden seed or
germ to spring forth again into another life. So it has been, so
it will be, with me. I have had my brief summer of life, my still
briefer autumn, and now my winter of death is at hand, from
which I trust to come forth into the more glorious spring of life
eternal.”
“Do not talk thus, mother,” responded the son, greatly moved—
“do not talk thus: you distress me. I trust you may yet
recover. You certainly look brighter this evening; and I hope
another day will find you still better.”
“No, Harry, not better, as you mean. If I appear brighter, it
is but the brightness of the last flashing up of the expiring taper.
I feel that my time is come; and thanks to Him who has prepared
my heart to hail the event as a relief and a blessing.”
“O my mother, my mother, how can I part with you?”
“My longer sojourn here, my son, would be of little benefit to
others — even to you: my blessing is worth more than would be
my further abiding: come and receive it.”
The weeping son then knelt down at the bedside, and the
mother, laying her hand on his head, pronounced her blessing
and a brief prayer for his earthly prosperity and eternal happiness.
For several minutes, the son, overcome by his emotions, remained
kneeling, with his head, on which still languidly rested the
emaciated hand of the dying mother, bowed upon the bedclothes,
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while the latter, sinking back exhausted on her pillow, closed her
eyes, and seemed to be silently communing with herself. She
soon, however, aroused herself, and observed, —
“My work is not yet quite done. I have a little more to say
before the scene closes.”
“Say on, mother,” said the other, making an effort to calm
himself, as he now rose, and, taking a seat near, wistfully rivetted
his gaze on her pallid face. “If you are, indeed, about to leave
me forever, withhold nothing you feel inclined to communicate;
for your dying counsels, my dear parent, will be received with
pleasure and gratitude, and treasured up in heart and memory,
as the last, best lesson of one to whom I am under such countless
obligations.”
“You have ever acted the part of a dutiful son towards me,
Harry; and that is always a mother's best reward for her care
and affection for her offspring. And I know not that I have aught
now to say to you, by way of counsel for your future guidance,
being willing to leave you to practise upon the principles I have
endeavored to inculcate, and be to others what you have been to
me. But it was not of that I intended to speak. I was about
to name some facts connected with our early reverses, which, it
being always unpleasant to recur to those scenes of trial, I think I
have never told you, but which, I thought, it might, perhaps, some
day avail you something to know. You have heard us casually
speak, I presume, of your uncle Charles Woodburn?”
“I have, mother.”
“And you may also be aware that, through his misconduct,
we were suddenly reduced from the easy competence we once
enjoyed to poverty and distress.”
“I have so understood it, but never knew what kind of misconduct
it was that led to our misfortunes.”
“It was imprudence in speculations, and profligacy in living,
and not dishonesty, or any intentional wrong to us, as I ever believed;
though your father, in his desperation when the blow
came, would listen to no extenuation, but drove him from his
presence with bitter reproaches and accusations. But your uncle,
before leaving the country, as he soon after did, sought an interview
with me; and, after deploring the misfortunes he had
brought on my family as well as himself, solemnly pledged himself
that he would, some day or other, more than compensate
me or mine for all the losses he had occasioned us. And this is
the circumstance I wished to tell you; for, though we never
received any certain information of him, yet something tells me
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he still is alive, and has the means and disposition to fulfil his
promise to you whenever you may find him, and he recognize
you as the representative of his brother's family, of whose location
here he probably was never apprised. I would suggest to you,
therefore, the expediency of trying to trace him out, and, if you
succeed in doing so, make yourself and your situation known to
him; and, without preferring any claim, leave the result with
Providence.”
“Your suggestion, mother, shall not pass from me unheeded,
nor shall I fail, in due time, to act upon it; but, at present, I
know not if the last tie that binds me to this place should be
severed — I know not but our down-trodden country may have
the first claim on my services. Ever since the startling news of
the massacre of Lexington reached us, a sense of the duty of
devoting myself to her defence has pressed heavily and constantly
on my mind. And but for the stronger claim which nature and
my own feelings have given you, in your situation, to my presence
and attention, I might, before this, have been with my
shouldered musket on my way to the scene of action. But even
in the event of your death, I should hesitate to obey the call
if I knew I must do it without your sanction.”
“I thank you, my son, for your affectionate deference; but
you shall not go without my sanction. Having conjectured what
might be your feelings at this dark hour of our country's peril, I
was about to speak to you on the subject. Yes, Harry, if you
think duty calls you to the field, in defence of a cause so just and
righteous as ours, go. You will be under the care of the same
Providence there as elsewhere. Go, and with a dying mother's
blessing, and a prayer of faith for your safety and success, do battle
manfully for the Heaven-favored side, till the oppressor be
cast down, and the oppressed go free.”
With a heart swelling with conflicting emotions, the young man
looked up to reply, when his words were arrested on his lips, by
the evident change that the countenance of the other had suddenly
undergone. The unnatural animation, which she had exhibited
during the conversation, had faded away. She lay listless and
exhausted, with her eyes nearly closed, and her lips slightly moving
in secret prayer.
“And now, Lord, what wait I for?” she at length audibly uttered.
“But I am not to wait,” she continued, in a firmer tone,
after a short pause. “The final moment is at hand! Farewell,
earth! farewell, my son! May Heaven's blessings rest on you —
on all, and be the offences of all forgiven. Ah! the light of day
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is fading; but O, that brighter light which opens! those angel
forms, with smiling faces, which beckon me away! Ready! I
come! — I come!”
And thus, —
“— blessing and blest,
In death she went smiling away
To the heavenly bosom of rest.”
-- 132 --
CHAPTER XII.
“Whene'er your case can be no worse,
The desperate is the wiser course.”
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Late in the afternoon, several days subsequent to the melancholy
event described in the preceding chapter, a mingled company,
of some dozens of persons, including several town officials,
were seen assembling at the Tory Tavern, in Guilford; the object
of which appearances seemed to indicate to be the holding of a
magistrates' court, to try an offender who had that morning been
arrested, and who now, in custody of Constable Fitch, was demurely
sitting on a rude bench under an open window of the
room in which the trial was to be had, and in which the two justices
composing the court had already seated themselves at a
table, in readiness, on their part, to commence proceedings. That
offender was no other than our humble friend, Barty Burt, who
had lucklessly fallen into one of the snares which had been set for
him and his suspected companions, round the country, in consequence
of the part they had acted in spiriting away, in so strange
a manner, Woodburn's cattle, when about to be sold on town
meeting day. He and Piper, during the night following that
affair, after meeting Dunning at an appointed place, and giving
him charge of the cattle, which had been successfully pursued
and there collected, to be driven out of that part of the country
by the hunter, left town in different directions, to avoid the arrest
they anticipated, in case they remained; Piper going down the
river in quest of some temporary employment till the storm blew
over, and Bart setting off on a fishing excursion to Marlboro' Pond,
situated in a then nearly unsettled section, about ten miles to the
north. Here Bart had pursued his sport unmolested, many days,
occasionally going out to Brattleborough to sell his fish and buy provisions,
and considering himself in this secluded situation perfectly
safe from any search which might be made for him by the officers
of Guilford. But the reward offered by the constable for the apprehension
of the offenders, who had been soon pretty well identified,
had put all the tories in the town and vicinity on the watch;
and the result was, that Bart had been seen, traced to his retreat,
seized and brought back for trial.
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Although Bart's general demeanor seemed to show a perfect
indifference to the fate that now threatened him, yet the quick,
keen glances with which, under that show of indifference, he
noted every movement of those into whose power he had fallen,
and the restlesness he exhibited when their eyes were not upon
him, gave token of no little inward perturbation. And it was not
without reason that his apprehensions were excited; he knew the
character and disposition of the two tory justices whom he saw
taking their seats to try him, and he rightly judged that he need
not expect either mercy or justice at their hands. He had also
detected one of the constable's minions, who had been despatched
to the woods for the purpose, stealing slyly round into the horseshed,
on his return, with a half dozen formidable looking green
beech rods; and he was at no loss to decide for whose back they
were intended, or by whose ruthless hand they were to be applied.
“You can't go that, Bart,” he mentally exclaimed. “You
must get away; so now put your best contrivances in motion, for
I tell you it won't do for you to think of standing that pickle.”
And as hopeless as, to all appearance, was any attempt to
escape his captors, who stood round him with loaded pistols in
their hands, Bart yet confidently counted on being able, in some
way or other, to slip through their fingers, and avoid the fearful
punishment which he knew was in store for him, if he remained
many hours longer in their hands. To effect this, he looked for
no aid from others; for experience had taught him the value of
self-reliance. The whole life of this singular being, indeed, had
been one which was peculiarly calculated to throw him on his own
resources, sharpen his wits, and render him fertile in expedients.
He had been a foundling, and knew no more of his parentage
than a young ostrich, that springs from the deserted egg in the
sand. He was left, when an infant, at the door of a poor mechanic,
in Boston, by the name of Burt, and by him transferred
to the almshouse, where he was called after the name of his finder,
with the pet name of Barty, given him by his nurse. Here
he was kept till he was four or five years old, when he was
given to the Shakers, from whom he ran away at ten or twelve.
From that time, the poor friendless boy became a wanderer
through the interior country, generally remaining but a few
months in a place, being driven from each successive home by
misusage, or for want of profitable work for him to do, or, what
was still oftener the case, perhaps, for playing off some trick to
avenge the fancied or real insults he had received, till, after
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having been kicked about the world like a foot-ball, cheated, abused,
cowed in feeling, and become, in consequence, abject, uncouth
and singular in manner and appearance, he at length reached the
situation in the family of the haughty loyalist where we found
him.
While Bart was thus uneasily revolving the matter of his present
concern in his mind, and beginning to cast about him for some
means of escape, the constable was called aside by those who
had undertaken to manage the prosecution, for the purpose of
holding with them a consultation, the purport of which, though
carried on in a low tone, and at some distance, was soon gathered
by the quick and practised ears of the prisoner. It appeared
that the trial was being delayed in consequence of the absence
of Peters, who was an important witness, and who unaccountably
failed to make his appearance. And it being feared that he
might have been waylaid, and detained on the road, by some
band of the other party, to prevent him from testifying, as all
knew he was anxious to do, it was settled that Fitch should start
immediately in search of him to the house which he usually made
his temporary quarters in another part of the town. Accordingly
the constable, after putting the prisoner in charge of two stout
fellows who were in his interest, with orders to guard him closely,
and shoot him down the instant he should attempt to escape, set
forth on his mission after Peters. Bart's countenance brightened
when he saw the savage officer depart, for he believed the absence
of the latter would greatly increase his chances of escape;
and in spite of all the threats he had received of being shot, he
resolved to improve that absence in making the attempt, though
the manner of doing so yet remained to be decided, by the circumstances
which might occur.
In the mean time a trotting-match had been got up in the road
in front of the tavern, by a small party who had been boasting of
the speed and other qualities of their horses; and it being now
understood that the trial was to be delayed till the constable's
return, the whole company left the house, and went out to the
road to witness the performance. Bart's keepers not being able,
where they stood, to see and hear what was going on very distinctly,
and being equally desirous with the rest to get a favorable
stand for that purpose, after renewing the threat of shooting
him if he attempted to run away, took him along with them, and
entered the line of spectators extended along the road. After
a few trials among those who began the contest, several new
competitors led on their horses and entered the lists. By this
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time most of the company began to take a lively interest in the
performance, taking sides, and betting on the success of the different
horses now put into the contest. The prisoner having, by
this time, through dint of persevering in good humor and sociability,
in return for the abusive epithets, by which all his attempts
to converse were, for a while, received, succeeded, in a great
measure, in disarming his keepers of the stern reserve and jealous
distrust they at first exhibited towards him, he was soon permitted
to talk freely, and offer, unrebuked, his opinions of the success
of the various horses about to make a trial, which his previous
observation and acquaintance with many of them, made during
his residence in town the preceding year, enabled him to do with
considerable sagacity. And his predictions being luckily fulfilled
in several instances, and especially in one in which his most
rigid keeper had been saved from losing, in a bet, which would
have been made but for his timely cautions, Bart at length found
himself on such a footing of confidence and good will with those
whom he wished to conciliate, that he thought it would now do to
commence operations for himself.
“I don't think much of such trotting, myself,” said Bart,
carelessly, as one of the contests afoot had just terminated;
“but there is one animal I notice here to-day, I should like to
bet on.”
“What horse is that?” asked the keeper above designated.
“That dapple gray mare hitched over there in the corner of
the cow-yard yonder,” replied Bart, pointing to a small, longtailed
pony, whose shabby coat of shedding and neglected hair
greatly disguised the remarkable make of her limbs and other
indications of strength and activity.
“That creature!” exclaimed the other, contemptuously; “why,
she aint bigger than a good-sized sheep. You may bet if you
want to, and lose; for there's not a horse on the ground but
would beat her.”
“Well, for all that, Mr. Sturges,” responded Bart, banteringly,
“I'll not take back what I've said about the nag. And to prove
my earnest, I'll make you an offer; I'll bet my gun, which you
saw me hand the landlord for safe keeping when they brought
me in — I'll bet my gun against your hat, I'll take that creature
and out-trot you, with any hoss you may choose to bring on.”
“Done!” exclaimed Sturges; “but you are contriving this
up for a chance to get away, you scamp.”
“What should I want to get away for?” I haint done nothin;
and there's a witness here that will swear to a thing or two for
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me, when the trial comes on, guess you'll find; besides, aint you
going to ride by my side, with a loaded pistol in your hand?”
“Yes, and that aint all; I'll put a bullet through you the instant
you make the least move to be off.”
“I'm agreed to that.”
“Well, but will they let you take the colt for the match?”
“Guess so; I'll venture to take her. The boy that rode her
here has cleared out down to the brook a fishing; but I know
him, and think he wouldn't object.”
“Who owns the colt?”
“Old Turner did, last year, when I lived with him; and the
boy is from that way, and borrowed her, likely.”
“Then you have rode her, have you?” asked Sturges, doubtfully.
“Never rid her with any other hoss, but know she can trot
faster than any thing you can find here; so you may as well
back out at once,” answered Bart, with apparent indifference.
“Not by a jug-full, sir; but I must look me up a horse, and fix
matters a little first; and then, if it is thought safe for me to trust
you to ride, I'll go it,” returned the other, with some hesitation.
Sturges then stepped aside with the other keeper, and, after
consulting with him a few moments, went forward and announced
to the company the bet offered by the prisoner, and his own
intention of accepting it, and indulging the fellow in a trial, if
they thought best, and would assist in measures to prevent the
possibility of his escape. The proposal was received with shouts
of laughter by the tories; and eager for the fun they expected to
see in so queer a contest, they agreed to be answerable for the
prisoner's safety, and urged on the performance.
The two keepers, now calling in others to take charge of the
prisoner, while they made their preparations, proceeded to arrange
the company on both sides of the road, placing men at
short intervals along the whole line of the course, commencing
back about two hundred yards south of the tavern, and extending
to the sign-post, which, standing on the edge of the beaten path
in front of the house, had been agreed on as the goal. And not
satisfied with this precaution, they then procured four long, heavy,
spruce poles, and, extending them from fence to fence across the
enclosed road leading from the tavern yard northward, formed a
barricade five or six feet high, which, with the strong, high fences
on each side of the whole course, except at the starting-point,
where no danger was apprehended, seemed to cut off the prisoner,
even without being guarded, from all possible chance to escape
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on horseback, as it was most feared he would do, after being
allowed control of the reins.
“There, Bixby!” exclaimed Sturges, exultingly turning to his
fellow-keeper, as they completed the barricade across the road beyond
the goal — “there! I would defy the devil to jump over this
barrier, or any of the fences on the way, as to that matter. So
the little rebel will hardly escape us by running his horse from
the ground, I fancy. But we must look out that he don't jump
off at the end of the race, or before, and cut into the fields. You
may therefore station yourself somewhere between this and the
sign-post; and if he attempts to leap from his horse and run, as
we fetch up here, shoot him down as you would a dog, and charge
the blame to me or Fitch; either of us will bear it.”
Having thus arranged every thing to his satisfaction, Sturges,
ordering the pony we have described, and the horse he had selected
for himself, to be brought on, then took charge of his
prisoner and rival, and conducted him, with great show of mock
dignity, and amidst a noisy and jeering troop of attendants, to
the ground marked off for the place of starting, and now designated
by the close line of men that had been stationed across the
road to guard against the prisoner's escape in that direction.
Bart, in the mean time, seemed perfectly indifferent to all these
precautions of the tories, as well as the gibes and laughter which
constantly greeted him on the way, and, on reaching the prescribed
limit, quietly dropped down on the grass among the company,
and awaited the coming of the horses with the greatest
unconcern. The latter soon made their appearance on the
ground, and were immediately led up and presented to their respective
riders.
“Lightfoot!” exclaimed Bart, springing up to receive his
chosen pony; “do you know me, Lightfoot?”
The animal instantly pricked up her ears, and responded by a
sort of low, chuckling whinny, by rubbing her nose against his
arm, and by other demonstrations of recognition and pleasure,
which plainly showed the two to have been old acquaintances and
friends. Bart then, stripping off the saddle and handing it to a boy
to be carried back to the tavern, again went to the head of the pony,
and, after patting her on her neck, repeated certain words in her
ear, which seemed to produce the instant effect of arousing her
spirit, and making her restless and impatient for a start. After
going through these and other ceremonies of the kind, which
seemed greatly to amuse the company, he mounted, reined up,
and announced himself ready for the signal.
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After another delay, to indulge the company in the renewed
shouts of laughter which were called forth by the ludicrous contrast
now presented in the appearance of the oddly-matched competitors,
as the diminutive and shabby-looking prisoner sat awkwardly
mounted on his no less diminutive and shabby pony, by
the side of the portly Sturges and his large and finely-built horse,
the signal was given, and the parties set forth amidst the encouraging
hurrahs of the crowd. Their progress, for a while,
was nearly equal; and the pony, though very unskilfully managed
by her seemingly raw and timid rider, continued to maintain her
place by the side of the horse so fully, as to render the result of
the contest extremely doubtful. But as they drew near the end
of the course, and the horse, by the renewed incentives of his
rider began to gain on her, she suddenly flounced, broke into a
gallop, shot by the horse, giving him a staggering kick in the
chops as she passed, and, in spite of the apparent efforts of her
rider, to bring her up at the goal, plunged on directly towards the
fence that had been thrown across the road.
“Whoa! whoa!” cried Bart, in tones of distress and affright,
still appearing to strain every nerve to hold in the ungovernable
animal — “whoa! whoa! help, or I shall be thrown!”
“Help him there! stop her! seize her by the bits!” shouted
Sturges, now riding up to the goal to claim the bet.
But the perverse pony, veering about among those approaching
on either side to seize, or head her, with sundry monitory kicks
thrown out sidewise towards them as she went, the next moment
reached, and, with a tremendous leap, cleared the barricade,
and landed safely with her rider in the open road on the other
side. Here Bart hastily made another apparent attempt to rein
her up; but rearing and spinning round on her heels, she again
made a plunge forward, and set out in a keen run, making the
ground smoke beneath her feet as she flew, with astonishing
speed along the road; while her rider, grasping her mane with
both hands, and swaying from side to side, as if hardly able to
keep his seat at that, continued to bawl and screech, at every
step, “Whoa! whoa! stop her! stop her!” with all his might.
The tories were so completely taken by surprise by these
manœuvres, and the unexpected feat of leaping the barricade,
that Bart and his fleet pony were nearly a quarter of a mile off,
before they sufficiently rallied from their astonishment and confusion
to realize what had passed; and when they did, hearing
his piteous cries for help, and expecting every moment to see
him hurled headlong from his horse, they stood doubtfully looking
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at him and each other, several seconds longer, before they
thought of following him. Sturges, however, now took the
alarm, and, ordering the barricade to be thrown down, started off,
with those who, like himself, happened to be mounted, in pursuit.
By this time, the fugitive had passed over an intervening swell,
which hid him from the view of the pursuers; and though their
progress was rapid, yet, when they gained the top of the swell,
which commanded a view of the road till it entered the woods,
almost a half mile beyond, he was nowhere to be seen. But
believing he must have gained the woods, they pushed on, in the
vain pursuit, about a mile farther; when, meeting some townsmen,
they ascertained that he had not passed in that direction.
They then retraced their steps, carefully examining every by-path
and open spot by the road-side, where any ordinary horse
could be made to go; but making no discoveries, they concluded
to return to the tavern for consultation; for they grew more and
more puzzled to know what to make of the prisoner, or how to
account for his mysterious escape, some affirming “he must
have been in league with the devil, as no horse, in a natural
state, could have leaped that barricade, or have gone off so like
a streak of lightning after he was over it; and his strange doings
with the pony, when he first met her, and the bluish appearance
that attended him along the road as he went off, with such unnattural
swiftness,” were cited in confirmation. But when they
reached the tavern, the prisoner, and every thing attending his
escape, were for the time forgotten in the excitement occasioned
by the more startling tidings just received. The constable had
just arrived in great haste, announcing that Peters had been waylaid,
and found murdered in the road, and calling on all to turn
out to arrest the unknown but suspected perpetrators of the horrid
deed.
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CHAPTER XIII.
— “despair itself grew strong
And vengeance fed its torch from wrong.”
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On the same day, and near the same hour, on which Bart so
singularly and luckily effected his escape from his vindictive
enemies, the bereft Woodburn left his lonely residence and
walked to the graveyard, to shed another tear over the freshly-laid
turf that covered the remains of his sainted mother. Here,
as, standing over her grave, he reflected on the many excellences
of her character, recalled the many acts of her kindness and
love towards him, never before justly appreciated, and, at the
same time, thought of the circumstances under which she had
sickened and died, his tears flowed fast and bitterly. While he
was still lingering near the sacred spot, immersed in these painful
reflections, two ladies, from a neighboring cottage, came, unperceived
by him, along the road leading by the graveyard; when
the younger of the two, wholly unconscious that any one was
within the enclosure, left the other to pass on to the next house,
and entered the yard to amuse herself there till her companion
returned. Now pausing to read an inscription, and now to pluck
a wild violet, she slowly wandered towards that part of the yard
where Woodburn, still screened from her view by a clump of
intervening evergreens, was pensively reclining against a tombstone
in the vicinity of his mother's grave. And here, taking a
turn round the shrubbery, she came suddenly upon him; and,
stopping short in her course, she stood mute and confused before
him, while her cheeks were mantled with a deep blush at the
awkwardness of the position in which she unexpectedly found
herself.
“Miss Haviland!” exclaimed Woodburn, looking up in equal
surprise. “Excuse me if I am wrong, but, as little as I was
expecting it, I think it is Miss Haviland whom I am addressing?”
“It is, sir,” she replied, in a slightly tremulous voice; “but I
trust you will not think this an intentional intrusion.”
“No intrusion, fair lady. You do not rightly interpret my
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expression, which was one of surprise at seeing you here, when
I had supposed you to be in another part of the country. When
I last saw you, I supposed you on your return to Bennington.”
“I was so at that time. But having recently come over with
my father, who was journeying to Connecticut, I am now tarrying
with a sister in this neighborhood till he returns. Your allusion
to our parting, however, cannot but bring to mind the circumstances
connected with our meeting, nor fail to admonish me of
my great obligations to you, sir, which I have never before found
a suitable opportunity of personally acknowledging. But be
assured, Mr. Woodburn, I shall never forget that fearful hour;
yet sooner far the hour, than the hand that snatched me from
my seemingly inevitable doom.”
“We both may have cause to remember the incidents attendant
on that journey to Westminster, Miss Haviland; and I,
though I did but a common duty in assisting you, shall remember
them, on more accounts than one, I fear but too long.”
“If you allude to your difficulties on that journey, and subsequently
with one with whom we were in company, I can only
say, sir, that I have heard of them, and all your consequent misfortunes,
with the deepest regret, scarcely less on account of the
author than the victim.”
“I could have submitted to my pecuniary losses with a good
degree of resignation; but, when I think of the crowning act,
and the consequences that followed it — when I look on that
grave,” continued the speaker, pointing to the fresh mound, with
an effort to master his emotions, “it is hard to endure.”
“Such misfortunes,” responded Miss Haviland, visibly touched
at his distress; “such misfortunes, — injuries, perhaps, I should
call them, — I am sensible, are not easily forgotten; and I have
sometimes feared that it too often might be my fate to be associated
with them in your mind.”
“O, no, lady, no,” said Woodburn, promptly; “though it were
better for my happiness, perhaps, if I could,” he added, more
gloomily; “for who will care what may be the feelings of one
who is now an outcast, without property, family, or friends?”
“Think not thus of yourself, Mr. Woodburn,” replied the
other, while a scarcely perceptible tinge appeared on her fair
cheek; “feel not thus. You do to yourself, and I doubt not
to many others, great injustice; certainly to one who can only
think of you with the warmest gratitude.”
“O, if all were like you, Miss Haviland!” returned Woodburn,
with much feeling; “so just, so generous, so pure, so
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beautiful! But I have already said too much,” he continued,
checking himself. “I intended not to have intimated aught of
the thoughts and feelings which have obtruded themselves upon
me, even before I heard these kind expressions. And though
what I have said cannot be recalled, yet I have no thought of
pressing any questions upon you under the accidental advantage
which your gratitude — other things being the same — might give
me. I ask for no corresponding impressions — I expect none.
Being aware of your position, as well as my own, I shall not drive
you to the unpleasant task of repulsing me. I will repulse myself.
I will conquer this new enemy, though planted in my own
bosom, lest it prove more dangerous to my peace than the one
with whom I have so vainly contended in another rivalry.”
She raised her eyes with a look full of maidenly embarrassment,
indeed, but with an expression more resembling that of
sorrow than resentment, as she gently replied, —
“I feel additionally grateful to you, Mr. Woodburn, for your
delicate and generous course under the circumstances in which, as
you seem to be aware, I am placed. But as I now perceive my
companion approaching in the road, you will excuse my departure.”
“Certainly,” said Woodburn; “and you will forgive what
has been said by one who is so truly the prey of conflicting emotions?”
“O, yes, sir,” she answered, looking up with a witching smile,
as she bowed her adieu; “that is, I will when you do any thing
worthy of my forgiveness.”
Woodburn stood mutely gazing after his lovely visitor till
her small and graceful figure, floating on in its devious course
through the diversified grounds in almost fairy lightness, receded
from his enraptured sight; when he turned away with a sigh to
commune with himself, try to analyze his feelings, weigh consequences,
give Reason her rightful sway, and follow her dictates.
After a long and deep struggle with his feelings, he appeared to
come to some determination, and, resolutely bringing down a foot
on the ground, he exclaimed, —
“No, never! I will not give way to feelings which can only
end in disappointment and mortification. Begone, enticing vision,
begone! I will harbor you no longer.” And under the impulse
of his freshly-formed resulution, he abruptly left the spot, and
hastened through the enclosure to take his way homeward. As
he was about to pass out into the road, his attention was attracted
by the barking of a small dog, that, having followed the ladies,
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and tarried behind on their return, seemed to be intent on dragging
out something from under a broad, flat stone lying in one
corner of the graveyard. Feeling some inclination to know what
discoveries the dog was making in a spot so unpromising of any
game that would be likely to attract him, Woodburn walked to
the spot; when he perceived the animal to be eagerly tugging
away at some object, which presented the appearance of the corners
of some old, leather-bound book, buried beneath the stone.
His curiosity being now excited, he stood by and patiently waited
to see the result. In a few minutes the dog succeeded in dragging
out the object in question, which proved to be an old recordbook,
or rather the remains of one, for a part of it had been
converted by the mice into a nest, and the rest was mutilated and
falling to pieces. Leaving the dog to pursue his object, which
was now sufficiently explained, Woodburn gathered up the remains
of the book and stepped aside to examine them. On
beating off the dirt and opening the unmutilated parts, he soon,
and to his great surprise, discovered it to be a volume of the town
records; the very volume, the loss of which, as he believed, had
caused his defeat in his lawsuit with Peters. And hurriedly running
over the leaves, his eye, the next moment, fell on the record
of his own deed, with the dates precisely as he had contended,
and standing in a connection which would have proved the priority
of his title, furnished him a complete defence, and saved
him from ruin!
The previous suspicions of Woodburn, respecting the disappearance
of these records through the agency of Peters, were
now confirmed in the mind of the former, as certainly as if he had
witnessed the act; and this aggravating discovery, coming as it
did too late to be of any benefit to him, and at a moment, too,
when his feelings, notwithstanding his recent declarations to Miss
Haviland, and his subsequent resolves, were sore from the insidious
workings of jealousy, and the revolting thought of the pretensions
of his hated foe to her hand — this discovery, we say,
wrought up his mind, already imbittered to the last degree of
endurance, to a state little short of absolute frenzy. And clinching
the fragments of the book, which contained the proof of the
black transaction, in one hand, and flourishing the heavy oak
cane he had with him in the other, he rushed out of the enclosure,
and, with a disturbed air and hurrying step, took his way towards
his desolate home, resolved, that in case he found, as he feared,
that all chance of legal redress had passed by, he would, at least,
unsparingly make use of the means now in his power in trumpeting
the villany of Peters to the world.
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In this state of exasperation, after proceeding a short distance,
he unexpectedly and unfortunately encountered the very object
of his pent indignation, the haughty and hated Peters, who, on
horseback, was coming up a cross-road on his way to the Tory
Tavern, where, as the reader has been already apprised, his tools
and partisans were anxiously awaiting his arrival.
“Ha! here? Then he shall be the first to hear it,” muttered
Woodburn, as with a flashing eye he suddenly turned and sternly
confronted the other in his path.
“What now, sir?” said Peters, reigning up with a look of surprise
not unmingled with uneasiness.
“I will tell you what, now, sir,” replied Woodburn, in a voice
quivering with suppressed passion; “your frauds are exposed!
Here are the remains of those very records you or your tools
purloined to enable you to accomplish your unhallowed triumph
over me, and now just found buried in yonder graveyard!”
“Away, sir!” exclaimed Peters, recovering his usual assurance.
“I know nothing of your crazy jargon: stand aside and let me
pass.”
“Not till you have looked at the proof of what I assert, or
acknowledged its correctness,” persisted the other, extending his
cane before the horse with his right hand, and thrusting forward
the open book with his left. “Here it is; here is the record of
my deed — dates and all, as I and you, too, sir, well knew them
to be. Look at it, sir, and restore me my property, or confess
yourself a villain!”
At this juncture Peters, who had covertly reversed the loaded
whip he carried in his hand that he might strike more effectually,
suddenly rose in his stirrups, and aimed a furious blow at the head
of his accuser. But as sudden and unexpected as was the dastardly
movement, Woodburn threw up his cane in time to arrest
and parry the descending implement, when, quick as thought, he
paid back the intended blow with a force, of which, in the madness
of the moment, he was little conscious, full on the exposed
head of his antagonist, who, curling like a struck bullock beneath
the fearful stroke, rolled heavily from his saddle to the ground.
The exclamation of triumph that rose to the lips of the victor
died in his throat, as he took a second glance at the motionless
form and corpse-like aspect of the victim; and, recoiling a step,
he stood aghast at the thought of what he had done. After standing
a minute with his eyes rivetted on the face of his prostrate foe,
Woodburn, arousing himself, hurried forward, and, raising the
head, chafed the temples and wrists a moment, and then felt for
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the pulse, when, finding no signs of life, he suddenly relinquished
his hold, and with a look of horror and unutterable distress, hastily
fled from the spot, muttering as he went, “A murderer! —
to crown the host of misfortunes — a murderer!”
Soon striking off into a deep glade, diverging from the public
way, he continued his course, with a rapid step and troubled brow,
on through the woods and back pastures, till he gained, unobserved,
the rear of his own cabin, when, entering, he threw himself into
a chair, and, burying his face in his hands, sat many minutes motionless
and silent, apparently engaged in deep and anxious thought.
At length, he arose with a more composed look, and proceeded to
make up a pack of his wardrobe, with such valuables as could be
conveniently carried, including his mother's Bible. He then fitted
his pack to his shoulders, took down his gun and ammunition, and,
throwing a sorrowful farewell glance round the lonely apartment,
left the house, and bent his course for the woods, in a northerly
direction.
After travelling in the woods and unfrequented fields about two
miles, he came in sight of the point of intersection between the
road near which he had been holding his course, and a road
coming into it from the central parts of the town. Here, concluding
to pause till the approaching darkness should more
perfectly screen him, before going out into the main thoroughfare
leading up the Connecticut, he sat down on a log within the
border of the woods, and again gave way to the remorseful feelings
and moody reflections that still painfully oppressed him.
His meditations, however, were soon disturbed by the quick,
heavy tread of some animal, which seemed to be approaching in
the woods, at no great distance behind him. Instantly peering
out through the thicket in which he had ensconced himself, he
soon, to his great surprise, descried a horseman descending a
difficult ledge, leaping old windfalls, and making his way
through all the opposing obstacles of the forest with wonderful
facility, directly towards the spot where he stood concealed in the
thicket. Knowing that whatever might be the object of the person
approaching, it would be his wisest course to remain in his
covert, from which he could not move unobserved, and his curiosity
being excited by the appearance of a horseman in a spot that
would have scarcely been deemed passable for a wild deer, he
kept his stand; and continued to regard the advancing figure
with the most lively interest. But owing to the thickness of the
now full-leaved undergrowth, and the duskiness that by this time
had gathered in the forest, he could only catch occasional
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glimpses of either horse or rider, which enabled him to ascertain
nothing more than that they both were quite diminutive, and,
as it struck him, rather oddly accoutred. They continued to
advance directly towards him till within fifty yards of his covert,
when the horse, in emerging from a clump of bushes, which still
enveloped the rider, stopped short, and, looking keenly into the
thicket, gave a quick, significant snort.
“What's in the wind now, Lightfoot?” said the rider to his
horse, as, parting the obstructing foliage with his hands, he thrust
out his head, and disclosed to the surprised and gratified Woodburn
the well-known visage of his trusty friend, Barty Burt.
“This is, indeed, unexpected, Bart,” said Woodburn, stepping
out into plain view.
“Harry!” exclaimed the other, agreeably surprised in turn;
“but are you sure there are no more of you there in the bush?”
he added, with a cautious glance at the thicket.
“Yes, I am alone here,” answered the former.
“Well, I vags now!” resumed Bart, drawing a long breath,
and riding forward — “I vags, if I didn't begin to feel rather ticklish
when Lightfoot give me that hint to look out for snakes, just
now. But the case aint quite what it might have been, considering.”
“Considering what?”
“I know.”
“Of course you do, as well as what brought you here with a
horse, in so strange a place for a horseback excursion.”
“Just so, Harry; same as you know what brought you here
with a pack on your back, in so queer a route for a journey, when
a smooth road is so near you.”
Well knowing Bart's peculiarities, and that it would be useless
to try to draw from him the secret of his appearance here until
he chose to reveal it, Woodburn, while the other dismounted and
told his pony to be cropping the bushes in the mean time, related
all that had transpired between himself and the victim of his
deeply regretted paroxysm of passion, adding, at the close of his
gloomy and self-accusing recital, —
“I first thought, after reaching my house, that I would return
and give myself up to the authorities; but knowing, whether
Peters should live or die, that I should be a doomed man in this
part of the country, I at length brought myself, perhaps wrongly,
to try to get out of it undiscovered. And I have now set my
course for Boston, to join those there gathering for the approaching
struggle for liberty. And Heaven knows with what pleasure
I shall now sacrifice my life in her battles.”
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“Good! that's grand!” warmly responded Bart, who had
listened to the other with many a whew! of surprise at his accompanying
expressions of self-condemnation for killing an antagonist
who struck the first blow — “that's grand! Here is what
goes with you, Harry; for, between us here, I and Lightfoot are
clipping it from a predicament, as well as you.”
“So I suspected. But what is it? Let us have your story
now.”
“Well, Harry, in the first place, do you know this critter I call
Lightfoot?”
“No; at least I don't now remember to have noticed the animal
before.”
“Well, it is the colt old skin-flint Turner cheated me out of,
last year.”
“I think you told me something about it, but don't recollect
the particulars; though I had then no doubt, I believe, but the old
man wronged you, as I understood you worked very hard for him
through the season.”
“I did, like a niggar — cause he promised to give me this colt,
then a little snubby three-year-old, for my summer's work, if I
would stay and work well for him, which I did, as I said. Well,
supposing the colt was to be mine, without any mistake, I made a
sight of her, named her Lightfoot, fed her, got her as tame as a
dog, then trained her to understand certain words and signs,
which I at last got her to obey; and whether it was to trot, run,
or jump fences, she would do it as no other critter could. But
just as I had got her to mind and love me, as I did her, my time
was out; and I went to settle off matters with the old man, and
tell him I was going to take her off with me, when — rot his pictur! —
he pretended he had forgot all about his promise to let me
have her, and forbid my touching her, saying he had paid me all
I earnt in the old clothes which he urged on to me, against my
will, and which were not worth one week's work, as true as the
book, Harry. Well, I couldn't help crying, to be cheated so,
and, what was worse, to lose Lightfoot. But it did no good. I
had to come away without her, or any other pay; and, from that
time, I haven't seen her till to-day.”
“But you have not now stole and run away with her, I trust,
Bart?”
“No; she run away with me,” replied Bart, roguishly, as I
can prove; for I hollered whoa all the time, as loud as I could
yell.”
“But how came you mounted upon her at all?”
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“Well, Harry, that brings me to the worst and best part of my
story, all in one; and here goes for it.”
Bart, in his own peculiar manner, then related, with great accuracy,
the particulars of his arrest and escape from the tories, as
we have already described them in the preceding chapter, merely
explaining, in addition, that Lightfoot well understood the game,
and knew she was to obey the signs he secretly gave her with
his feet and hands, however loud he, or others, might cry whoa,
or any of the terms usually addressed to horses. He then proceeded: —
“Well, you see, as soon as I got over the hill, out of sight, I
looked out for a hard, stony place, where Lightfoot couldn't be
tracked; and, soon finding one, I leaped her over the fence, and
made full speed for the woods, which I luckily reached jest
in time to wheel round in safety, and see them thundering
along by, in the road, after me. I then took it leisurely off in
this direction, contriving to keep mostly in the woods, where I
had learnt Lightfoot, in riding after the cows, last summer, to be
as much at home in as in the road.”
“And what do you propose to do with this horse now?” asked
Woodburn.
“Take her along with me, to be sure, Harry.”
“And so make yourself, in law, a horse-thief, eh? Do you
expect me to join company with such a character?”
“Well, now, Harry, I didn't expect the like of that from you,
any how,” observed Bart, evidently touched at the remark. “The
creature is honestly mine; and I supposed I had a right to get
what was mine away, if I could, without going to law, which
would help me about as much as it has you, I reckon. But supposing
that to be law which aint right and justice, and so make
me out a thief, as you say, how much boot could I afford to give
you, Harry, to swap predicaments with me? You have just
called yourself a murderer, which you aint, and me a horse-thief,
which I aint, any more than you the other. Now, how will you
swap characters?”
“Bart, you have silenced me. Injustice and oppression have
made us both outlaws, but not intentionally wrong-doers. Let us
still abstain from all intentional wrong, however trifling. And
that leads me to observe, that whatever justification you may
have for taking away the horse, you probably have none for carrying
off the bridle.”
“There you are out again, Harry. That bridle, which queerly
happened to be put on Lightfoot to-day, (as if it was kinder
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ordered I should get the beast,) is the very one I bought last fall
to take her off with; but being so worked up, when I left, I forgot
to bring it away.”
“Upon my word, Bart, you are successful to-day in making
defences.”
“Always mean to be able to do so, Harry. Nobody has any
honest claims on me in Guilford, now, nor I any on them. I
leave 'em with every thing squared, according to my religion.”
“Except in the matter of your gun, which you leave — not
exactly won by your opponent — behind you; do you not?”
“They are welcome to it; much good may it do 'em. It has
gone pretty much where I calkerlated to get it off — among those
who used me the worst; though I'd some rather it had gone to
Fitch, who hunts some, and would be sure to try it.”
“That is queer reasoning, Bart.”
“Well, there is a head and tail to it, for all that, Harry.”
“What are they?”
“Why, the head, or cause, is, that the last time I shot the piece,
I overloaded it, being for black ducks, and the charge raised a
seam, in a flaw underside the barrel, which I could blow through.
And the tail, or consequence, is, that the next man who shoots it
will wish he'd never seen it, I reckon.”
“Ah, Bart, Bart, your religion, as you term it, is a strange
one! But let us now dismiss the past, and think of the future.
If you join me for the army, what do you propose to do with your
horse — sell her?”
“Sell her?” why, I'd as soon sell my daddy, if I had one.
No, we'll keep her between us. You, and Tom Dunning, and
Lightfoot are the only friends I have in the world, Harry; and
I want we should kinder stick together. So I've been thinking
up the plan, that we ride and tie, or keep along together and foot
it by turns, to-night, till we get to Westminster, when we will beat
up Dunning, and leave Lightfoot with him, who can take her to
some of his sly places over the mountain, and have her kept for
us. Then, if one of us gets killed, or any thing, so as never to
come back, let the other take her; and if both fail to come, then
let Tom have her for his own.”
And Bart's plan being adopted, our two humble, friendless, and
nearly penniless adventurers left the wood, and entering the
northern road, set forth on their destination, Woodburn first
mounting the pony and keeping some hundred yards in advance,
and Bart forming the rear-guard, under the agreement that the
latter, on hearing any sounds of pursuit, should utter the cry of
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the raccoon, when both were to plunge into the woods, and remain
till the danger had passed by.
After travelling in this manner, and at a rapid rate, about two
hours, without encountering any thing to excite their apprehensions
or delay their progress, they entered a long reach of unbroken
forest, which neither of them remembered ever to have passed
through. But not being able to conceive where they could have
turned off from the river road, which was their intended route, they
continued to move doubtingly onwards some miles farther, till the
increasing obstructions and narrowness of the path, together with
the absence of the settlements which they knew they must have
found before this time on the road up the Connecticut, fully convinced
Woodburn they had lost their way. And he was on the
point of proposing to retrace their steps, when, descrying a light
some distance ahead, emanating, as he supposed, from the hut of
a new settler, he at once concluded to push on towards it, for the
purpose of making inquiries of the occupants to ascertain their
situation. In making for the light, of which, for a while, only feeble
and occasional glimmerings could be obtained through the
dense foliage that overhung the devious path, they at length came
to an apparently well-cultivated opening, containing about a dozen
acres, on one side of which stood a small, snug-looking stone
house, built against or near a boldly projecting ledge of rocks.
As they approached the house, their attention was arrested by the
loud and earnest voice of a man within, engaged, evidently, in
prayer. Concluding that the man was at his family evening devotions,
which they had no thought of disturbing, they left the
horse at a little distance from the house, and silently drawing near
to the door, paused and reverently listened. A confused recollection
of the supplicant's voice, together with his deep and fervid
tones, his bold language, and especially the subject that seemed
then mostly to engross his thoughts, at once awakened the interest
and rivetted the attention of Woodburn. The great burden of his
soul was, obviously, the political condition of his country. And,
after vividly painting the many wrongs she had suffered from her
haughty oppressors, and warmly setting forth her claims to divine
assistance, he broke forth, in conclusion, —
“My country! O my injured, oppressed, and down-trodden
country! shall the cry of thy wrongs go up in vain to Heaven?
Will not the God of battles hear and help thee, in this the hour
of thy peril and of thy need? O, wilt thou not, Lord, extend
thy mighty arm in her defence? O, teach the proud Britons,
now thronging our shores — teach them, scoffing Goliahs as they
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are, that there are young Davids in our land! O, bring their
counsels to nought! Scatter their fleets by thy tempests at sea,
and destroy their armies on land! Sweep them off by bullet and
plague! and — and” — suddenly checking himself, he meekly
added, “and save their souls; and this, Lord, is all that in conscience
I can ask for them. Amen.”
Woodburn now gently rapped at the door, which, after a slight
pause, was opened, and Herriot, the late prisoner of the royal
court, stood before him.
“If this is Harry Woodburn,” he said, after scrutinizing the
other's features a moment, “he is very welcome to my hut. But
you are not alone?” he added, glancing towards Bart, who stood
several paces in the background.
“No,” replied Woodburn; “I have in company a young man
whom you may, perhaps, recollect as the messenger that appeared
several times at the grate of our prison at Westminster, to bring
us news of the progress of the rising.”
“Ah, yes, well do I recollect that goodly youth, and have ever
since taken a peculiar interest in him. Invite him in. All this
is opportune, very — very,” said Herriot, leading the way into
the house.
After the recluse had ushered his guests into the principal room
of his very simply furnished house, of which he and a servant
boy, of perhaps fifteen, were the only inmates, he turned to Woodburn,
and said, —
“As my retreat here in the woods, and the road that leads to
it, are known to so few, I conclude that your young friend here,
Mr. Woodburn, acted as your guide on the occasion.”
“O, no,” replied the other; “we had lost our way, having left
the river road inadvertently, and were about to turn back, when,
catching a glimpse of your light, we came on to make inquiries.
We neither of us knew when we struck into the road leading
hither.”
“Do you agree to that statement, without any qualification,
master Bart?” asked the recluse, with a doubting and slightly
puzzled air.
“Well, some of it, I reckon,” answered Bart, with a look of
droll gravity.
“Why, you told me, sir,” responded Woodburn, rather sharply,
“that you had never travelled this road before.”
“No more I hadn't,” replied Bart, composedly; “but I didn't
say I didn't know where it turned off, for Tom Dunning told me
that.”
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“Bart,” said Woodburn, seriously, “though I am not sorry to
have fallen in with father Herriot, yet, as between you and
me, this needs explanation. It looks as if you purposely led me
astray.”
“Well now, Harry, no offence, I hope. The thing was kinder
agreed on, somehow, that you should come this way, when you
left Guilford, which was understood would happen soon. If I
hadn't fell in with you as I did, it was my notion to take Lightfoot
here, or at Dunning's, and then go back and skulk there somewheres
till you was ready to come; but finding you and things
all coming so handy like, when we got to where the road turned
off, I thought I'd let you follow me into it, if you would, and say
nothing till we got here.”
“I am still perfectly at a loss how to understand all this, Bart;
and I still wish you would more fully explain it.”
“I will take that task upon myself; for I suppose I am somewhat
in the secret respecting the little plot of your friends,” said
Herriot, going to a chest, and bringing forward a small bag of
money. “This has been deposited with me for your use and benefit.
It is the price of your cow and oxen, sold by Dunning to a
drover from Rhode Island. The sum is, I believe, about fifty dollars,
which I now deliver you, as your own unquestionable property.”
In the explanation that now ensued, it appeared that the cattle,
which had been rescued by the friends of Woodburn, without his
privity, lest the scruples it was feared he might entertain should
lead him to interfere with the plan, were taken that night to the
retreat of Herriot, who was made acquainted with the whole
transaction; and that the next day, while Dunning went up the
river in search of a purchaser, the other, who was not without his
scruples, also, about sanctioning the procedure, repaired to lawyer
Knights for his opinion on the subject. And the latter, having
been confidentially let into the secret, and given it as his decided
opinion that the judgment, to satisfy which the cattle had been
seized, was an illegal and void one, and that the cattle so seized
might rightfully be taken for the owner, without legal process, if
found out of the hands of the officer, the recluse returned and
actively coöperated with the hunter; the result of which was, that
a purchaser was soon found, who paid the money for the stock,
and immediately drove it from the country.
This, to Woodburn, was an unexpected development. And
now, after hearing the explanation of Herriot, being satisfied of
the propriety of the course so generously taken by his friends in
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his behalf, he gratefully received the money; and, in turn, while
Bart and the servant were out caring for the pony, he confidentially
disclosed to the recluse the painful occurrence of the afternoon
which had led to his sudden flight from home, and his determination
of immediately joining the army, concluding by giving
the particulars of Bart's arrest and singular escape from the
tories.
“You have acted wisely, Mr. Woodburn,” observed Herriot,
after listening with deep interest to the recital. “Peters may yet
recover; but should he not, I do not view the act in so criminal
a light as that in which you yourself have placed it. And in the
absence of all intention of killing the man, I feel very clear that
it is not a deed meriting the punishment you would be likely to
receive, if you had put your fate into the hands of the corrupted
witnesses who would probably have been brought against you.
Yes, you have acted wisely in leaving that wicked Babel of toryism,
and nobly in devoting yourself to the cause of your bleeding
country. My blessing and prayers will attend you and your
young friend, to whom, I trust, you will act the friend and adviser
he will doubtless need. But come, Harry,” he added, taking up a
light, and making a sign for the other to follow him, “some new
notions have come into my head since I became acquainted with
you and your young friend, at Westminster, and knowing of no
two persons in whom I take greater interest, I have concluded to
impart something to you in confidence.”
So saying, he led the way into the cellar, the bottom of which
was flagged over with stones of various shapes and sizes; when,
pointing to a broad, flat stone lying near the centre of the room,
he asked Woodburn to raise it. Wondering what could be the
object of so unexpected a request, the latter, with considerable
effort, succeeded in raising the stone to an upright position, and
in so doing brought to view two small iron-bound casks, standing
in a cavity beneath, and labelled, in large inky letters, “Printer's
Type.”
“Printing, then, was formerly your trade?” said Woodburn,
inquiringly, perceiving the other not inclined to be the first to
speak.
“Well, that is a respectable calling, is it not?” said the other,
evasively.
“Certainly,” replied Woodburn; “but I had not looked for
any immediate use for such implements in this new settlement.”
“The contents of those casks, nevertheless, are of more value
than you may think them, Harry, and may soon be needed for
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the public, in the times now at hand. But what I wish to say to
you is, in the first place, that you are not to divulge what you
have seen to any one but your young friend, and not to him unless
you are satisfied he can be trusted, or you are about to die.
And, in the second place, if you hear of my death, both of you
are to come here, take possession of these casks, and divide the
contents equally between you as your own. I have now no relative
that will appear to claim them. You will also find, enclosed
in one of the casks, certain documents, which I have recently
deposited there, explaining my wishes, as well as some secrets
of my life connected with discoveries lately made by me, that
interest others besides myself. This you, or the survivor of you
two, if one should die, will do in case I am taken away. And
even if I continue to live, my designs will probably not be altered;
and I shall wish to see you both again when you are permitted to
return to your old homes. And still further, I would say, that
should you be in want at any time, and will apply to me, I will
dispose of enough of this property to supply your necessities.
Now replace the stone, and let us return to the room above.”
Woodburn knew not what to make of all this mystery, or affected
mystery, as he believed it. But knowing the singularities
of the man, he forebore to ask any questions, and they left the
cellar in silence. Soon after they had returned, Bart and the
servant came in; when a frugal meal was set before the travellers.
And while the latter were occupied in partaking their
repast, the recluse procured his writing materials, and penning a
brief letter, presented it to Woodburn, saying, “There is a letter
of introduction to a former friend of mine, who, I understand, is
appointed to an important command in the army now mustering
at Cambridge. It may be of service to you. And now,” he
added, as his guests rose to depart — “now, my young friends
and fellow-sufferers from oppression, go — deserve well of your
country, and desert her not till the British Dagons are all levelled
to the dust, which may God speedily grant. Amen.”
In a few minutes more, our adventurers were on their way.
And being now invigorated, both in body and mind, by what had
occurred during their call at the retreat of their mysterious friend,
they pressed on so rapidly, for the next three or four hours, that
they arrived at Dunning's cabin, in Westminster, just as the first
faint flush of daylight appeared in the east. Here luckily finding
the hunter already astir, cooking his breakfast, preparatory to an
early start on some new excursion, they joined him in his delicious
meal, which consisted of the rich steaks of a salmon caught
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the preceding evening. And having finished their breakfast, and
made the contemplated arrangement with Dunning, to take charge
of Lightfoot, their now common favorite, the last-named person
set them across the Connecticut in his log canoe; when, looking
back from the woody shore of the New Hampshire side, they
bade a long farewell to the Green Mountains, whose tall, blue
peaks were then beginning to grow bright in the rays of the
rising sun, and resolutely plunged into the dark recesses before
them.
END OF VOL. I.
Back matter
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Thompson, Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce), 1795-1868 [1851], The rangers, or, The Tory's daughter: a tale, illustrative of the Revolutionary history of Vermont, and the Northern Campaign of 1777 [Volume 1] (Benjamin B. Mussey and Company, Boston) [word count] [eaf721T].
